Chapter 1: A Lesson in Exposition
Notes:
I am WHITE! And UNSEASONED! TELL ME IF I DO SMTH FUKIN DUMB!!!! K thks luv u <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Stay AWAY!”
The ragged scream tears through the peaceful silence of Cloud Recesses, broken and desperate. The group of Gusu Lan cultivators, pristine in their white robes, flinches back.
“Wangji, please.” Lan Xichen begs. He drops to his knees, making himself smaller, trying to seem as harmless as he can. His brother is losing blood, fast, soaking through his white robes as the near feral alpha clutches a small child to his chest. “Your injuries have reopened… the Ghost General nearly killed you. And the child-”
“Mine.” Lan Wangji growls, inching further away. “Xiongzhang, he’s mine.”
His?
Lan Xichen’s eyes go wide, looking over his shoulder at his frozen uncle, and the helpless healers, then down at the child. The boy is pale, under a layer of grime, hair a mess, clothes torn, limp and near lifeless. Could he really be Wangji’s? Had he really sired a child? When? And with who? The boy is clearly a few years old, at the very least.
“Regardless, Wangji, he is clearly ill.” Lan Quiren says, stepping forwards. “You must let the healers look at him, or it will only get worse.”
“No. No, they will… they will take him away.” Lan Wangji growls, clutching at his precious cargo. “I will not… I will not let you.”
Lan Xichen shakes his head. “Wangji, please. No one will take him, but at this rate you will lose yourself.”
“Move.” A new voice orders, the door to the Jingshi sliding open. Another healer walks in, a young boy on her hip, blinking at all of them with tired eyes.
“Another child?” Lan Quiren huffs, eying the pup dubiously. “How exactly is that meant to help?”
The healer sets the boy down, watching as Lan Wangji’s eyes track him. “My son, a-yi. Hanguang-jun is running on protective instincts right now. If he sees I have a child of my own, he might understand I won’t hurt his. A-yi has done this before.”
True to her word, the young boy gets closer than any of them had managed, reaching out to Lan Wangji, innocent eyes wide.
“You’re hurt.” The boy says. “Mama can make it better.”
Lan Wangji considers him, his uncle and brother watching with bated breath.
Finally, the child in his arms coughs, wet and ragged, and Lan Wangji glances down at him in panic.
“…help him.” He begs, and the healer moves to kneel at their side.
“Hanguang-jun, may my mate check your injuries? You will do no good for the boy unwell.”
“Baba is good at healing too.” A-yi says loyally, sitting on the floor out of the way.
At the alphas hesitant nod, another healer steps forwards, slowly, so not to startle, and settles at the part of his robes that is the most stained with red.
The female healer reaches out for the boy's arm, only for Lan Wangji to snatch her wrist.
“Don’t.”
“Hanguang-jun.” the healer says calmly, not trying to escape. “I must examine him.”
The alpha shudders, looking down at the boy in his arms.
“The ribbons on his wrists.” He says finally, releasing her. “You cannot remove them.”
The healer nods, shifting from the pulse point of the boy's arm to his neck, silently checking over the child as Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren watch in nervous silence. Finally, with a nod, she resettles him, and backs away.
“He’s malnourished, has a chill, and in a state of shock.” She says simply. “And… Hanguang-jun. He is yours?”
Lan Wangji, head bowed low over the child, nods.
“The mother?”
Lan Wangji is still for a moment, before a shaking sob racks his frame. He bends over the child like he’s been struck, tears falling onto the boy's robes and skin.
The healer seems to take that as an answer, and she turns grimly to Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren, ushering them a short distance away.
“Zewu-jun.” she murmurs, not unkindly. “When Hanguang-Jun awoke… you told him of the Yin energy wave?”
“I did. I told him the Matriarch was dead, and she had released a wave of resentful energy, but we had it in hand, and to rest.” Lan Xichen says worriedly. “What is happening?”
“The boy… those ribbons, on his wrists.” The healer says, biting at her lip. “They’re curse-binding. If I’m right, the boy has a bloodline curse. But… just one of those ribbons is enough to protect someone, under usual circumstances.”
“But not the Yin Wave.” Lan Qiren realizes. The healer nods. “You think… the mother?”
“Someone tied an extra ribbon onto that child.” The healer says grimly. “Only a skilled talisman forger could have made those ribbons, and they’re very expensive. If they had it, they needed it. And if they needed it, they would have had the same curse. Without it…”
Without it, the Yin wave would overcome the cursed individual.
Without it, that person would likely be dead.
“Oh, Wangji.” Lan Xichen whispers, looking over to the bed. The healer has begun passing spiritual energy to speed the healing, a-yi is patting his shoulder, and Wangji…
Lan Wangji is curled around the boy, his son, his whole body shaking with sobs.
Sǐwáng Zhī Mǔ.
The Mother of Death. The Beast of the Burial Mounds. The Demonic Fox. The Goddess of the Shaded Path.
These are some of the titles attributed to the Yiling Matriarch.
A fox demon, believed to be a female alpha, who emerged from the burial mounds to reclaim the Yin Iron Amulet, stolen from her by Wen Rouhan in his attempt to conquer the Jianghu. She joined the Sunshot campaign after presenting the heads of Wen Chao, his mistress, and the core melting hand to the sects, claiming to have avenged Wei Wuxian, who had perished in her territory after Wen Chao had thrown him into the Burial Mounds.
She became an unstoppable force on the battlefield. Powerful cultivators fell below her claws, only to rise again to the sound of the Ghost Flute Chenqing to slay their own comrades. An unmistakable figure, with nine pitch black tails flared behind black and red robes, black furred ears, and a silver mask covering the top half of her face. Her scent was of blood, and a red ribbon flew behind her like a war banner against the sky.
The Yiling Matriarch was the first to properly cultivate resentful energy, a feat many thought impossible. She taught these tactics to those who felt they had no other choice- those whose cores were melted, those with wen brands, those with unwanted claims. She granted them power, and freedom, and in return they hid their faces and followed her religiously on the crooked path, swearing themselves to silence on the dark rituals that were performed.
While the matriarch and her followers proved to be an asset during the war, it was after she reclaimed her Amulet that she began to show her true colors. Kidnapping the remaining Wen who were useful to her, stowing them away in the Burial Mounds, and poisoning the minds of the cultivators she taught. While the sects were lenient due to fear, a brutal attack that took the lives of Lanling Jin Sect Heir, Jin Zixuan and his wife, Jiang Yanli, tipped the scales. The sects banded together once more to rid the world of the beast.
In a last act of desperation, the wicked fox formed a final act of cruelty, absorbing the bodies of her captive settlement into a deadly ball of resentment. Though Sandu Shengshou was able to kill the beast before the spell could be completed, avenging his sister, the fox destroyed the Yin Hufu, locking the array. And even now, the trapped souls can still be seen. A reminder of the Matriarch’s brutality. Omegas, women, children, and elderly can be seen floating within the mass of evil energy. To this day, no one has been able to free them.
The Matriarch has not left the world unscathed. The Yin Wave released by her death soaked the world in resentment. Drought, disease, and her children roam the land. Foxes born of shadow whisper to the weak minded and lead them astray. Her name is a warning, and a curse.
Disciple Lan Jingyi, can you tell me why the Matriarch was dubbed the Mother of Death?”
“Huh?”
Sizhui sighs, looking out of the corner of his eye to his friend. Lan Jingyi is notoriously bad at sitting still and paying attention- no matter how interesting the class may be. The teacher goes to answer, but Jingyi’s brain seems to have caught up.
“Oh! Um.” Jingyi stands to answer, shifting on his feet. “The Matriarch was titled the Mother of Death because… she called the demonic cultivators under her, her children? And she killed a lot of people, and motherhood was supposed to bring life, so…”
Sizhui winces. It’s not wrong, but the unsure and choppy way that he said it probably won’t earn him many points. He stands as well, hoping to save his friend.
“Jingyi is right, the matriarch was named mother of death for her lethality during the war.” Sizhui says as soon as the teacher nods at him. “But it's also a mark of her cultivators being ‘reborn.’ Many of them had lost their cores, and they hid their faces to avoid being targeted by Wen Brands. The Matriarch erased their old life and made them anew.”
The teacher sniffs, but nods. “Correct.”
Jingyi breathes a sigh of relief as they both sit down, shooting Sizhui a grateful look.
“Now. The matriarch's followers, despite the death of their leader, still thrive today.” The teacher continues. “Her envoys, the shadow foxes, lead madmen, children, women, and omegas into the woods, never to be seen again. It is from these people that we believe the demonic cultivators are born, though we can never be sure. Demonic cultivators are often seen wearing silver masks to hide their face, many spelled items to assist in their shoddy cultivation, and bearing seals of silence upon their throats, incapable of spilling the secrets of their master. Should they try, the seal will burn, and choke them.”
A few disciples wince and touch their throats.
“Despite this, they all seem to show a great respect for the Matriarch, swearing upon her name, and creating numerous shrines and temples in her honor. A few even claim to be attempting to revive her. It is unknown what she does to gain this blind devotion, though if the secret must be sealed away, we can only imagine what horrors they’ve done.”
The teacher looks out at them all, as if expecting them to start imagining. Sizhui really can’t imagine it though. Whatever the seals must hide, every demonic cultivator has one. The only way to discover the secrets of the Shaded Sect was to join them- and no one was fool enough to try.
“Class dismissed.” The teacher says after they’ve had a moment to consider.
Sizhui, Jingyi, and the other disciples stand, bowing to their teacher, before packing up their scrolls and brushes and leaving in a quiet, orderly fashion, as befitting of Lan disciples.
“Sizhui!”
But not Lan Jingyi.
Sizhui smiles as his friend (powerwalks, not runs! I’d never run, how dare you accuse me of that!) rushes up to him, catching his shoulder.
“Jingyi.” He greets, carefully guiding him out of the way of the others.
“Sizhui.” Jingyi repeats, gripping Shizhui’s shoulder like it’s a lifeline. “You saved me. I owe you my life.”
“You got the answer right!” Sizhui soothes, patting his friend's hand. “You just answered choppily. You need to organize your thoughts more.”
“How am I meant to organize my thoughts when I get called on out of nowhere?” Jingyi groans. “Come on, quiz me real quick! Now that I'm ready for it, I’ll answer anything!”
Sizhui shakes his head, leading his friend to a small pavilion where his loud voice is less likely to bother others studying. “Okay, I’ll quiz you. Who killed Wen Rouhan?”
“The Matriarch! Removed his head, placed it on a spike with the quote from ancestor Wen written in his blood. The one about bullying while relying on your house.”
“The exact quote?”
Jingyi makes a face, but closes his eyes to recite it. "All those who oppress others and do evil relying on the power of their house should be killed. Not only that, they should be beheaded for tens of thousands to revile so that those to come would beware."
“How did the Wen weaken the clans before the war?”
“Bullied smaller sects into joining them, or being eradicated. Of the larger sects, Gusu Lan was accused of false crimes, and ordered burnt so we could rise from the ashes like a phoenix or some other such nonsense-”
“Jingyi.”
“And Yunmeng Jiang was ordered to hand over a number of omegas in tribute. Most notably the Omega Wei Wuxian, as a bride to Wen Rouhan, after his success at killing the Xuanwu of Slaughter during the indoctrination camp.” Jingyi finishes innocently. “This was disguised as strengthening sect ties. Complying with these demands stalled, but did not stop the war.”
Sizhui elects to ignore the less than professional first part of the answer, and continue on. “When was the Yin Iron Amulet first used?”
“Wen Rouhan used it to attack the Jiang Sect, nearly wiping them out despite their preparations.”
“What is the effect of a Wen Brand?”
Jingyi shudders at that question, but answers evenly. “A Wen Brand’s purpose is control. When branded, the victim’s own spiritual energy used to control their body, forcing them to obey any order the one holding the brand gives. It’s proper title would be Slave brand. The Wen used the brands on prisoners, forcing them to fight, or to serve them.”
One of the truest horrors of the war. Everyone knows that one.
“How did the Matriarch initially gain the trust of the sects?”
“By presenting the decapitated heads of Sect Heir Wen Chao, his mistress, Wang Lingjiao, and the core melter Wen Zhuliu. She also delivered news of Wei Wuxian’s death in her home, the Burial Mounds, after Wen Chao threw him in.”
“What prompted the raid on the burial mounds?”
“Madam Jiang offered a hand in friendship three years after the war, but when they met at Qiongqi path, the Matriarch betrayed them, killing first Jin Zixuan, then his wife, Jiang Yanli, and his cousin, Jin Zixun, who tried to protect her.”
“Well, you got everything right.” Sizhui says.
“Of course I did!” Jingyi exclaims, smirking proudly. “It’s just because that teacher caught me off guard! We were talking about the incomplete resentful array, not her titles! It was completely unconnected!”
Sizhui blinks at that. “You were actually paying attention?”
“Hey!” Jingyi gasps, shooting Sizhui a very betrayed look.
“Sorry, sorry!” Sizhui laughs, hands up in surrender. “It’s just that you tend to get bored easily. And we’ve been having lecture after lecture on the Matriarch, so I figured…”
“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Jingyi gasps, his offense at Sizhui’s rather rude comment completely forgotten.
“Heard what?”
“The rumors.” Jingyi whispers, leaning closer with a big grin on his face.
“…gossip is against the rules.” Sizhui reminds him. He’s happy to indulge his friend, but sometimes Jingyi needs someone to rein him in.
Jingyi scoffs, sitting straight(ish) again. “Is being well informed against the rules? I don’t want to be on a night hunt only to run right into a terrifying demon I thought had been killed years ago!”
…thought?
“What is that supposed to mean?” Sizhui asks, frowning. “The Matriarch was killed. By Sandu Shengshou.”
“Yeah. But it looks like all that talk from the demonic cultivators about reviving their goddess? Wasn't just talk.” Jingyi reports dramatically. “She’s been seen again, at the Burial Mounds. That’s why all the elders are in a tizzy, and the teachers are making sure we know about her. Hanguang-jun has been called out on night hunts a lot this past month, hasn’t he?”
Sizhui frowns. He’s not… wrong. Sizhui’s father is considered one of the most powerful cultivators of the generation. He was always fighting for justice, earning himself the title of light bearing lord. He was said to have fought against the Matriarch several times during the war, protesting her cultivation path.
Though, some of the cruder explanations were that it was simply two very powerful alphas butting heads.
And, in the end, there’s also Sizhui’s A-niang…
He reaches under his sleeves to grab the white ribbons tied to each wrist. He wasn’t sure how, or why, but his A-niang was inflicted with a yin curse. One passed on to him.
Thirteen years ago, the Matriarch had caused a massive explosion of yin energy in a final act of desperation. The effects were felt leagues away from the burial mounds, aggravating curses and corpses alike.
Thirteen years ago, Sizhui had been brought back to Gusu by his father, Hanguang-jun.
It didn’t take much to put two and two together.
“He’s back today.” Sizhui admits, releasing the ties. “Maybe we can ask him, if you’re so curious?”
Jingyi squeaks, nearly falling off the bench. “I couldn’t- Hanguang-Jun is probably busy, I shouldn’t bother him!”
Sizhui has to smile. His friend has always held an admiration for his father. Even when they were young, and Sizhui had first introduced them, Jingyi had nearly fainted with excitement over getting to meet his hero.
He had also been angry with Sizhui for not warning him, which was silly, because to him A-die was A-die. The great alpha Hanguang-jun as well, but first and foremost his A-die.
“I was going to see him after classes. He’s happy to know I have friends.” Sizhui cajoles. “Besides, you’re curious, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Then it’s settled. Come on.” Sizhui decides, standing up and taking Jingyi’s arm with him.
Jingyi protests all the way, citing rules of propriety as if he’s someone who follows them, but he doesn’t try to free himself, so Sizhui tunes him out.
If the matriarch really was back… then A-die’s recent business made sense. Very few cultivators powerful enough to face her existed. Zewu-Jun, Sandou Shengshou, and Lianfang-zun were all sect leaders, and the chief cultivator. They were busy, and couldn’t chase rumors, even one as concerning as the Matriarch’s return. Chifeng-zun had passed away years ago.
Jingyi falls silent as they approach the Jingshi, trying not to disturb the quiet peace. The lack of bashful protest let's Sizhui hear the high twang of Hanguang-jun’s Guqin- he’s home.
And playing.
Sizhui freezes on the steps to his A-die’s home.
That song… A-niang’s song.
The song Hanguang-jun wrote for a lost lover. The song he had played for Sizhui whenever they spoke of A-niang.
The last thing they have of A-niang, besides the yin-binding ties created for Sizhui. To Sizhui, A-niang is the gentle pressure of those ties, the faded memory of silver eyes and a bright smile, and the gaps in a song.
The song Hanguang-jun refuses to let anyone else hear, because A-niang never will again. The memory he defends to the point of throwing his own brother from the Jingshi when he accidentally overheard.
A song Jingyi is hearing.
“That’s pretty.” Jingyi whispers, eyes wide, unaware of Sizhui’s panic. “Do you think he’ll teach me that one?”
How could he have let himself get distracted? If there are rumors about the matriarch, and stirrings in Yin, of course A-die is going to be thinking of A-niang! Of course he’d play her song!
“Sizhui?” Jingyi whispers, tugging on his sleeve. “Sizhui, are you okay?”
“That’s… that’s A-niang’s song.”
Jingyi goes pale.
“That’s WHAT?!”
The playing stops, and Jingyi goes positively gray.
“Hey, calm down-” Sizhui tries, grabbing Jingyi’s sleeve, but it’s too late.
“Calm down? Calm down?” Jingyi hisses, backing away from the door like the Xuanwu of Slaughter itself is going to emerge from within. “Didn’t your father attack Zewu-jun when he accidentally heard a part of it? His own brother!? I’m gonna die!”
Sizhui winces. That… is true, but it’s technically Sizhui’s fault, so-
The door opens, and Sizhui’s father is staring down at them, face impassive. A tall, striking figure in flowing white robes that had even the boldest alpha cowering before his golden eyes. Hanguang-Jun, the second jade of Lan. Lan Wangji.
Sizhui swallows and bows. His father is fair. This was an accident.
“Welcome home, A-die. I apologize for interrupting.” Sizhui says, carefully. “I didn’t know you were playing, and I brought Jingyi to greet you.”
Jingyi makes a sound like a dying rodent, scrambling into a bow. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to overhear, I swear, I just had a question and Sizhui said it would be okay, I really didn’t mean to! I know you don’t like anyone hearing it!”
The silence seems to rest like a heavy weight on a trembling Jingyi’s shoulders.
“It… is fine.” Lan Wangji says finally. “It was unintentional.”
The words sink in like a stone in a pond, slowly settling into their minds. They rise from their bows, Jingyi still trembling like a leaf.
Hanguang-jun’s face is carved from jade. Still, Sizhui is better at reading it than most- and he can’t see any anger. Just tired sadness.
“Just don’t go playing it, alright?” Sizhui says, trying to break the silence.
Jingyi looks horrified. “Of course not! I’d never!”
“Then it’s fine.” Sizhui smiles, repeating his fathers words to reassure his friend.
“Mn.”
Hanguang-Jun looks to Sizhui. Then, with a swish of white robes and a beckoning hand, he turns back into the Jingshi, leaving the door open in invitation.
“Right, I’m out.” Jingyi squeaks, turning away.
“What? No you’re not, I’m not going in there alone!” Sizhui hisses, holding on tighter. His father might not be angry, but still! “Didn’t you have a question?”
“I’m not risking my life for a rumor!”
“I thought you said you owed me your life, earlier?”
Jingyi pauses, running over their conversation from after the lecture. His expression slowly shifts into one of pure, offended betrayal.
“We are no longer friends.”
“Sure.” Sizhui says, dragging Jingyi up the steps and into the Jingshi, closing the door behind them. He’ll be forgiven.
Probably.
As always, his A-die’s residence is spotless. Sizhui steps into the warm, gentle sandalwood scent, less an alpha's mark of territory and more a comforting presence. His Guqin is set up at a table, and there is a teapot gently steaming at another, where Hanguang-Jun is sitting. He wordlessly sets out two more cups as the Juniors enter, watching as they sit and arrange their robes.
“A successful night hunt, A-die?” Sizhui asks politely as his father pours tea into each cup. It smells of ginger. Sizhui’s favorite, and good for the curse besides. A-die must have been expecting him.
Something twitches in his father’s expression, but it’s so fast Sizhui can’t place the emotion before it’s gone. “Mn. You are doing well in your lectures?”
“Yes, A-die.”
Golden eyes turn to Jingyi, who stares back, a little lost. Sizhui elbows him.
“I- oh!” Jingyi’s face goes red. “Um. Going well, Hanguang-Jun.”
Lan Wangji nods, not showing any surprise at how off balance Jingyi is. “Mn. You had a question for me?”
Jingyi makes the exact same expression he did when the lecturer called him out earlier, eyes so wide Sizhui can almost see the half-formed thoughts running around his blank mind like headless chickens.
“It’s… well, our lectures have had a specific topic lately.” Sizhui tries, giving Jingyi the time to sort his thoughts. “And Jingyi overheard a rumor, that might explain why you’ve been called out on hunts so much this past month.”
“Not that I listen to rumors!” Jingyi blurts, far too loud. Sizhui takes a quiet sip of his ginger tea. He can’t save everything. “Or gossip! It’s just… I overheard some people talking about… about the Matriarch being seen again, at the Burial Mounds. And the teachers are preparing us, it feels like? So I was wondering if it was true.”
Hanguang-jun sets his cup down, the soft clink echoing in the now quiet room. He’s quiet, for a moment, which Sizhui is used to- but Jingyi is stewing in his own words.
Finally, Hanguang-Jun speaks. “I have not seen the Matriarch myself.”
Both Juniors pause, looking at each other out of the corner of their eyes.
“Is… is that a yes, or…”
Not responding to Jingyi’s question, Hanguang-Jun holds out a hand towards Sizhui. Used to this, he offers his arm, sleeve riding up to reveal his wrist and the tie wrapped around it.
Hanguang-Jun carefully unfurls the ends of the ribbon, inspecting them carefully.
“…yin energy is moving.” He says eventually. “A shift. Something is happening.”
Sizhui swallows. “Like when A-niang…”
The tense set of his A-die’s jaw silences Sizhui before he can continue. But still, the thought plays through his head- like when A-niang died.
The thin strip of white ribbon on his wrist suddenly feels far too fragile.
“Have you felt anything?”
A massive wave of Yin energy. An upset in a precarious balance. A song forever playing into silence.
“N-No. I haven’t.”
Making a low noise in the back of his throat, Hanguang-jun lets go.
Sizhui draws his arm back, gripping each wrist with the opposite hand. No wonder A-die is playing. Of course he had realized, but to feel it sink in…
What had killed his A-niang was happening again. And all that stood between Sizhui and what killed his A-niang, were these little white ribbons tied around his wrists, and his A-die’s spiritual energy.
“I have another hunt tomorrow.” Hanguang-Jun says, settling his hands back into his lap.
The fear wrapped around Sizhui’s heart coils tighter. “So soon? You just came back.”
Thin ribbons and Spiritual energy, cultivated far beyond his own, the only thing…
He wants him here. Please, stay here. Stay close. Don’t go.
“I have requested a hunt for you two.” Hanguang-jun says, voice cutting through Sizhui’s panic. Sizhui looks up at his A-die, confused.
“It is close to mine.”
Stay close. They’re staying close. In case Sizhui…
“So you’ll be there if we need you, right?” Jingyi cuts in, smiling at Sizhui. “Ah- thank you for considering me, Hanguang-jun.”
Hanguang-Jun nods to Jingyi, but his eyes are focused on Sizhui. Waiting for an answer, Sizhui realizes, shaking off the aftermath of quiet terror.
“Thank you, A-die.”
“Mn.” His eyes soften, something vulnerable appearing within. “Be careful.”
Sizhui nods, and they fall silent.
What killed his mother…
He always knew, he supposes, as Jingyi starts asking about the hunts. He always knew that the Yin energy reacted to him strangely. When the levels were high, his wrists tingled, and his A-die had always made sure he knew to never take them off. He ate less raw food and tofu than the other disciples, instead eating foods that increased his yang energy.
There had been some complaints about him getting special treatment, and Sizhui himself had been self-conscious, but it had been for the curse.
He knew that it was dangerous. He knew that he was on borrowed time, more precarious than others, he knew his A-niang had lost that balancing act, he knew that he himself had almost perished if it wasn’t for Hanguang-Jun.
But to know it, in the back of his mind, is one thing. To be confronted with it, so suddenly…
“A headless corpse with demonic cultivator influence? That sounds scary.” Jingyi is saying, eyes wide. “Not that it will be any trouble to you! I’m glad we’ve got the easy job.”
“Jin Rulan will be joining you as well.”
Jingyi makes a face, but quickly covers it up.
Sizhui hopes Jingyi will remember this, because he’s not absorbing anything.
The same thing that killed his A-niang, happening again. An all too fragile life, shattered in an instant, the broken shards hoarded jealously by a grieving man.
Sizhui knows it hurts him to take those shards out. Knows it cuts into his A-dies heart. He knows.
And yet…
“A-die? What was A-niang like?”
Jingyi falls silent, Hanguang-jun’s attention shifting away, golden eyes landing in Sizhui, jaw clenching like he’s chewing on the words that won’t come out.
A-die doesn’t talk about A-niang.
It hurts him, Sizhui’s bofu, Lan Xichen, had explained once. I don’t know any more than you. Probably less.
He does try. Sizhui knows he tries. Slow, halting words, like he had to be sure each one wouldn’t be ripped away, rubbing at his throat like it was raw from the effort, like he had screamed himself hoarse.
Sizhui knows A-niang was kind. Loud. Messy. Happy. He knows that they grew their own food, knows he got buried in the ground “so he’d grow big and strong,” knows that A-niang’s nickname for him was little radish. He knows that A-niang was a cultivator. Knows A-niang liked to draw, and play the flute.
And yet…
He doesn’t know his Mothers name.
Not his A-niangs secondary gender, or even the first, now that he thinks about it. Doesn’t know where they lived, doesn’t know his A-niangs scent. Doesn’t know how his A-die fell in love. Doesn’t know why his A-niang was never brought to Cloud Recesses, why they were left alone.
“I… I want to know.” He admits, hands clenched around his ribbons.
A final gift. To keep him alive, while A-niang died.
For a moment, no one says anything, Jingyi looking like he would like to be anywhere but here. Sizhui doesn’t want him to go. But if… if A-die wants, then…
He looks down at his lap, unsure.
“…I will do my best.” Hanguang-Jun says quietly. “Give me… a moment.”
Sizhui looks up, nearly trembling. A moment. He can wait a moment.
A hand brushes against his. Sizhui takes it, the gentle squeeze Jingyi gives him grounding and just distracting enough to stop him from vibrating out of his seat in that moment.
“Your A-niang…” Hanguang-Jun starts, the unused words clearly hard to say. And yet, he takes a breath, sets his shoulders, and speaks like the dam has been broken.
“Your A-niang was strong. Kind. Giving. Loud. Brash. Proud. Aggressive when needed. Talked too much. Talked and talked, until you could no longer hear what was being said. A brilliant mind, often outrun by a ridiculous mouth. People… took that at face value, and lost everything that was happening behind. Just as your A-niang hoped.”
He closes his eyes, and on a more open man, Sizhui would almost say he was chewing the inside of his mouth as he worked out what to say next.
“Your A-niang was the sort of person who gave everything they had like it was common courtesy, and then expected nothing in return. Life and limb put at risk for mere strangers. Opening house and home, believing the best in others, only to be betrayed, and then believing better of the next.”
He sighs, eyes opening, and the sadness within…
Sizhui has learned each and every one of his A-die’s micro expressions. But this face… it would be obvious to any oblivious observer.
“I failed your A-niang.” Hanguang-Jun says, simple and sure, like he is before the elders admitting to a great crime. “I was not there when I was needed. I should… have stayed with the two of you, at your side. Maybe then…”
He doesn’t finish the thought. Sizhui isn’t sure he has the words to finish the thought. That’s the most he’s ever heard his A-die speak about…
Letting go of Jingyi’s hand, Sizhui stands up, trying to control his trembling as he makes it to his A-die, and wraps his arms around him.
He’s stiff. Like the words were wrung out of him and he’s been left out to dry. Like he’s still tensed for pain. Still, Hanguang-Jun raises an arm, pressing Sizhui closer, for a moment forgoing all propriety.
“Thank you, A-die.” Sizhui whispers. “I’m sure, if A-niang was here, they’d say the same.”
It’s not everything he wants to know. Sizhui hadn’t missed the “they,” hadn’t missed the careful mincing of words, the way there was nothing solid at all. He still wants more.
But his A-die is all he has, and his A-die is, at the moment, an open wound, that he and Jingyi already poked at.
So Sizhui will take what he can get.
Notes:
Hey Hi did u see how I've changed the history? WWX was taken as an omega “bride” (hostage) by the wen. I will let you put two and two together. This story is about Sizhui discovering the circumstances of his birth and his A-niang’s death. Nothing explicit will happen, but it will be implied and discussed.
Chapter 2: Headless Chickens. ESPECIALLY him.
Notes:
Time jump bc I dont WANNA do the meet-up, I wanna get to the good part!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“This is stupid.”
“You’re stupid.”
Sizhui sighs, wondering if he can tune out this argument or if he needs to make sure it doesn’t escalate to physical violence.
Again.
“I should have brought fairy, because she’d be more useful than you!”
“You think a dog could read a map, idiot?”
To be fair, Sizhui can’t read this map either. It’s a mess. Understandable, perhaps, for a frightened civilian, but…
He and Jingyi were on their night hunt. They had swapped Hanguang-Jun for Jin Ling, (much to Jingyi’s displeasure) back at the nearest inn, and were now following a terribly drawn map into the middle of nowhere.
They didn’t manage half a sichen without arguing.
Sizhui had met Young Master Jin before, while accompanying Bofu to intersect meetings. He was considered a tragic child, his parents brutally killed by the Matriarch in an unprovoked attack. Raised by his uncles, Sect Leader Jin and Sect Leader Jiang.
He took his personality from the latter.
Prickly, proud, and eager to prove himself. A competent young cultivator, and yet his people skills… chafed at Jingyi. They immediately zeroed in on each other and, well, neither one of them liked backing down.
“I thought Lan were supposed to be polite?” Jin Ling scoffs, arms crossed, ponytail swishing behind him.
Jingyi smirks. “You’re right, young mistress, I apologize.”
“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” Sizhui says, quickly sliding between the mocking bow Jingyi is performing and Jin Ling, who has a hand on his sword. “We can’t waste our energy on each other, alright?”
“It’s just some minor spirits. I could probably do this on my own!” Jin Ling growls at them. “Give me the map-”
“The last time I gave it to one of you, you almost ripped it.” Sizhui sighs. “Besides, if I’m reading this right, we’re almost there. Just give it a bit more time?”
“Yeah, don’t be impatient.”
“Jingyi. Enough.”
Both disciples glare at Sizhui, but he really has had enough, so he turns back to the path they were on and keeps going. They fall in after him, silent besides the cawing of a crow in the trees and a few muttered comments.
“You’d think a town would have better roads.”
“You’d think a town would have a better map.”
“Oh, look, buildings.” Sizhui sighs, tucking the map into his sleeve. Jingyi and Jin Ling both hurry their step, eager to get the journey over with.
As they get closer, though, it’s quite clear something is wrong.
The three juniors were sent to investigate a town.
This is not a town.
“I… think I read the map wrong.” Sizhui tries, looking around at the cluster of dilapidated buildings he’s led them to.
Jin Ling huffs, holding out his hand, and Sizhui passes him the map with no further complaints.
They were told to find the small farming town that minor trickster spirits were bothering. After finding the town head, he would lead them to the families most bothered, they would hunt and remove the spirits, and return to the inn in a larger town nearby to wait for Hanguang-Jun.
This place… isn’t what they were told. It has about three standing buildings, two collapsed ones, and it looks abandoned. Not a single citizen, much less a town head. It looks like no one has been here in years.
“Can’t even read a map-”
“No, look, here! That’s the stream we walked past, and there’s the boulder-”
“That looks like an ink spill.”
“It is NOT-”
No, someone has been here. SOMETHING is here, and it’s making Sizhui’s skin crawl. Some of the supports are newly broken, unweathered wood from the splintered bits stark and obvious. There are bare spots of dead grass where something has clearly been moved, and there, on the ground, is a clearly drawn line.
It looks like blood.
“Just admit you can’t read the map either-”
Movement.
“Either implies that you also can’t read it.”
They aren’t alone.
“I meant your Shixiong, who is at least bright enough to admit he messed up- hey!”
Sizhui grabs Jingyi and Jin Ling, dragging them to the ground behind a toppled wall despite their protests.
“The hell- mmpf!”
“Quiet!” Sizhui hisses, hand over Jin Ling's mouth. “Both of you, now!”
Prickly and proud they may be. But all three of them are cultivators, trained for nighthunts just like this one. At the urgency in Sizhui’s voice, they stop struggling and go totally still.
Sizhui removes his hand, slowly shifting to look over their cover. The other two do the same, a bit slower as they have to detangle themselves, but they freeze as soon as they catch sight of what Sizhui had dragged them away from.
It’s a fierce corpse.
And it’s MASSIVE.
It stumbles out from one of the buildings, letting them get a good look. It’s wearing tattered hemp robes, the sleeves torn to ribbons. Sizhui doubts they belonged to the fierce corpse in life, because the seams are straining against the corpse’s size.
It’s massive.
The size of an ox, easily six feet tall, shoulders broad enough for all three of them to sit across.
Especially since, well, it doesn’t have a head. Instead, resentful energy billows like black smoke from the gaping wound, falling and twisting across the dusty streets.
Powerful resentful energy.
The ribbons around Sizhui’s wrists feel like they’re electrified, sparks jumping up and down his arms, Like they’re malfunctioning. Sizhui prays to any god that's listening that they aren't malfunctioning.
“You definitely read the damned map wrong.” Jin Ling hisses, like a cornered cat, claws ready to dig in wherever it can find purchase. “The hell is that thing?”
“Massive, headless fierce corpse, demonic sect influence.” Jingyi mutters under his breath. “...Sizhui didn't read the map wrong.”
“I can see it's a fierce cor- wait, what?”
Sizhui looks back at Jingyi, who has gone as pale as his robes. He looks like he might be sick. Jin Ling's eyebrows are so high on his forehead they might as well be gone.
“What do you mean he didn't read the map wrong? This isn’t our hunt! Does that look like a minor trickster spirit to you?” Jin Ling asks incredulously.
“Nope. It looks like a massive, headless fierce corpse, with demonic sect influence.” Jingyi repeats, almost a whimper. “We have the wrong map.”
Wrong map?
Jin Ling looks about two seconds from smacking Jingyi. “What do you mean, the wrong map?!”
Jingyi turns to them, gulping once, before saying, “Hanguang-jun’s hunt. I asked, and… he told me. It’s a massive, headless fierce corpse, with demonic sect influence. Sizhui led us right to where the map leads- we just have the wrong map!”
The wrong map.
Even a small town would have a decent map. And trickster spirits weren’t quite bad enough to frighten someone into forgetting how to draw directions.
But something like this…
No wonder the roads were horrible.
They have the wrong map, and the only other option is…
“We’re on a hunt meant for Hanguang-Jun.” Sizhui says, and hearing it out loud sounds like a death sentence, hanging over their heads, waiting for it all to come crashing down when the single thread it’s dangling from snaps.
“We are so dead.” Jingyi whimpers.
“I’ll say!” Chirps an unknown voice, and Jingyi screams.
Sizhui whips around, heart in his throat and a hand on his sword, to find a person.
Just, standing. Right behind them.
How had someone managed to sneak up on them? How had he gotten so close? He has a DONKEY!
“Whew, that was some volume! You’re lucky that corpse doesn’t have ears!” The man laughs, leaning casually on his donkey.
“Who are you?” Jin Ling demands, head held high. It’s impressive how quickly he’s regained his composure.
“I’m the demonic influence!” the man chirps. He’s young, but clearly an adult. Slight, no alpha for sure, so either a beta or an omega, though male ones are rare. That's no indication of strength, however. The confidence, on the other hand…
The man has a wide grin, one that closes his eyes, like he doesn’t need them, like he has no danger nearby yo keep his eyes on, like there aren’t three tense cultivators with swords barely an arms length away.
Like they aren’t a threat.
They probably aren’t.
Black and gray robes, with red trim. The unofficial colors of the Demonic Sect. A bamboo flute in one hand, the favored instrument of their musical cultivators. Taking after their matriarch. He’s not wearing a mask, which is the common mark of the sect, but he has the beaded bracelets that they wear sometimes, and hanging at his belt…
Hanging at his belt, its hair braided into a handle, is a decapitated head.
A decapitated head that is looking directly at them.
Sizhui’s grip on his sword hilt trembles, the tingling in his wrists getting worse.
“You know, this could have been very, very dangerous for you three.” The man scolds, wagging his Dizi at them. “I mean, the young masters didn’t even notice they walked straight into an array! Imagine if you had bumped into da-ge over there!”
An array?
This is getting worse by the second. Sizhui had seen a line drawn in blood, but…
“Anyways, you mentioned Hanguang-jun!” The man chirps excitedly, like this is a perfectly normal conversation to be having. “I know Hanguang-jun! We’re great friends. Now, as entertaining as you fighting Gege might be, once again, he's above your level. So, run and get Hanguang-jun, I’ll finish putting the poor guy together, and we all walk away happy, yeah?”
He’s trying to get them to leave.
Sizhui glances over his shoulder, but the fierce corpse doesn’t seem to be attacking yet. Maybe, without its head, it really can't see or hear them? He hopes that's the case. They have no chance against it, it would easily snap them in two.
But… the demonic cultivator. He said he was putting it back together. Right now, the corpse has an exploitable weakness, but if the head goes on… who knows what he’ll do with it? What he’ll be capable of doing with it?
Can they really just leave? It would be the smart decision. Demonic cultivators are unpredictable and violent. He has all the advantages- he’s been here long enough to know the lay of the land, has arrays set up, and at least one corpse to control. The disciples aren’t prepared for a fight of this magnitude.
But can they really walk away from this? Turn their backs? Bring Hanguang-jun into a fight with a completed corpse, with a cultivator that knows he’s coming?
Sizhui looks to his partners. Jingyi is trembling, but his stance is sure. Jin Ling’s jaw is set tight. Both look determined and ready.
They can’t walk away, Sizhui realizes. This demonic cultivator wants them gone for a reason, and though that reason might be because they’re little more than a nuisance, they can at least delay his plans. If they delay, then they’ll be fighting this thing at night, when it’s even more active.
Sorry, A-die, he thinks, the ribbons around his wrist still tingling. He has to do this.
The demonic cultivator sighs loudly, like he’s read their minds. “Really. The young masters are far too bold. It's dangerous here, you know? Go get Hanguang-jun.”
“And lead him into a trap?” Jingyi asks, drawing his sword. “I don’t think so.”
The demonic cultivator sighs again, bringing a hand up to rub at his nose. “Aiyah… I said we’re friends, didn’t I?”
He looks up, looking quite exasperated, before his eyes latch on something behind them.
“I did tell you to leave, you know? I’d dodge.”
Dodge?
“CORPSE!” Jingyi shouts, leaping to the side as a clawed arm strikes where he just was.
Oh, right. Massive headless fierce corpse.
They scatter, Jin Ling shouting a curse as it follows behind him.
“It can’t see or hear! Get behind things, trip it up!” Sizhui shouts, drawing his sword and leaping after them.
Jin Ling hops over a fallen support beam, then dives to the side, sending the corpse flailing. Sizhui and Jingyi strike with their swords, but don’t do much damage before they’re forced away.
The sound of a flute cuts through the air.
“So off-key.” Jingyi grumbles, before shouting, “You’re a horrible flute player!”
The demonic cultivator makes his flute shriek in offense, before getting back to his song.
“Here!” Jin Ling shouts, vaulting a wall, which immediately crumbles under the corpse’s weight.
Sizhui and Jingyi leap to meet it, their swords striking against the forearms of the corpse. The blades, sharp as they are, barely dig in, no matter how hard either side pushes.
“It’s… too strong!” Jingyi grunts, slowly sliding back across the dusty ground. “Can’t-”
The corpse shoves them away, their feet leaving the ground with the force. Sizhui twists to land on his feet, barely getting his sword up in time…
For nothing?
“It’s after him again!” Jingyi shouts, bringing his blade up to attack.
It’s true- the corpse seems to dislike Jin Ling a great deal. Though it takes swipes at both of the Lan disciples, Jin Ling has to employ every bit of evasive maneuvers he’s capable of.
“Something on his clothes? A talisman it can sense?” Sizhui tries, rummaging in his robes. If that’s right, then…
He pulls a talisman from his sleeve, quickly checking that he has the right one.
Leaping forwards, Sizhui puts himself between Jin Ling and the incoming corpse, shoving the talisman onto the chest of the creature.
“Look away!” He shouts, closing his eyes as the talisman lights up and explodes.
It causes no damage- but that’s not what it’s meant to do. It’s meant to be loud and flashy and draw attention in any way possible. Sizhui leaps back, pulling Jin Ling around a wall and into Jingyi.
“What was that?”
“Spiritual flare.” Sizhui admits, looking around the wall. The corpse looks disoriented enough... “It’s not tracking by sound or scent, so it’s energy. A large amount, detonated right on its chest, might distract it for long enough.”
Jingyi makes a small noise of understanding, but it can barely be heard over the wild shriek of the flute, picking up again.
Shaking his head, Sizhui turns to Jin Ling. “Do you have anything on you it might be able to sense?”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Jin Ling snaps. “Who would go night hunting with something like that?”
“Maybe it can sense his prissy aura.” Jingyi suggests.
Jin Ling whips around, taking a breath that’s sure to turn into a yell, but Sizhui grabs their shoulders. “Not now. Please.”
They settle, but not without a mutinous glare.
Sizhui, meanwhile, is eyeing the bow on the shoulder he had grabbed. Jin Ling is a good shot- he had trained with Sandou Shengshou, after all, in the Jiang Sect. They are known for their archery, necessary to hunt waterfowl.
The flute is STILL playing.
“Young Master Jin. If we can get the corpse off you, do you think you could get a shot at the Cultivator?” Sizhui asks. “Or, at the very least, disrupt the song?”
Jin Ling blinks, but then nods determinedly. “I can.”
“Good. Stay on the roofs, the corpse is too heavy and blind to balance.” Sizhui suggests. “The less control the cultivator has, the better. Has anyone seen the array?”
“I think so.” Jingyi hums. “I might be able to mess it up? I’ll do my best, anyway.”
“Right. Then, the corpse…”
The corpse falls to Sizhui.
He looks down at his sword, his hand gripping the blade, the cloth of his sleeves that hides the ribbons, still tingling.
Can he really fight it? Alone? Even as a distraction, even for however long the others need?
“Oi.” Jin Ling grunts, nudging him back to reality. “The cultivator said he was putting the corpse back together. That doesn’t just mean the head. There’s a seam all around it’s shoulder- maybe it’s a weak point? If it was completely dismembered…”
He trails off, but Sizhui can finish the thought. If the more it was put together, the stronger it got, then it stood to reason that the more it was taken apart, the weaker it got. That means that all Sizhui had to do, was-
“Break the seam.” Sizhui nods. “Thank you, Young Master Jin.”
“Just don’t die.” Jin Ling huffs.
The stomp of rapidly approaching feet registers just in time.
“Move!” Jingyi shouts, as the corpse smashes through the wall. The juniors all scatter, Jin Ling leaping up, Jingyi to the outskirts of the buildings, and Sizhui to the side of the corpse.
He throws another flare into its chest, because it seemed to work well enough last time, before driving the point of his blade into the corpse’s shoulder.
There- Jin Ling was right! There, along the muscle of the creature, is a clearly visible line- a breaking point. It’s held together by a thin glue of resentful energy. If Sizhui can cut through the rest, then they might be able to take this creature on!
He barely gets the time to think that before the corpse slashes at him, and he’s forced to leap away.
The corpse is fast, and strong enough that a single strike could be deadly. But Sizhui can tell the difference between its attacks on him and its attacks on Jin Ling- they’re slower, wilder, less focused. Still, he has to throw another flare after only a few moments, the loud pop cutting through the sharp melody.
Suddenly, the flute music that had been constantly playing comes to an abrupt stop, the sharp whistle of an arrow replacing it. “Hey! Rude!” Shouts the demonic cultivator.
Sizhui backs away from the wildly flailing corpse, looking towards Jin Ling and the Demonic cultivator. The man has stopped playing, at least, too busy ducking and dodging the sword coming for his head.
He’s good, Sizhui realizes in despair, as the demonic cultivator spins around Jin Ling’s unprotected side, and smacks him on the head with his flute.
“Really, it’s terrible etiquette to attack someone in the middle of a song.” The cultivator scolds, shaking his instrument like a scolding finger. “Did your mother never teach you manners?”
Sizhui can see Jin Ling freeze up, but he doesn’t get the chance to reply, as a flash of bright red light erupts all around them, accompanied by a victorious shout and annoyed braying. A massive circle, encompassing all the buildings and streets, flares once, before shattering into a million tiny pieces, and the fierce corpse stops twisting, falling still.
Jingyi runs back into view, pursued by a very unimpressed donkey.
“Did you just break the array?” The demonic cultivator shouts, thrown off for the first time. “Why would you do that!?”
Jingyi leaps onto a roof to escape the donkey, smirking through labored breaths. “Because it was helping you, wasn’t it? We need the advantage!”
Before the demonic cultivator can reply, the headless corpse leans back… and bellows.
There's really no other word for it. No throat, no vocal chords, just death-stiffened flesh contracting, forcing air and dark energy out in an endless shockwave of sound, rattling their eardrums and seeming to have a physical force.
The donkey flees, Jingyi topples off his perch, and Jin Ling is forced to his knees. Sizhui feels like his wrists are on fire- this is worse, this is so much worse, he had no idea a corpse could get this bad! What had happened to it?
Wasn’t destroying the array supposed to make things better for them? Tilt the scales in their favor?
The corpse stops, finally, slumping forwards, a moment of silent anticipation. Then, it leaps forwards, the ground cracking under where it used to be, headed right for-
“Jin Ling!”
“MOVE, KID!”
CRASH!
The building Jin Ling and the demonic cultivator were on crumbles under the weight of the corpse, splintered wood and screams flying through dusty air.
“Jin Ling!” Sizhui shouts, running towards the collapsed building.
He doesn’t have much time to worry. The demonic cultivator stumbles out from the cloud of dust, dragging a struggling Jin Ling by the arm, though the demonic cultivator quickly releases him in favor of worriedly running their hands over their belt.
“Damnit, I lost the head… dumb kids shattering the repression array, I TOLD them to leave!”
Repression array?
They were fighting a Repressed corpse?! But it was so strong!
Sizhui shakes his head of the thought, dropping to his knee by a stunned Jin Ling. “Are you alright?”
“The head talks.” Jin Ling blurts, eyes wide, a trail of blood dripping from his temple. “What the hell, the head talks.”
“I think he hit his head.” Jingyi diagnoses, shifting his sword to his other hand so he can sling Jin Ling’s arm over his shoulder. “Come on, we have to leave. We don't stand a chance. Your head, Sizhui’s wrists…”
“What about his wrists?” Jin Ling asks, apparently getting ahold of himself and supporting his own weight. Jingyi lets him go, looking at Sizhui from the corner of his eyes.
He looks guilty, which is ridiculous, because Sizhui was the one to point out the array as a target in the first place. Still, Jingyi is right. They didn’t stand a chance before, and they certainly didn’t stand a chance now.
They have to leave. At the very least, whatever the demonic cultivator was planning to do with the array won't happen. They have to escape with their lives, get Hanguang-jun-
There’s a clatter of wood and the whistle of air, a low growl the only warning they get before the corpse is already too close, too fast for them to block, or dodge, no way to survive-
The sound of a flute pierces through a sudden stillness.
Nothing but dust moves, the Juniors breath caught in their chests, a trembling, black-clawed hand so close to Jin Ling’s face he’s gone cross eyed. And, the corpse…
It’s frozen still, only a few twitches betraying the strength of the body. Resentful energy and dust settles around it, the moist, uncanny coolness of its aura and stench hitting the juniors full force as they stumble back and gasp in fear.
The flute plays on.
Slowly, still twitching, the corpse draws its arm back, turning towards the demonic cultivator, whose eyes are glowing red and fixated on the corpse, which slowly starts to walk towards him, its body clearly struggling with every step.
The song…
The corpse takes a step forward.
Sizhui knows this song.
The demonic cultivator takes a step back.
Sizhui knows this song, not on a dizi, but a guqin. Not in a dusty, abandoned village, but in the jingshi.
A hand grabs Sizhui’s elbow.
“Come on!” Jin Ling hisses, tugging insistently. “Come on, we have to get out of here. Let the corpse and the demonic duke it out, we’ve disrupted the array. What's gotten into you two?”
“That song.” Jingyi says dumbly, looking just as shell shocked as Sizhui feels. “Sizhui, tell me that's not what I think it is.”
“What about the song?” Jin Ling asks, but Sizhui can’t pay any attention to him.
That song.
That song has been played to him so many times he has it memorized, even in the wheezy, off-key way it’s played on a poorly made instrument. He has the haunted look in golden eyes that comes with it memorized as well. That song has a weight behind it, grief and memory kept alive through a silent vigil.
It’s sacred.
And this demonic cultivator is playing it to a dead body. A fierce corpse. One that doesn’t even have the ears to appreciate the last piece of Sizhui’s A-niang he has.
“That’s my A-niang’s song.” Sizhui whispers, watching as the corpse and the cultivator slowly move away. “That's… that’s NOT YOURS!”
“Sizhui, NO!”
It’s too late. Sizhui bolts past the corpse, not really caring about how stupid this is as he draws his sword.
Red eyes widen, and then disappear as the cultivator ducks under his blade, the song still playing.
Sizhui strikes again, but the cultivator just twists out of the way, spinning and playing and leaping away, like this is a game.
“Stop.” Sizhui orders, panting, as the demonic cultivator lands on a half-collapsed wall, still playing. “Stop playing that song! It’s not yours!”
The cultivator makes a face at Sizhui.
An arrow strikes his chest.
The flute wheezes in surprise, the notes stopping for a half second, and Sizhui looks behind him to see Jin Ling nocking another arrow, face cold.
The second arrow isn’t needed.
Like that brief moment of distraction was all it took, the corpse roars a final bellow, overpowering the notes of the flute, turns, and runs.
“Hey- no, get back here!” The cultivator shouts, finally- finally!- dropping the flute.
He starts after the fleeing corpse, but Sizhui has a blade to his throat before he can make it very far.
The demonic cultivator freezes, now-silver eyes the only thing moving. Sizhui meets them dead on, not bothering to look as Jin Ling and Jingyi come to flank them. No. No, he has questions. Starting, of course, with; “Where did you learn that song.”
The demonic cultivator widens his eyes and tilts his head, a clear mockery of innocence. “What song?”
“The song you were just playing!” Jingyi shouts, glaring. “Don’t play dumb.”
“Can’t play dumb if I don’t know what's going on.” The demonic cultivator sighs, shrugging. “Really. It’s just a song.”
“It is not just a song!” Sizhui insists, his sword trembling.
The demonic cultivator backs away, hands raised. “Hey! I don’t know anything about it, okay? Be mad at the person who played it for me! They never said anything about it being special.”
“Who played it for you?” Jingyi asks, his own sword at the man’s throat.
The demonic cultivator widens his eyes, even further, playing up his innocence, and points over his shoulder to where his mount seems to be chewing unconcernedly on a piece of roof. “The donkey taught it to me!”
Sizhui might actually kill him.
“Tell me where you learned my A-niang’s song.” Sizhui demands, forcing his hand steady as he moves the edge of his blade to the man’s throat. “No one knows that song. Absolutely no one. So where did you hear it?”
There's no way he can know it.
“Is it against your three thousand rules?” The cultivator asks, continuing to be completely unbothered by the sharp blades at his neck. “Really, no one told me anything. Who is your A-niang? Is she going to be mad at the person who played it for me? Because it was Hanguang-jun, and he never told me there was anything special about it. Blame him!”
Hanguang-jun? A-die?
“Why would Hanguang-jun play it for you?” Jingyi scoffs. “You’re clearly lying.”
“Well, he did.” The demonic cultivator insists. “Years and years ago. I told you we were friends, didn't I?”
Years and years ago.
“A-die… played the song for you?” Sizhui checks, taking a step back.
The cultivator startles, staring. “Lan Zhan is your A-die? Wait- wasn’t this song your A-niang’s?”
A song written for his A-niang.
Sizhui looks the cultivator up and down, seeing him in a whole new light. He looks confused- lost. He really doesn’t know anything about the song.
Silver eyes, untamed, wavy hair. A slight figure, probably an omega. A-die never did mention A-niang’s gender or presentation. As a matter of fact, he went out of his way to avoid indicating it, even as everyone else assumed female, as it was the most likely gender. Omegas often meant mating bonds, and Hanguang-jun’s neck was bare.
But now… this omega, insisting that he knew Hanguang-jun, that they were friends, even though they hadn't seen each other in years and years…
“A-die wrote the song for my A-niang.” Sizhui says slowly, lowering his sword. “He wont… he won't play it for anyone but me, anymore.”
The cultivator blinks at him. “He… wrote it?”
That confusion isn’t faked. Jingyi’s sword follows Sizhui’s away from the man's neck, settling into less threatening positions. Their eyes meet, less of a conversation and more mutual understanding of the others confusion.
He looks young, but maybe…
“You didn’t… have a son, did you?” Jingyi checks, looking back to the demonic cultivator.
There's no way.
“I-” The demonic cultivator swallows, looking between them before locking on Sizhui. “I had… I had my A-yuan, but…”
The breath is punched out of Sizhui’s lungs. A-yuan. His birth name.
This can’t be real.
“No.” the man continues, shaking his head. “No, no, he’s dead. My A-yuan… he died, thirteen years ago. There's no way he could have survived the raid. Even if he survived the massacre, and the spite sphere, the energy explosion… the curse… there's no way he could have survived. He’s dead.”
He’s still shaking his head, but his eyes are locked on Sizhui. Like he can’t dare to hope. Sizhui can’t dare to hope either… They need proof.
Sizhui nearly drops his sword in his haste to sheathe it, Jingyi taking the blade as soon as he’s able.
Pulling up his left sleeve, Sizhui lets the end of the ribbon tied to his wrist fall free. “This… This binds a yin curse.” He explains, holding out his arm. The man reaches out, not grabbing it, just lightly turning the flat side towards him so he can read the inscriptions. “One I inherited from my A-niang. My name is Lan Yuan, courtesy Lan Sizhui.”
The cultivator’s hand shakes.
“You can’t seriously believe this.” Jin Ling says, skeptical. “He probably overheard the song from… a spirit, or something. You can’t really believe he’s your long-lost A-niang, can you?”
Sizhui doesn’t know what to think. He knows this can’t be happening, all logic says it can’t be happening.
But… if his A-niang was a demonic cultivator, of course A-die wouldn’t talk about it, and the Yin curse made sense too… even that old story, about how he had been brought to Gusu Lan, made sense.
Still, he has to be sure.
“My name is Lan Yuan, but my A-niang had a nickname for me.” He says, taking his wrist back from the omega’s inspection. He looks up at him, and Sizhui is struck again by silver eyes… he remembers silver eyes. “What was it?”
If this person can tell him that, then…
“Little radish.” The man says, his voice breaking, and Sizhui nearly collapses. “I called my A-yuan little radish, because… because I would bury him in the garden with the other radishes. So that he’d grow big and strong.”
It’s really happening.
The man- no, his A-niang, laughs, wet with tears. “And, I mean, it must have worked! I… look at you! Look at…”
He trails off, shaking his head in disbelief.
“A-niang.” Sizhui whispers.
A-niang’s next laugh is nearly a sob. “A-yuan…”
The name digs into Sizhui’s chest like a spell, and he nearly launches himself forwards, falling into his A-niang’s arms. Trembling hands wrap around him, one on his shoulder and one on the back of his head, pulling him closer against a warm body. His nose is in his A-niang’s neck, and for the first time in thirteen years…
Ginger.
Chili spice.
Iron.
It hits him like a physical blow, tears welling in his eyes as they both fall to their knees. All children can recognise the scent of their birth parent. It’s their first memory, the one thing that will always keep them safe. This really is his A-niang… this is what he had missed, this is what he remembered. Warmth and care and home, a spicy scent and bright, silver eyes, crushing a smaller, grubbier, laughing body against a similarly laughing chest.
He was so much bigger, when Sizhui was small. So much taller.
“A-niang.” Sizhui whimpers, thirteen years vanishing in an instant, until he’s just a kit again, cuddling into his mother’s arms for comfort. “A-niang.”
“A-yuan.” His A-niang whispers right back, arms squeezing even tighter. “Little radish, baobei, A-yuan… you’re alive. You’re alive, he saved you!”
He pushes Sizhui back, still clutching at him with both hands, touching his shoulders, his face, his hair, like he has to make sure he’s real. “Look at you! You’re a right little Lan! You can cultivate, and so well! You’re so tall! You…”
Trailing off into disbelieving chuckles, Sizhui’s A-niang reaches up to brush at his face. They’re crying, Sizhui realizes, both of them are. Sizhui thinks he can be forgiven, though. His A-niang, the person he had lost as a child, was back, he had found him!
“You’re alive.” A-niang whispers, thumb running back and forth over Sizhui’s cheek. “How- how are you alive?”
Sizhui reaches up to grip his A-niang’s wrist, wanting to hold, greedy for every touch. “I don’t know everything. A-die was badly injured in the attack from the Matriarch. He was taken back to Cloud Recesses to heal. According to Bofu, when A-die woke up and heard the matriarch’s death had released a wave of yin energy, he disappeared, only to return with me.”
Wounds torn open, half feral, and desperate, from what Sizhui has heard, but that’s not helpful information.
“He saved you.” A-niang says, and the wonder on his face blooms all the greater. “He… oh, Lan Zhan… A-yuan.”
Sizhui is tugged back against his A-niangs chest, going willingly into the scent of spice and warmth. This time, with the scent of old blood, he feels the quiet thrum of something resentful… the curse. He has it too. And yet, it’s bent away from Sizhui, carefully pulled aside, in the same and yet opposite way A-die will push spiritual energy towards him.
He still has so many questions, but he’s almost afraid to ask them. He wants to bury himself in spice scent and never come out. He wants to ask and ask and ask, but he’s not sure how to say the words.
Jin Ling seems to have an idea, though.
“What is Hanguang-jun’s mate doing with demonic cultivation?” He asks, bow still in hand. Sizhui suddenly realizes there’s the scent of blood, too, on his A-niang’s shoulder. He had been shot. They had shot him. “Why did you attack us?!”
“Attack you?” A-niang blinks, silver gaze leaving Sizhui for the first time to frown at Jin Ling. “Who said I attacked you? I told you to leave. Multiple times!”
He… had, hadn’t he? Sizhui had assumed it was false camaraderie while trying to remove distractions, but… the demonic cultivator had said, several times, that it was dangerous for them, and to go fetch Hanguang-jun.
Jin Ling looks a little disbelieving, though. “So why were you playing while it attacked us? You must have been guiding it, it’s blind and deaf!”
A-niang sighs, reaching to the side to pull out his flute, holding it up for the juniors to see. “Look at this thing. It's a makeshift dizi I made with a blunt knife. I’ve been cultivating it for maybe two weeks?”
It is a bit lopsided, Sizhui supposes, trying to wipe his snot away while they’re distracted. The ends are ragged from being snapped and hollowed, and the holes don’t line up properly.
“While I appreciate your belief in my skill,” A-niang continues, “I’m nowhere near what I used to be. There’s no way I can control a deaf, massive, sword spirit infused, raging-at-his-murder Alpha Sect Leader with this, even before you three showed up and started aggravating him. And breaking my array.”
Jingyi looks away, wincing. “I’m sorry…”
“Aiyah, don’t be.” A-niang scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. “If I really was your enemy, that would have been the smart move- I had control over the area, and it was affecting your opponent. Just check the characters next time, yeah?”
Jingyi nods, then something seems to register in his mind, as he freezes. “Wait- did you say murdered sect leader? That thing is a…”
Jin Ling and Jingyi whip around to look into the woods where the corpse had vanished, mouths open with horror.
Sizhui, meanwhile, is doing some quick mental math. A dead sect leader. A murdered sect leader. It wasn’t wearing any trappings of a sect, only in a pair of ragged hemp trousers. How old was it? Corpses could be preserved for a long time. Of course, many had died in the war, and there were a few natural and accidental among the smaller sects afterwards, but murdered? And decapitated? There were some rumors about Jin Guangshan’s death, but…
Sizhui’s blood runs cold. A decapitated sect leader. Hadn’t this just been in a lecture?
“That's not… Wen Rouhan, is it?”
“What? Oh, dianxia, no!” A-niang gasps, looking disgusted by the very thought. “No, no, his body got minced by the matriarch. Not decapitation, but rather the head is all that was left, in his case.”
He says it with gleeful relish, eyes flashing red for just a moment before the silver comes back. Sizhui sees Jingyi heave a sigh of relief, and has to agree. Wen Rouhan’s fierce corpse… would not be fun. For anyone involved.
“No, that’s Chifeng-zun, the former Sect Leader Nie.” A-niang announces casually.
…What?!
Chifeng-zun had died a few years after the matriarch’s death. Sizhui was only six, but he could remember his Bofu’s grief. Zewu-jun was distraught. But, murdered?
“Sect Leader Nie died of a natural Qi Deviation, didn’t he?” Jingyi asks, voicing Sizhui’s own question.
Jin Ling huffs, nodding his agreement. “And he wasn’t decapitated!”
A-niang rolls his eyes. “Of course you think that. That's why he’s back, because no one figured it out, and he’s understandably a little pissed. He’s even MORE pissed because his corpse got dismembered, which is rude, and it’s taken forever to struggle back together. Fortunately, I managed to restore his consciousness! Anyways, I was trying to put the head back on him when I realized I didn’t have any thread or a sewing needle, so-”
He pauses, staring into nowhere with a horrified look in his eyes. Sizhui watches in concern.
“...A-niang?”
“The head.” his A-niang whispers. “I dropped the head!”
In a flurry of motion, the omega leaps from the ground, scrambling to reach the collapsed building that he had lost the head into.
Jin Ling, Jingyi, and Sizhui glance between each other, a little dumbstruck, before scrambling after him.
Notes:
Jingyi: “what if it can sense his prissy aura?”
Jin Ling: “that is obviously not whats happening.”
NMJ’s corpse, sensing the Jin in him:
Chapter 3: A-niang, what happened to you?
Notes:
This work is going to be so dialogue heavy btw anyway have a talking head
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The collapsed building was a mess.
It might have been able to handle two light-footed cultivators, but the oversized, ungainly fierce corpse? It had crushed it, snapping wooden beams and bamboo poles like twigs.
“Da-ge!” Sizhui’s A-niang calls, kicking a bamboo pole aside. “Da-ge! Are you alive- no, no you’re not, you’re a head. Um, did you get smashed like a watermelon? Please tell me you didn't get smashed like a watermelon. That would be suboptimal.”
“Gross.” Jingyi shudders.
“Shush, I'm trying to listen.” A-naing scolds him, tilting his head. Sizhui listens carefully too- Jin Ling had blurted something about it talking, so maybe it would call to them?
A muffled shout comes from the debris, and A-niang hops over, grinning madly.
“Da-ge! You didn’t get squashed!”
His words end with a grunt of effort, as he tries to move an old support. He’s not having a great deal of luck, as it’s trapped under most of the other debris, and also looks to be one of the more solid pieces of wood.
“Here, A-niang.” Sizhui says, quickly coming over to help. By virtue of association with Jingyi, he has often reaped the benefits of being made to stand on his hands for hours, and so has little trouble lifting the beam out of the way.
His A-niang makes a surprised little noise, blinking at the beam in Sizhui’s hands, before he sighs.
“Of course I can’t lift it, I’m deteriorating,” he grumbles, dropping to his knees and wriggling under the rubble. “Of COURSE Lan Zhan would teach him how to pick up houses, of course I am just an underfed itty-bitty twig armed- Oh hey!”
A-niang pops out from under the wood, hair a mess, grinning brightly and holding the decapitated head that is allegedly the late Sect Leader Nie up for them to see. “Got him!”
The head blinks at them, eyes flicking from one to the other in confusion. Yep, it’s definitely alive, Sizhui thinks, letting the beam back down. And, the strong nose and brow, the jaw… it does fit what little he remembers about meeting Chifeng-zun when he was younger, despite the decidedly odd hairstyle the head has been given, looped for ease of carrying, as A-niang is demonstrating.
“Why are they helping you? What did I miss?” The head asks bluntly, Jingyi squeaking in shock.
“It talks!”
“I told you it did!” Jin Ling glares, arms crossed in offense.
“He can hear you.” Chifeng-zun’s head remarks dryly. “And would like an answer to the question.”
“Da-ge.” A-niang says seriously, flipping the head around to face him. “Da-ge, you will never believe this. I almost don’t believe this.”
“When it comes to you and your bullshit, I’ll believe anything.” The head replies, tired and long-suffering.
A-niang flips the head around again, pointing him at Sizhui. “Do you see that?”
The head’s dead eyes flick up and down Sizhui, evidently lost as to what he’s meant to be looking at. “A Lan disciple?”
“I MADE that.” A-niang says, bouncing lightly on his toes, the head bouncing with him.
The head blinks. Looks Sizhui up and down again. Draws its eyebrows together.
“...what?”
“That's my son!” A-niang squeals, turning the head around so he can look it in the eyes again. “My a-yuan! My erzi! My little radish! I birthed him, and he’s alive, and he’s here, by Dianxia, he’s amazing. I made him. Look at him. He’s perfect.”
The head gets turned around again, looking even more flabbergasted than before. Sizhui takes pity on it- him? And bows politely, hoping it hides his blush.
“This one is Lan Yuan, courtesy Lan Sizhui, son of Hanguang-jun and, um. Him?” Sizhui finishes, a little unsure. He still doesn’t have a name.
“He’s alive.” A-niang whispers, with the air of someone who has found their new favorite words in the whole world.
“Hanguang-jun’s kid.” The head says slowly, before picking up speed. “That's where he- you? That makes so much sense- wait, no it doesn’t. What the fuck?”
“I know!” A-nang says, turning the head around once more.
“Oi, put me down, quit turning me all over the place!” The head snaps. “What! How did he even- what?”
A-niang sets the head down on the remains of the building, dropping to sit on the ground so he’s on an eye level with it. Sizhui and the other disciples follow, carefully organizing their robes.
“That’s your son.” The head repeats, staring at Sizhui in utter disbelief. “He lived. Wangji took him in. Hanguang-jun’s son is your son. I’ve met your son. My life is a lie.”
“You’re dead.” A-niang points out, which earns him a withering glare. “What? Your life is kind of a lie. You’re dead, and my son is alive. He’s alive.”
He turns to Sizhui, still looking amazed no matter how many times he says it. “You’re alive.”
“You’re alive!” Sizhui parrots, nearly laughing through the words. He’s just as giddy as his A-niang. “How are you here? I thought…”
“We all thought you died.” Jingyi finishes, when Sizhui trails off.
Sizhui’s A-niang winces, reaching up to rub at his chest. “Ah. Well. You would technically be correct? About that?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Jin Ling asks, eyes narrowed. His hand hasn’t left his bow, Sizhui realizes, a little unsure- but then what his A-niang just said registers.
They thought he died. And they were… correct?
“Well.” A-niang says, still rubbing his chest. “I, uh, definitely did die. Stabbed, right in the chest, lots of blood, all the fun stuff. I didn’t… didn’t survive the raid.”
Dead.
Sizhui doesn’t understand.
Sure, ghosts and corpses and spirits exist. But… but he had felt the warmth. Had buried his face in a neck with a pulse and a working scent gland. And the wound from the arrow- it was bleeding, earlier. There was a heart, pumping blood, Sizhui knew because he had been pressed up against it.
“Are you possessing someone?” Jin Ling asks, reaching for his quiver.
“No!” A-niang yelps, waving his hands in front of himself wildly. “I’m not! This is my body! My original body, thank you very much! I just… fixed the hole in it.”
The juniors stare at him in varying degrees of horror and confusion, and he huffs, reaching for his collar. “You wanna see?”
“Oh, don't show them-”
A-niang pulls his tunics apart, baring his chest. Jingyi squeaks in shock. Sure, he’s a man, but an omega’s bare chest- or any bare chest, is incredibly inappropriate! But A-niang just laughs, tapping the area he was rubbing at earlier.
There, right between his ribs, is an old, old wound. Sizhui would say it’s a scar, except… It's strangely dark. Deep, deep red, like dried blood, but moving like skin as his A-niang breathes.
It’s not the only thing though. As A-niang closes his tunics, Sizhui sees something else- another old scar, but this one in a pattern he recognizes.
A Wen Brand. Or, as it’s come to be known, a slave brand.
Sizhui looks away, clenching his jaw. Right. Many demonic cultivators followed the Matriarch after being freed from prison camps set up by the wen. His A-niang… must be one of those.
He had known, before, that his A-niang suffered. A-die said the world was cruel to him. But to see the evidence… the scarred chest, the talk of death, the proof of death…
“Now that I have bared my mortal wound to you, Young Master.” A-niang says dramatically, nodding to Jin Ling, “May I have your trust?”
“How are you here, then?” Jin Ling glares, raising his nose into the air, the very picture of a haughty young master.
A-niang shrugs. “Lots of things are stirring. I had some unfinished business, and an opportunity. I’m not strong enough to return on my own, or even hold my own body together- I need something else. Something stronger.”
Things are stirring. A wave of Yin energy. What was it that A-die had said? A shift.
Jingyi shoots Sizhui a meaningful look, like he wouldn’t have already made the connection.
The Matriarch.
“You followed the damned Fox.” Jin Ling growls. He must have heard those rumors too. His hand clenches around his bow, trembling slightly. “The Fox brought you back with her. Her power is supporting you.”
“...well, that’s Chifeng-zun’s resentment, technically.” A-niang admits, waving a careless hand at the head. “But… yeah. I grabbed a fox tail and ended up back here.”
“She really is back?” Sizhui checks.
“Mm-hmm.” A-niang nods. “Wen Ning, too. I’ve seen him.”
“The Ghost General?” Jin Ling shouts, leaping to his feet. “He was destroyed! Zufu destroyed him!”
“Evidently not.” the head grumbles.
A-niang shrugs. “He’s covered in chains, though. Something’s definitely up with him, but not destroyed, as near as I can tell. Poor guy. Oh! He’ll be excited to see a-yuan too!”
Jin Ling shudders, his breath heavy and angry. Sizhui can understand why. When talking about the matriarch, Jin Ling’s family is often brought up- the violent misstep of the fox that led to the raid.
His parent’s deaths.
“Jin Ling…”
“Shut up.” Jin Ling growls, turning his back on them. “Just… shut up.”
They do, giving Jin Ling his moment of quiet. Sizhui can understand. He knows Jin Ling, knows how deeply he’s felt the loss of his parents. To see Sizhui be reunited with his, and then reminder after reminder of those that killed them…
“Jin Ling?” A-niang says quietly, less like he’s calling the name and rather checking how the words feel in his mouth. “Not… Not Jin Rulan?”
“Don’t call me that.” Jin Ling snaps, whirling on Sizhui’s A-niang. “I hate that stupid name-”
“You’re her boy.” A-niang interrupts, looking slightly horrified. “I- Oh, bloody streets of ghost city itself, I’m so sorry. What I said earlier…”
Jin Ling takes a deep, shaky breath, looking like he’d very much like to yell, but not sure what words to put to his anger quite yet.
“I’m sorry.” A-niang says, looking to the ground. “I… I had no idea. Your mother… she was- Agh!”
Whatever Jin Ling’s mother was, it gets cut off in a choked gagging noise, A-niang’s eyes going wide and his hand reaching for his own throat.
“A-niang!” Sizhui shouts, horrified, scrambling to his side and grabbing his shoulder. What happened? Why was-
Oh.
Red, glowing characters that looked almost like they had been drawn in blood, rising from A-niang's neck, stand on what was only a few moments earlier pale and unmarked skin.
The secret-binding seal. A demonic art of the Matriarch herself.
The seal stops glowing, and A-niang leans back, the still visible characters printed neatly onto the skin in handwriting that Sizhui immediately despises.
“Ow.” He whimpers. “I swear, those did not used to be so damn painful.”
“Are you okay?” Sizhui asks, a little desperate. He’s only just found him again. He’s learned so much, in such a short amount of time- his A-niang suffered. And every instinct, young and unpresented as he is, is screaming at him to protect and care for his A-niang.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” A-niang says, patting Sizhui’s hand, before looking apologetically at Jin Ling. “Anyways, as I was saying, before being oh so rudely interrupted,” (he’s going to try again?!) “Your mother was a kind woman. The world is crueler without her in it, and I apologize for disrespecting her with my stupid, stupid mouth.”
Jin Ling sets his jaw. “And why should I believe you? You exist because of the Matriarch. Because of my mothers MURDERER. You have a seal that she places on her loyal children. You call the Ghost General like he’s a friend! You returned with the Matriarch, like a loyal fucking dog-”
“Do not call me a dog!” A-niang hisses, looking quite offended. Why that offended him, and not the rest, is a mystery to Sizhui. “I am loyal to no one but myself. And I despise the Matriarch.”
Jin Ling, who had been opening his mouth to shout something, stops in his tracks.
“Her actions have caused countless deaths, countless tragedies. Her foolishness has caused pain and suffering.” A-niang spits out, raising a hand to press it to his forehead. He looks exhausted. “I follow the shaded path, and will not deny that. But that does not mean I trust the Matriarch. She is proud and cruel and a liar and a fool. What happened that day… the days after that…”
He shakes his head, keeping eye contact with Jin Ling. “No one wanted that. Wen Ning… Wen Ning never wanted to kill, not once, alive or dead. She turned him into a weapon. Once he came out of it… he was horrified. We all were.”
“A-niang…” Sizhui whispers, unsure what to do. Something like this… It might trip the seal again. But he obviously wants to speak.
“No one wanted that.” A-niang repeats. “The Matriarch is, indirectly, responsible for the raid. She could have stopped it. Could have saved us. My friends… my comrades… my son, I believed. And me.”
The Matriarch, responsible.
Sizhui had never thought of it like that. The demonic cultivators that were left seemed to worship her. But then again… the people in the burial mounds were those she was pretending to protect, weren’t they? If they didn’t want the fighting…
Jin Ling meets A-niang’s eyes, searching. Whatever he’s looking for, he seems to find it.
“I still don’t like you.” He informs A-niang primly, settling down onto the ground as A-niang nods acceptance. Without breaking eye contact, he carefully sets his bow aside.
Sizhui lets out a relieved sigh.
“You were the one who shot me, right?” A-niang asks, eyeing the bow. Jin Ling makes a face.
“...yeah. I’m not apologizing.”
A-niang snorts. “Don’t. It was well shot, and well deserved.”
Sizhui thinks they all sort of need to apologize- A-niang had tried to get them out of a situation he had under control, and then they came in and messed it up. But Jin Ling is smirking proudly to himself, and A-niang looks pleased with winning him over, so he’ll save his apology for later.
“If you’re not here to help the Matriarch.” Jin Ling says, schooling his face into an interrogation appropriate frown, “then can you tell us why you are here?”
“Depends on how lenient the brand is being.” A-niang admits, lifting his chin to bare the still-visible, but fading, characters. “But sure, I’ll try. Wanna hear a joke?”
A little thrown off by the sudden topic change, Sizhui and Jin Ling share a confused glance. After a moment, Sizhui nods, slow and unsure.
“You know how when two people share a life-giver, they call each other brother?” A-niang asks. When the juniors nod, the brightness in his eyes sharpens.
“Do you know why I call him da-ge?”
Sizhui quickly goes over what he can remember of the Nie family history in his head, but something in A-niangs grin tells him that’s not the right answer.
“I’m not sure, A-niang.” Sizhui decides to say.
“It’s because we have the same death-giver!” A-niang exclaims, giddy. “So we’re death siblings!”
Jingyi makes a choking noise, but all Sizhui can do is stare in horror. The same person? Someone had killed his A-niang, gotten away with it, and then killed a sect leader. And gotten away with it again?!
“He thinks he’s funny.” The head says dryly. “He’s not funny.”
“I’m hilarious, thank you.” A-niang sniffs. “Also, I’m pretty sure you can’t call me by my name because of the seal, so you have to call me er-di. Get over it.”
Unbidden, the image of the mortal wound in his A-niang’s chest burns in Sizhui’s mind. The person who killed his A-niang… he had been distracted before. But to hear this so plainly?
This is why they can’t rest easy. It’s their unfinished business. The killer is still alive.
“Who was it?” He asks, carefully keeping his voice level. From the way Jingyi looks at him, he can tell he didn’t fully manage it.
But how is he supposed to react? All these years, he had thought it was a curse. Triggered by the wave of energy from the destruction of the stygian tiger amulet, from the Matriarch’s death. Now, suddenly, his whole world has been overturned.
Someone took his A-niang from him.
“Can’t say.” A-niang shrugs. “And, when I gave da-ge sentience, my seal transferred to him, because he’s technically under my power. So he’s a no go as well.”
Sizhui hates that seal.
“But, in any case.” A-niang hums, leaning forwards. “We were both killed by the same person, who used circumstances to cover it up. Who would care how many died in the raid? Who would question a qi deviation from a stressed sect leader, with anger issues and a family history? No one, clearly, because nothing has happened.”
“So you’re taking it into your own hands.” Sizhui finishes. A-niang smirks at him.
“Sure are. Of course, Da-ge’s body was already well on its way. The bastard had to dismember him afterwards because he was so pissed, and even then that left arm was going places.”
“My left arm was very murderous.” Chifeng-zun agrees, looking quite proud of his left arm.
“His resentful energy was really, really high.” A-niang tells them. “As I'm sure you felt full force. Mine is a little depleted, because I cultivate with it, but I was sentient. I latched onto the Matriarch to bring me back, and now Chifeng-zun is powering me, while I grant him sentience. So now, all we have to do is stick the head on the body, stop it from rampaging, work through some Matriarch duties, and then… well. Rest peacefully.”
Rest.
Pass.
Sizhui ducks his head, a little ashamed of the immediate denial, the desire to grab on to his A-niang and beg him to stay. He is a cultivator, and helping spirits move on to the next life is a part of what he does. What he was trained to do. He cannot begrudge his A-niang the reincarnation cycle that all things are beholden to.
And yet… and yet he wants him here. With him. Wants to have ginger and chili scent and warm hands, wants to learn everything from a voice that stirs long faded memories.
A hand gently pats his head, and Sizhui startles out of his thoughts to see A-niang smiling down at him.
“Now that I know you’re alive, I’ll do my best to stick around.” He hums, stroking Sizhui’s hair. “I won't leave you again, A-yuan, not without a fight.”
Oh.
Sniffling, Sizhui tips forwards, landing right back in his A-niang’s arms, clutching at his clothes and feeling the warmth he lets off, the feeling of his heart pumping in his chest and the tensing of muscles in the arm barred across Sizhui’s shoulders, pulling him even closer.
Here. Real. Safe.
But…
“What about A-die?” Sizhui sniffs, shuffling enough so that he’s still close to his A-niang, but not speaking into his chest. “He… he misses you. Were you not going to find him?”
A-niang blinks, eyes wide, before grimacing. “I… well. He’d probably realize I was back. I mean. Hey, if you didn’t grab the wrong map, I’d have seen him already!”
“If no one had a map, what then?” He asks, eyes narrowed. A-niang lets go of him, no longer making eye contact, and he backs off reluctantly.
What was it A-die had said? That A-niang talked and talked, until you couldn’t hear what he was saying? Sizhui has lived his whole life parsing meaning from monosyllabic answers. This might be the opposite end of the spectrum, but still.
A-niang doesn’t want to see A-die.
Sizhui shoots a panicked look at Jingyi, who leans forwards to try and help.
“Um.” Jingyi says, frowning. “Lan er-furen-”
“Oh, no, don't call me that.” A-niang says immediately, head snapping back into the conversation. “I’m not… I’m no furen. Least of all a Lan, ha! I’d break half the rules in half a sichen, don’t…”
A-niang trails off, fake smile fading under their quiet stares.
“I… Look.” A-ninag sighs, giving into the question. “He’s… he’s Hanguang-jun. The light-bearing lord of justice! Second Jade of Lan! Incorruptible righteousness!” he exclaims, clenched fist raised to the air in victory, a soft smile on his face as he lists A-die’s titles. “And I'm… I’m a Demonic Cultivator.”
Fist falling, the omega wraps his arms around himself, seeming to shrink right in front of Sizhui’s very eyes.
“I can’t be a righteous cultivator anymore.” A-niang admits. “I have no core, no clan, and I like alcohol way too much. Technically, I’m dead. I know he cares, I know he feels responsible, but… I won’t ask him to break the rules for me. I won't become a stain on his reputation.”
…A-die you idiot.
Sizhui knows Hanguang-jun doesn’t talk much. Doesn’t like talking about his feelings, shows love through actions, small microexpressions, a gentle guiding hand. But sometimes, for some people, that doesn’t work. And in the eyes of others, the caring Hanguang-jun Sizhui knows becomes cold and unfeeling.
But for A-niang to believe himself unworthy of his rightful position as a Lan… as Lan er-furen, as Sizhui’s A-niang? To believe A-die holds the rules in higher regard? To believe he only protects him out of duty? To have his A-niang feel unwanted? Unacceptable. Utterly unacceptable.
Even outside the rules of Lan, to let an omega be disrespected in such a way is shameful. Clearly, Sizhui is going to have to do some meddling on his A-die’s behalf, because this needs to be fixed. Immediately.
“He loves you.” He says it very simply, so it won’t be misunderstood.
A-niang snorts and sticks his nose in the air. “Do not associate with evil.” he says, in a passable impression of a Lan Elder. “Reject the crooked path. Be loyal to your clan.”
“Love all beings.” Sizhui counters. “Do not abandon your mate. Be loyal. And,” he says as A-niang opens his mouth to reply, “technically, the Elders are already after him for having a child out of wedlock and grieving in excess.”
“What?” A-niang says, face scrunching up in confusion. “Why would-”
“Seriously?” Jin ling interrupts, glaring. “Have you heard that idiot's courtesy name? Sizhui? To long for? ‘Thinking of a lover I cannot pursue?’ Disgusting.”
“Everyone knows Hanguang-jun is mourning a lost love.” Jingyi adds. “He’s ripped up any marriage proposal he received, no one’s tried in years. No one but the stuffiest elder cares about Sizhui’s birth, because everyone assumes there were… complications. With the curse. But my baba says he never wears any blue, like the clan colors, it's all mourning white! And, well, the way we recognized you…”
“I told you before, A-die doesn’t let anyone else hear that song.” Sizhui says, motioning to the Dizi stuffed in his A-niangs belt. “He plays Inquiry, almost every day, and your song. That's how I knew you… as the empty spaces in a song.”
A-niang’s lip is trembling.
It hurts Sizhui’s heart, to see his A-niang like this, even after only just reuniting. He looks so surprised, so shocked that A-die cares. He really did have to hear this, and Sizhui knows A-die would never tell him.
He hopes Hanguang-Jun will forgive him.
“Wait, hold on.” The head says suddenly. A-niang takes the distraction to wipe furiously at his face. “Just now, this idiot was playing the song that Wangji attacked Xichen for accidentally overhearing?”
“He WHAT.” A-niang shrieks, nearly falling over from how fast he turns around.
“According to Xichen, he was near feral and almost stabbed him.” Chifeng-zun informs them. (Jingyi nods in confirmation, to A-niang’s obvious horror.) “To be fair, it was… pretty soon after you died. Huaisang was disgustingly dramatic over his protectiveness for a love song, though.”
Chifeng-zun makes a face of fond annoyance, remembering his brother, before something seems to register. “Uh… out of curiosity, why were you playing my mangled corpse a love song?”
Jingyi makes a wide sweeping motion with his arm in obvious agreement.
“I didn’t know it was a love song!” A-niang protests, hands flapping wildly in the air. “Lan Zhan never said anything about it being a love song! Or that he wrote it! I just thought it was a nice song that he would play for me sometimes! And…”
He flushes, wild hands finally coming to a stop pressed to his face. “Demonic musical cultivation… it doesn’t rely on the notes and structure of the song as closely as things like Inquiry or Cleansing or Rest do. It's about how it makes you feel. I needed to calm down your corpse, so it wouldn’t go after the kids, and… and that song makes me calm and happy, so…”
Whatever he says next is lost into indistinct muttering behind his palms.
Hmm.
Maybe A-die deserves a bit more credit, if A-niang takes so much comfort from a song that’s meaning was still unknown.
The head, clearly less romantically inclined, makes a retching noise, and A-niang kicks at the wood it’s leaned against with vicious accuracy.
“Shut up, you don’t have a stomach.” He growls mutinously, though the effect is very much ruined because his face is the same color as his hair ribbon.
“I do.” Jin Ling offers, then makes a gagging noise of his own, to Chifeng-zun’s obvious delight.
“You’re both horrible.” A-niang announces.
“And I’d like a song that won’t have Hanguang-Jun or his angry son coming for what’s left of me.” Chifeng-zun informs him.
A-niang waves him off, nodding. He’s clearly distracted though. Sizhui supposes it makes sense. With everything he’s learned, with everything they’ve learned, he’s not entirely sure this isn't some strange dream.
But, also, he needs to make sure this dream doesn’t crumble.
“So, you’ll come see A-die again?” he checks, reaching out to tug at his A-niang’s wrist. To feel him there, real, to make sure he won’t disappear.
A-niang takes a deep breath, face unreadable, but it's clearly a mask. There's a twitch to the corner of his lips and a softness in his gaze that tells Sizhui he’s won.
“Isn’t gossip and meddling against your three-thousand rules?” A-niang hedges, but it's clearly only a token protest.
“Bring light to the truth. Honor your parents. Be of one mind.” Sizhui lists, smiling innocently.
A-niang huffs and raises his hands in defeat, and Sizhui silently cheers to himself. Chifeng-zun’s head makes a strange snorting noise.
“You know, I thought that was Xichen’s diplomacy smile for a second there.” the head says, jerking its chin at Sizhui. “It’s not. It’s your gremlin blood armed with the Rules of Lan.”
With a snort, A-niang kicks at the beam the head is on again, making it yell in offense as it wobbles around.
“I suppose I can meet him.” A-niang hums, flipping his ponytail over his shoulder.
Something strange happens then. Even though it was only a small toss of his head, A-niang overbalances, and has to throw out a hand to catch himself, a burst of resentful energy swirling from his skin.
“A-niang?” Sizhui asks, reaching out to steady him. Something’s wrong, he can feel it. “Are you alright?”
“Fine!” A-niang yelps, rebalancing and pressing a hand to his head. “I’m fine! Just… um. Might have to put off that reunion.”
“It’s happening already?” Chifeng-zun grumbles.
“What's happening?” Jin Ling asks, alarmed.
“Is he okay?” Jingyi asks.
“I’m fine-”
“He’s an idiot.” The head announces, speaking over A-niang. “We said his own power levels are strange, right? He needs something to tie him here, fuel his resentment. Me, another demonic, the matriarch, my body… you get the picture. Looks like my body got further than we thought, faster than we thought, and he’s running out of energy.”
The body was powering A-niang, like a source for an array. That makes sense, Sizhui supposes, helping A-niang to stand on his own two feet.
Then it registers.
“Did we chase away your LIFE SOURCE?” Jingyi screeches, eyes bugged wide.
“Only some of it!” A-niang says quickly, waving a hand at him. “I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine.”
The corpse was keeping A-niang here.
It’s resentment was allowing him to stay and finish what he had to do to move on in the reincarnation cycle. If he had to latch onto the Matriarch to come back this time… what would he do if he faded now?
“We have to go after it.” Sizhui says, picking up his sword and tying it to his belt.
“And give your A-die a heart attack?” A-niang says, raising an eyebrow. “He thinks you’re on a deadly hunt meant for his skill level right now. No, you stay right here and wait for him.”
“But-”
“No buts.” A-niang orders, turning away to whistle sharply. “I’m not kidnapping three sect kids. Lan Zhan will be looking for you, if you stay here you can explain what's going on. I need to follow the corpse.”
The donkey that was assaulting Jingyi earlier trots up to them, looking very annoyed, and A-niang starts fiddling with a pack on its harness.
Sizhui doesn’t say anything. He knows it makes sense to stay here, he knows A-die will be worried. Is worried, already, if the way he was looking at the Yin binding ribbons a day ago was any indication. But he doesn’t want to let A-niang out of his sight. Like he’ll disappear the second he looks away.
A hand on his head brings him out of his thoughts. A-niang smiles down at him, and he looks real- so, so real.
“I promise I won't disappear again.” A-niang says, petting his hair. “Here, little radish, I have something for you.”
He takes Sizhui’s hand and presses a small wooden disk into his palm. Sizhui holds it up, curious.
It’s made of a light wood, sanded smooth on one side, the other a delicately carved array. On the outer rim, a small, softly glowing red mark sits, shifting to remain in the same orientation as Sizhui tilts it.
“A compass?”
“A twin compass!” A-niang corrects, holding up a matching one. “See, look.”
He holds his out, so that Sizhui can see the matching dot, then moves his arm to the side. The red dot travels along the edge of the compass, pointing at its partner.
“They always point to the other.” A-niang says, still shifting the compass to demonstrate. “They’re a pair. And, look, the center piece is blank- but if you mark it… hang on…”
He pulls a piece of charcoal from nowhere, and lightly scribbles on the disk in his hand.
Something shifts on the disk Sizhui is holding.
Jingyi and Jin Ling lean over his shoulder, and they watch in amazement as a small, chunky drawing of a rabbit appears on the blank wood.
“That's awesome.” Jingyi whispers, reaching down to poke at the rabbit. Under his finger, the charcoal smudges, like it was really drawn on the disk.
“Hey, my bunny!” A-niang complains, but he’s grinning. “The compasses are twins. Always matching, always pointing towards the other, no matter the distance. The writing space is a little small, but if I made it bigger the connection spell wouldn't work…”
“You made these?” Sizhui asks, impressed.
“Yeah! I like making things, it's a lot of fun!”
Bonded objects that work over any distance. Able to be shifted and moved. And with a transfer of this clarity? That’s exceptionally difficult.
“They’re incredible, A-niang.” Sizhui admits, clutching the compass to his chest. With this, he’ll know where his A-niang is. With this, he won't lose him again.
A-niang smiles and ruffles his hair. “Aw, you flatter me. It only blew up twice!”
“I thought we had to follow my body?” Chifeng-zun interrupts suddenly. He’s glaring very imperiously from his place on top of the collapsed building. “Er-di, I can feel your power draining. We need to go.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” A-niang huffs, marching over to scoop up the head. “I haven’t seen my son in thirteen years, don’t rush me.”
“If you want to see him more you won’t DIE.”
“A little exhaustion isn’t going to kill me!”
The head makes a face that tells Sizhui it begs to differ.
“Wait!” Jingyi says, as A-niang hops onto the donkey's back. He rumagges in his sleeves, before pulling out a qiankun bag. “Here, qianbei. In case you need to go near people. Something tells me they won't take kindly to Chifeng-zun, in his state.”
A-niang snorts, accepting the bag. “No, they will not. Good thinking… It was Jingyi, right? I don't think I caught your family name.”
“Lan Yi, Courtesy Jingyi.” Jingyi says, bowing politely.
“We’re doing this all out of order, aren't we!” A-niang chirps delightedly. “Pleasure to meet you, junior! See you around. A-yuan, come here, one more hug.”
Sizhui leaps at the chance, wrapping his arms around his A-niang as he leans down from the donkey.
The warmth, the spice tickling at his nose… he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over it fully. He has it back, finally, finally…
He doesn’t want him to go.
He understands why. He knows why.
But…
“You promise you won't disappear?” Sizhui whispers, feeling very young and very, very small.
“I promise, Little radish.” A-niang hums, rubbing his cheek against Sizhui’s. A burst of ginger and chili fills Sizhui’s nose, stronger than before, lingering on his skin.
Scenting.
Sizhui nearly collapses with the feeling of belonging. Safety and home and long forgotten memories.
Memories he gets to have again.
A-niang pulls back from the bent-over position he was in, hand still on Sizhuis shoulder. He smiles, a little sheepishly. “Sorry. Too much? I know my scent can be a little spicy.”
“No.” Sizhui chokes, wiping the tears from his eyes. “No, it’s not… It’s not too much, A-niang.”
A-niang smiles, gently rubbing at his shoulder, and then his cheek, as Sizhui gets himself back under control. Finally, with a long breath that only shudders once, Sizhui nods.
“You… you have to go after the corpse.” He says, stepping back. His shoulder already feels cold. “We’ll follow you right after A-die gets here.”
“Then I'll see you soon, little radish.” A-niang smiles, patting at the donkey’s side. “Next time, please don’t shoot me.”
“I’m still not apologizing.” Jin Ling announces, smirking at A-niang.
A-niang laughs, waves once, and then the donkey trundles off into the woods, Chifeng-zun’s head held firmly on its rider’s lap.
Notes:
Should Jin Ling be called Jin Rulan? WWX was fake-dead so he wouldn’t be there to name him after his crush, but, like. I don’t want to name him something else.
WWX was confused that the elders were mad at LWJ for having a child out of wedlock bc he thought Sizhui was taken in as an ADOPTED son. He is currently unaware that everyone thinks LWJ is also the bio parent.
I need WWX to go somewhere else for reasons. I may have forgotten what those reasons were but I'm sure they were important.
Chapter 4: Hanguang-jun comes clean
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s quiet.
Jingyi finds a small fire pit, hidden in the shelter of a collapsed hut, and they settle down around it as the air starts to cool. There's a small pile of hay that looks like it was once roof thatching, organized into a small bed.
A-niang must have stayed here.
Sizhui can still smell him, but it’s faint. The stench of corpse easily overpowers it, and yet, there's comfort in the traces of ginger he can sense, in the curve of smooth wood under his thumb. The red marker on the compass shifts, ever so slightly, as he watches.
He was here.
It still feels like a dream.
Fwoosh!
“Got the fire going!” Jingyi announces proudly, backing away from the merrily crackling blaze. He must have put some spiritual energy into it, to get it going so fast.
Jin Ling starts tossing stray bits of thatch into the flames, and Jingyi comes around to collapse by Sizhui’s side.
“How long do you think until Hanguang-jun gets here?” he asks, head up to scan the sky. “I mean, if he does our hunt. Maybe he dropped everything to come after us once he realized we swapped maps.”
A piece of hay goes up in flames.
“I still can't believe that.” Jin ling grumbles, eyes reflecting the fire until they seem to glow. “I mean, a swapped map? Really? We could have died to a swapped map. I thought Hanguang-jun was supposed to be impressive.”
“What did you just say?” Jingyi yelps, whipping around so fast that Sizhui actually hears something in his neck pop.
“This is his hunt, isn’t it?” Jin Ling scoffs. “A swapped map could have killed us. It’s basics to check information. Someone should have realized something was wrong.”
“The information was in clearly labeled packets.” Sizhui points out, grabbing Jingyi’s sleeve before he launches himself at the other boy. “And we were all distracted with… recent rumors.”
“Plus, didn’t those packets come from Jinlantai?” Jingyi mocks, tugging his sleeve back. “If anything it's your people's fault.”
Jin Ling shrugs, which seems to only make Jingyi angrier.
“I guess it's more that omega that has me wondering if he’s not so perfect.” Jin Ling continues, looking back to the fire. “I mean, a demonic omega, who bore his child? One who clearly dislikes the matriarch? Why didn’t he save him? Take him to cloud recesses? Was he that concerned with his reputation?”
Jingyi lunges forwards, only stopped when Sizhui grabs his waist.
“You take that back! Hanguang-jun must have had his reasons!” Jingyi shouts, struggling against Sizhui’s grip.
“What reasons? Shame of a cursed child?” Jin Ling scoffs, motioning to Sizhui. “Didn’t want to admit he slept with an omega and then abandoned them?”
“A-die isn’t ashamed of me!” Sizhui shouts, shoving Jingyi aside to stand on his own, the compass clutched tight in his hand. “Or A-niang! He loves him!”
“Oh yeah?” Jin Ling asks, lifting his chin and sneering. “The way that omega was talking? Clearly, he did something wrong.”
“A-die said A-niang doesn’t like accepting help.” Sizhui remembers it. The broken look in A-die’s eyes as he spoke those words. Someone who gives life and limb, and expects nothing in return, that's what A-die said, looking the most regretful Sizhui has ever seen him.
“Or just wasn’t sure it would actually be given.” Jin Ling scoffs. “I mean, tell me. What’s your own mothers name?”
Sizhui is a model Lan. Many elders have told him so, many disciples have sought his guidance, he is the son of Hanguang-jun and has been called a Jade of Lan after his A-die and Bofu in his own right. He is calm under pressure, and even speaks for his A-die at times, smoothing over the ruffled feathers of those Hanguang-jun has deemed too foolish to bother with.
And yet, he wants to punch Jin Ling. Right in his stupid, smug face.
He knows, without a doubt, that A-die loves A-niang.
He also knows that A-die said he failed A-niang.
He knows he doesn’t fully understand everything that happened. He wants to know, but…
He doesn’t know.
All the fight drains out of him at once. He slumps to the ground, exhausted, too tired to fight anymore. Jin Ling looks a bit surprised, but Sizhui can’t be bothered to pay much more attention to him, as his face goes blurry behind a well of tears.
“Hey, no.” Jingyi says, quickly dropping down at Sizhui’s side. “Listen, Hanguang-Jun wouldn’t… I’m sure there’s a reason. When he gets here, we’ll ask, okay?”
Sizhui nods, hiking up the collar of his own robes to bury his nose in them.
It still smells like chili spice and ginger.
Like his A-niang.
Jin Ling coughs lightly. “I-”
“You’ve said enough.” Jingyi interrupts, glaring at Jin Ling.
Jin Ling glares back. “I’m sorry.”
He stresses the words so they sound more like a comeback than an apology, but when Sizhui searches his face, he really does look apologetic.
“That was low. And I’m sorry.” Jin Ling grumbles. “I just… I don’t get it. If he didn’t like the Matriarch, and he had a way out… I mean, to be the beloved omega of the second Jade of Lan? Mother of the only heir? He’d be protected. But instead, you two got left in the Burial Mounds. With a curse.”
He motions at Sizhui’s wrists, where one of the ribbons is dangling out of his sleeve. Sizhui picks it up and tucks the ends back in, a little self conscious.
“It just…” Jin Ling continues, a bit unsure. “It always happens. To Omegas.”
“Like the Jin Sect has any room to speak on such things.” Jingyi grumbles, arms crossed. “I mean, didn’t they just cast out an omega who was ill in the head? I heard Mo Xuanyu got picked up by demonics. And don’t even get me STARTED on his father- your Zufu!”
“Mo Xuanyu was a stalker, and he robbed the Jin sect!” Jin Ling says, swiping an angry fist through the air. “And it’s Zufu’s actions toward Shufu-yao and his mother that make this situation so familiar to me!”
Jaw dropped, Jingyi’s voice cracks as he exclaims, “Jin GuangSHAN!? You’re comparing Hanguang-jun to Jin Guanshan?”
“Name a difference in the stories!” Jin Ling defends. “Alpha, omega. Omega gives birth. Alpha leaves them in a bad situation, despite having the money and power to take care of them. Alpha takes in child when there is no other option. Throughout all this, the Alpha claims he stands for Justice and Honor.”
Every word Jin ling says feels like a stone dropped into Sizhui’s stomach. It… It does sound bad. But he knows his A-die. He knows he loves A-niang. Thirteen years of grief doesn’t come from the death of someone you used.
“Maybe it was the curse?” he tries, a little numb. “Maybe the Demonic sect had a way to deal with it. The healers say I generate yin energy, so maybe A-niang used cultivation to burn it off?”
“We can’t make assumptions.” Jingyi nods furiously. “He couldn’t tell us his name- Maybe Hanguang-jun couldn’t be told either. Maybe the Matriarch held power over him. Maybe Hanguang-jun didn’t even know he was pregnant, lost track of him in the war, and found Sizhui and his A-niang afterwards. We don’t know, and Qianbei didn’t look angry!”
Jin Ling shrugs, silently scrabbling around on the dirt for another piece of hay to throw into the flames. They don’t say anything more, Jingyi glaring across the fire and Sizhui lost in his thoughts.
His A-niang didn’t die to a curse. He was murdered, without knowing if Sizhui survived. The past thirteen years, he's been stuck, somewhere, watching as his murderer killed again. Nie Mingjue. A sect leader. What connection did those two deaths have? What was the motive? Why did they die?
Why was A-niang a demonic?
Why didn’t A-die take them in, before it was too late?
He doesn’t know.
He doesn’t understand.
He feels unfocused, unsteady, like the ground beneath his feet is a boat, set on a pond that is usually calm and still, but is now roiling in a storm of uncertainty, each new revelation a boulder cast into the water, creating waves determined to knock Sizhui over.
He hates boats. They make him sick.
An elbow bumps into his side.
Sizhui refocuses, to see Jingyi with his head craned back to look at the sky. There, a white figure riding the wind, is Hanguang-jun, balancing on Bichen.
“Hanguang-jun!” Jingyi calls, standing to move out of their shelter, waving up at him. “We’re here!”
Spotting Jingyi, Hanguang-jun dives to meet them, speed not upsetting his grace in the slightest. Bichen flies to his hand as he strides forwards, worried eyes flicking over the three juniors.
“You are alright?”
A-die is kind.
He cares, he’s always cared. Pure white robes, of mourning for a lover just as much as fealty to the Lan Sect, over solid strength of years of cultivation. Trial by fire. Trial by war. His A-die is a legend, a pillar of white jade that upholds justice, and he would not dishonor his A-niang.
And yet…
“We’re fine, Hanguang-jun.” Jingyi says, bowing in greeting when Sizhui fails to. “Although… we might have swapped maps.”
A-die nods, but his eyes are on Sizhui. The concerned tension has faded, but still there, watching his silent son.
How is Sizhui supposed to say anything? How is he meant to ask? A-die might not believe him. Thirteen years is a long time. How is he supposed to tell his A-die that A-niang is back? Is alive?
Hanguang-jun speaks again. “Had the corpse moved on?”
“Uh…” Jingyi looks over his shoulder, a cry for help. “Not… exactly. We saw him when we got here. The corpse… it’s Chifeng-zun.”
Golden eyes go sharp, and Hanguang-jun’s jaw clenches. “You’re sure?”
“Well, the decapitated head that the demonic cultivator put sentience into said he was Chifeng-zun.” Jin Ling says, leaning back onto his palms. He meets Hanguang-jun’s eyes dead on. “Really interesting, that cultivator. Male omega. Silver eyes. Spicy scent. Said he knows you.”
Well that might not have been the best way to go about it.
Hanguang-jun freezes.
Stock still, staring into nothing, frozen silence, for a beat, then two, until, slowly, he turns to Sizhui.
“He knew the song.” Sizhui answers the unasked question. “And called me little radish. He… A-die, I really think it was my A-niang.”
Hanguang-jun makes a punched out noise. “You… he’s really…”
“He scented Sizhui!” Jingyi shouts suddenly. “Here, you can check- Sizhui, come here.”
Sizhui is practically dragged to his feet, but he goes willingly once he gets his feet underneath him. He presents the cheek that A-niang had rubbed up against a few sichen before, and his A-die ducks to his height, chasing the ghost of a touch.
A trembling hand comes up to grip at Sizhui’s other shoulder.
“...it’s really him?” Sizhui asks, the compass heavy in his hand. Some disbelief still wraps around his heart like a choking vine. But if A-die is reacting like this, then…
“It’s him.” Hanguang-jun confirms, backing away with a dumbstruck expression on his face. In the next moment, it’s gone, and he looks over the area like he thinks A-niang will pop out from behind a crumpled wall. “Where…”
“We accidentally let the fierce corpse out of the array.” Sizhui admits. “A-niang had to follow, he said he’s sustained by Chifeng-zun’s resentment. Because… well.”
Sizhui doesn’t know how to say this. A-die stops looking into the trees, his full attention on Sizhui, eyes alight with fire that Sizhui has never seen there before. It’s always been hollow grief and loss.
And Sizhui knows A-die is keeping things from him- but maybe, A-die doesn’t know everything either. The general story, that the elder members of the Lan Clan had put together, was that A-niang had sacrificed his own curse binding ribbon to save Sizhui. That meant the body would have been nearby. Hanguang-jun would have seen it, and that's what caused him to go feral.
But if A-niang was shocked he survived, it must have been someone else, or maybe he just had two ribbons in the first place. Either way, A-die wouldn’t have found A-niang’s body.
Does he know how A-niang died? Will knowing hurt him?
“A-niang says they share resentment because they were killed by the same person.” Sizhui says, blurting out the words. “He says they’re back to take their revenge on that person.”
Golden eyes close, Hanguaug-jun taking a deep breath.
“Where?”
Sizhui suddenly realizes that with everything he doesn’t know-
He doesn’t know what his A-die is thinking.
Reading A-die is a difficult skill to learn, nigh-impossible without attention to detail, context clues, and Hanguang-jun actually being open enough to a person for them to be able to witness more than quiet, polite disinterest.
But Sizhui has always had some idea. It got difficult at times, but he’s always had some inkling to the thoughts that ran through his A-die’s head.
Now, though?
Nothing.
He has absolutely no clue what his A-die wants. What he knows. What will happen.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sizhui blurts, before Jingyi can even try to take the conversation. “Why… Did you know? That there was foul play?”
Jingyi glances between Sizhui and his A-die, before slowly backing away. Hanguang-Jun just looks… sad.
“…I knew something was wrong.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Sizhui asks desperately. The edges of the compass are digging into his clenched hand. “I always thought it was the curse that killed him, but it wasn’t! A-niang didn’t even know I was alive! He looked so surprised! And he’s here and alive and I don’t… I don’t even know his name!”
Someone coughs, but Sizhui isn’t paying attention to the other juniors. They aren’t important right now.
“I know it hurts to talk about, but please.” Sizhui begs. He’s begging now, apparently. “Please. I… I just want to understand.”
Hanguang-jun’s eyes are unreadable. Solid, unyielding gold.
“...please.” Sizhui whispers, voice cracking. His vision is going blurry- he quickly turns away before the tears can spill.
A hand comes up to rest on his shoulder.
“Sizhui.” A-die says softly, the same tone that has comforted Sizhui since he was young. Unbidden, his shoulders slump, raised hackles falling into exhaustion.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. Do not apologize.” Hanguang-jun orders, the hand on Sizhui’s shoulder gripping tighter, and then letting go. “It is not fair that you do not know. And I am sorry that I could not tell you.”
Sizhui nods, raising a hand to wipe at his face. He needs to stop crying.
After a moment, Sizhui manages to get himself together, and steps back from his A-die, taking a deep breath.
“Sizhui.” Hanguang-jun says, voice low. Hesitant. In the way he always is when A-niang is brought up. He looks to the side, where Jingyi and Jin ling are doing their best to vanish into thin air, and then back at Sizhui. “I… what I wouldn’t give. For you to know everything.”
Sizhui flinches. A-die… wanted to tell him? “You… then why?” He asks, looking up at his A-die. “Why…”
A-die grimaces, then… lifts his chin? Sizhui would call it looking to the sky, but Hanguang-jun’s eyes are closed. Instead, it almost looks like he’s baring his throat, the knot of his throat bobbing as he swallows.
“Your A-niang’s name is-”
The words get cut off, like a noose has been tightened around Hanguang-jun’s throat. Jingyi shouts in alarm as A-die hisses through clenched teeth, eyes shut tight, but Sizhui isn’t looking at his face.
He’s looking at blood red characters, etched into his A-die’s skin, coming to life to end the words in a swift and brutal spell. Hanguang-jun’s teeth are clenched, but he does not duck his chin, or clutch at his throat like A-niang did. He lets Sizhui, who had lunged forwards to grab his sleeve in panic, see.
A seal of silence.
“A-die…” Sizhui whispers, trembling as it fades.
And Sizhui recognizes the look on his face. Sad. Accepting. Ready for pain. He’s seen it over and over again. He had thought it was pain from grief, from loss, but…
“You wanted to tell me.” Sizhui realizes. “Everytime A-niang came up… You looked like the words hurt you. They did hurt you.”
“Mn.”
Hanguang-jun reaches up to rub at the characters, Sizhui’s hand dislodging from his sleeve as he does.
“Uh.”
Jin Ling steps forwards, despite Jingyi grabbing at his shoulder and making a violent cutting motion across his throat. “Isn’t that seal a mark of loyalty to the Matriarch?” he asks, chin raised and glaring accusingly.
“Don’t start this again!” Jingyi snaps, looking like he very much wants to drag him behind one of the collapsed buildings to shut him up. Jin Ling sniffs at him.
“What? Cultivators can refuse it as it's being placed.” he points out. “A bunch of demonics tried to put it on Jiujiu, but he was able to fight it off. If it's there, Hanguang-jun must have accepted it. Unless you think he’s weak?”
Jingyi’s face turns an interesting shade of red. “Don't you even-”
“Loyalty, yes.” A-die admits, silencing Jingyi. “But not to the matriarch. To him.”
The him in question is obvious, Sizhui supposes, as his A-die takes a steadying breath, before admitting, “It is the price I paid, to be able to return to his side.”
Jin Ling wrinkles his nose. “Why didn’t you just take them out of the Burial Mounds?”
“I tried.” Hanguang-Jun says. Jin Ling raises an eyebrow, haughtily demanding an explanation. Usually, A-die would weather this with the air of someone who doesn’t even recognize that he’s being prompted to speak.
But this time, he looks at Sizhui, then swallows, the red marks on his neck shifting with the motion.
“I was… too forceful, at first.” He admits. “Desperate. I demanded he let me help. But I did not fully understand the curse, or his position. He was… important.”
“Important?” Sizhui asks. Very little is known about the inner workings of the demonic sect. No one knows if they have a usual ranking system, or something entirely different. What exactly important means, in the demonic sect…
Hanguang-jun nods, shoulders tense like he expects the seal to activate again.
It probably will.
Sizhui ducks his head in the smallest bow he can manage. “We understand if the seal won’t let you.”
And he does. He does understand, now more than ever. No matter how much he wants to know, no matter how much A-die wants to tell him…
Just this, in these few short moments, has answered so many questions that Sizhui had never even dared to ask. Now that he knows it is physical incapability…
“You deserve to know.” Hanguang-Jun says, and Sizhui looks back up to his face. “I will do my best to answer, but the seals… work in strange ways.”
“We understand.” Jingyi says, glaring at Jin Ling like he’s trying to say he’d better understand.
Sizhui elects to ignore them, watching his A-die try to word his response. To work around the seal, in a way he’s never tried before.
How careful must he have been, to let no indication of the seal show? His own natural taciturnity and obvious grief had lent itself to that, surely, but the questions no doubt asked by Bofu and Shugong, the elders? Even Sizhui himself?
“Your curse generates resentful energy.” Hanguang-jun says slowly, carefully. “He had… lived with it. Had more experience. How much, I am unsure. But, given a way to cultivate it, he put his brilliance to good use. He enjoyed problem solving, and-”
He’s cut off by a flash of red and a grunt of pain, Sizhui rushing to brace him, mind racing.
Why then? Silence can be just as much of an answer, especially if it's forced. Why had the seal cut him off then?
Jingyi gasps.
“You teach us how to use spirit lure flags!” He blurts, eyes wide in awe. “And compasses of evil! We thought… they were found in the foxes den, so we thought she made them, but… was it him?”
Hanguang-jun nods.
Spirit lure flags. Compass of evil. Creations of the demonic sect, incredibly useful to find and control evil energies. Despite some sects damning the practice of those items because of their origin, Hanguang-Jun has always made sure that the juniors he taught knew how to use them. And finally, Sizhui knows why.
“You’ve been teaching A-niangs cultivation.” Sizhui realizes, and then continues, amazed. “I’ve been learning A-niang’s cultivation?”
“I could not share his memory.” A-die says sadly. “So, I shared some of his creations.”
Of course. Of course he’d find some way, even without Sizhui knowing.
“What else did he make?” Sizhui asks. How many of the talismans in the foxes den were created by A-niang? What had he learned, that was not his A-dies wisdom, but a borrowed teaching?
“Your ribbon.” Hanguang-Jun says, slightly stilted. “He… wanted you to have a choice, where he did not.”
Sizhui wraps his hand around his wrist. A-niang had created this… for him. To keep the curse at bay. It wasn’t just bought.
It was created to protect him.
The compass in his hand… He had made this too. Not for Sizhui, but it was still given to him… his A-niang’s creations. How many were there? Demonic or spiritual? Sizhui wants to know everything.
“And we thought he was just a farmer.” Jingyi whispers, amazed.
“A farmer?” Jin Ling scoffs.
Jingyi glares at him. “Well, Sizhui’s nickname was from a garden, it makes sense!”
“Little radish… buried in his radish patches.” Sizhui repeats, slowly, all that he’s heard slowly forming into a more complete picture. “The Burial Mounds were notoriously difficult to farm in- A-die, did he… did he figure that out?”
Hanguang-jun nods, and even Jin Ling looks impressed.
“A source of resentful energy, food production, and spell invention…” Jin Ling lists, looking off into the woods where A-niang had vanished. “No wonder the matriarch didn’t let him go.”
“He cared for the others, as well.” Hanguang-jun says, a small, proud smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. Sizhui knows that smile- has seen it for himself, when he mastered a particularly tricky sword form. “He would never have abandoned them, not unless I could have taken each and every person there with him. And that was… beyond my ability.”
The smile weakens, then. “He cared too much for my reputation. He would not even let me attempt. But still, I… should have tried. There were others. Children. Elderly. Innocent with nowhere else to turn.”
Sizhui is starting to get whiplash from the emotions he’s been feeling today.
But it makes sense, doesn’t it? After the raid, when cultivators had investigated the incomplete resentful array, they had seen them. The people trapped within, in ratty clothes. Young, old, omegas, mixed in with demonic cultivators. Trapped eternally in the Matriarchs hold. A-niang must have known them. A-die must have met them.
Sizhui wonders how many he himself had known, as a child.
He can’t remember.
“A-die…”
He doesn’t know what to say.
He can’t imagine being A-die. He’s unpresented, doesn’t know what he’ll be, but from what he does know, losing a mate is incredibly painful. To watch over Sizhui, knowing that A-niang’s life likely ended in pain, to know that he was helpless to do anything, to know, and regret, in hindsight, that if he had changed things, that mate might still be alive? That other innocents might still be alive?
And suddenly, that mate is back.
Sizhui has felt the loss of something he never truly remembered. But A-die had remembered in perfect detail, unable to share. Unable to even try. But…
He’s back now.
He’s back now, and it might be difficult, but Sizhui can finally learn what happened. A-die can finally learn what happened. And maybe, just maybe…
A-niang can stay.
Suddenly, Sizhui realizes he hasn’t shown A-die the compass yet. He nearly fumbles it in surprise, his too-tight hold leaving red marks and slightly numb fingers behind.
“A-die.” he says, holding it out. “I should have shown you this earlier. I was distracted, I apologize, but… A-niang didn’t stop making things.”
Hanguang-jun takes the compass, the slightly blurred drawing of a bunny still on the shining wood. He hums, watching the red dot move as he tilts the wooden disk.
“It’s a twin compass, apparently.” Sizhui repeats the name, smiling down at the invention. “It has a pair. And it always points to its pair.”
Hanguang-jun’s eyes light in realization, and he settles the compass flat, looking out in the direction the red dot is pointing, gaze distant, unfocused, seeing what he hasn’t seen in thirteen years.
Maybe, this time, they can have a second try.
Maybe, this time, A-niang can stay.
Maybe Sizhui might need to help his A-die and A-niang a little with the communication bits.
But, for now…
Sizhui reaches out, tugging on his A-die’s sleeve, more than anything else a child wanting his mother. When Hanguang-jun looks down at him, he smiles.
“A-die, let's go get A-niang.”
Hanguang-jun smiles back.
“Mn. Let’s.”
Notes:
"The knot of his throat"=adams apple I had it as an adams apple for w hile before i reread it and it felt so wrong. Why would they call it an adams apple. Who is adam to these people. But also what the hell else was I supposed to call it. Throat lump? Thyroid cartilage protrusion? Going into a wiki rabbit hole apparently adams apples make your voice deeper thats kinda cool. Anyway apparently it's called a throat knot in chinese so thats what i went with
Please expect gratuitous Author Inventions as plot devices that make characters incapable of doing things they should in this work
Chapter 5: A fated reunion between lovers!
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The flight is longer than Sizhui expected.
A-niang had a good head start, but he was on a donkey, and they were on spiritual swords. Still, he had somehow covered an impressive amount of ground.
Along the way, the juniors start to fill Hanguang-jun in on all the details they hadn’t managed before. How A-niang and the head said they had been murdered. How A-niang was being supported by Chifeng-zun’s resentment, how he had gotten dizzy after the corpse had left.
“So, when we catch up, it will probably be with a corpse in tow.” Jingyi explains. “Hopefully with a head this time. Uh. If it doesn’t have a head, maybe stay in the air?”
Hanguang-jun hums, eyes scanning the trees below. It’s dark, so they’re really following Sizhui and the compass, not their eyes. The compass hasn’t moved.
Still pointing them forwards, still the same direction. The longer they fly, the more it shifts when Sizhui trails to the right or left, watching the compass move, his connection shift, proving itself real, time and time again.
They’re getting close.
“There.”
Sizhui blinks, looking up at his A-die’s voice, seeing immediately what had made him call out. A small glimmer of light- a campfire.
“Do dead people need a campfire?” Jingyi muses, before seeming to realize what he just said aloud.
Neither Sizhui or Hanguang-jun pay him any attention though.
“The compass is pointing in that direction.” Sizhui admits, the soft light of the campfire a beacon in the dark, calling to him. Warmth, when he gets to it, when he finds the twin to the compass in his hand. Two things that mean its not a dream, he hasn’t made it all up, it's real.
He glances down at the compass, just in time to watch the red dot whip around to the other side of the wood.
He stops short on his sword, checking the compass again, as His A-die and companions slow to rejoin him.
“Sizhui?” Jingyi calls, slightly confused.
“I think he went ahead to greet us.” Sizhui says, holding out the compass. “We flew right over A-niang’s head.”
A-die hums, and they all fly to the ground. They land in a swath of trees, boulders sitting blanketed in moss around them. It’s quiet here- no sounds of a fight, or the flute, only the occasional call or rustle from an animal, and the wind in the trees. Either A-niang has the corpse under control, or it's not here.
Sizhui sheaths his sword and tilts the compass again. The red dot keeps shifting, Like A-niang is also moving his. Closer, closer…
“Hanguang-jun.”
Sizhui nearly drops the compass.
A-niang is sitting on top of a boulder, where he very much was not just a few moments before, looking down at them. He looks like a spirit, something more or less than human. There’s a fox mask tied to the side of his head- the mask of the demonic sect- and it glows along with his eyes, silver and deadly in the light of the moon. A hundred complicated emotions seem to flip in those eyes, like pages in a book, before his face settles into a smirk to cover it all up.
“Still chasing me after all these years, huh?” he teases.
Behind Sizhui, Jingyi whispers something about a fated reunion of lovers, but Sizhui ignores him to focus on his parents.
A-die takes a shaky step forwards, looking up, like he’s… well. Seeing a ghost. A spirit. A god. He opens his mouth, and the first words he says to a long lost love…
…get violently choked off in a ring of red writing.
The smirk falls, and A-niang is down in front of them between one blink and the next. He reaches out, as if to steady A-die, but then hesitates. Unsure if his touch will be welcomed.
“I’m fine.” Hanguang-jun rasps, as the seal stops burning. “I… cannot say your name.”
A-niangs face crumples. “Ah. I… I see. I’m sorry.” He… backs away, hands clasped behind him. “I… it wasn’t ever meant to… to hurt.”
“Mn.”
A-die’s arm twitches, like he wants to reach forwards, to hold A-niang, but he hesitates as well. Just as unsure as A-niang.
It’s awkward.
Things unsaid, things they want to say, locked behind seals and propriety. Keeping a respectful distance, even though they both clearly want to close it…
Sizhui realizes his parents are just a little bit stupid.
Wait a second, maybe a lot bit stupid.
“A-niang, you said the corpse’s resentment kept you here!” He yelps at the realization, rushing forwards. A-niang had almost collapsed earlier! “Where- Not even the head is here, where is he?”
“Ah, A-yuan!” A-niang says, smiling brightly. There's no confusion or hesitation here. He pulls Sizhui in, rubbing their cheeks together, before leaning back and tapping his mask. “Don’t you worry about me. There are multiple anchors. See this? I had let a new friend borrow it, because he needed its cloaking abilities and I thought I had Da-ge’s body trapped…”
“Sorry.” Jingyi mumbles, shifting on his feet. A-niang waves him off.
“Ah, it’s fine. Just a minor setback, really, I've had worse.” He smiles. “Anyways, I’ll be good with this, and Da-ge and my friend are just over there, just in case. I just… got excited, and wanted to see you.”
Sizhui ducks closer, burying himself into his A-niang’s chest. He laughs, patting at his shoulders, whispering, “you’re alive,” once, like a prayer, so quiet Sizhui doubts anyone else can hear it.
“You’re alive.” He repeats back, a prayer of his own. A-niang chuckles, and it moves the chest Sizhui is pressed too, so alive, so real, before leaning away to ruffle his hair.
It makes his bangs stick up, but that’s fine, because it’s A-niang and he’s here, a soft smile and silver eyes and spice and warmth.
“Lan Zhan…” A-niang says, slowly looking away from Sizhui to A-die, saying his name for the first time. “You saved him.”
Hanguang-jun nods, the look on his face… complicated. He looks happy, eyes soft in the way they only ever are when looking at Sizhui, or a rabbit. But his jaw is tense and there's a crease in his brow, lost, unsure.
“Of course.” he says, voice carefully even. “I… am sorry I didn't come sooner.”
A-niang tenses, then slumps. Small, small little things, and Sizhui would know exactly what that means from A-die, but A-niang is a different person, with different tells, and he doesn’t know them yet.
“Ah, it wouldn’t have mattered. Besides, I saw- know you got hurt in the fight, Wen Ning… he lost control.”
A-die starts to say something, before cutting himself off and touching a hand to his throat. He frowns, to himself, for just a moment, before looking back up to A-niang.
“What happened?”
What happened.
Even A-die doesn’t know. Why, how, was A-niang dead, what happened during the raid, during A-niangs last moments? What had scarred him so fully that he couldn’t move on to the next life, that he needed to take revenge?
A-niang huffs a small laugh, then spreads his hands and smiles like he’s about to say a very funny joke. The seal doesn’t even let him make a noise before he’s bent over in pain.
“A-niang!” Sizhui yelps, both he and A-die flinching forwards to help.
“Ah, ow, ow ow…” A-niang gasps, laughing. “Yeah. Nope. Sorry, Lan Zhan.”
“Why would you even try that?” Sizhui grumbles. He hates that stupid seal.
A-niang shrugs.
“Oh!” Jingyi yelps suddenly, jumping into view. “We can leave!”
“What are you talking about?” Jin Ling gripes, but Jingyi looks far too proud of himself.
“Sealed can talk to other sealed, right?” He asks A-niang. “So if we leave, then you can tell Hanguang-Jun what happened!”
That’s right- of course they’d be able to talk to one another! The secrets of the matriarch are spread throughout the demonic sect. Trading spells within the seal is a must. The only problem is that Sizhui, Jingyi, and Jin Ling are unsealed, so they’re not in the circle.
Sizhui might want answers, but if only A-die can get them right now, he can wait. “We’ll go over there.” He says decisively, reaching out to pull Jin Ling alongside him and jingyi.
A-niang’s grip on his arm stops him.
“Ah…” A-niang says, his free hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Well, good idea in theory?”
Sizhui pauses, turning back to him. “In theory?”
“Well!” A-niang yelps, dropping Sizhui’s sleeve. “When… when I wrote his seal, I might have changed it?”
“Changed it?” Sizhui repeats. Hanguang-jun sighs. “Wait, you wrote it?”
“Why would you put a seal that caused pain on him?” Jin Ling asks, crossing his arms and glaring.
“It was never meant to cause pain!” A-niang defends. “It never used to! Not until after…”
He quiets, glancing once to Jin Ling and then away.
The attack, then. When the world fell apart for both sides.
“The seal was originally meant to protect.” A-niang sighs, reaching up to rub at his throat, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I mean, the worst possible thing would be the Wen getting their hands on our cultivation. It wasn’t only to safeguard information, but also the Demonic cultivators themselves. After all, what's the point of torturing someone for information when they physically can’t give it?”
Sizhui supposes that makes sense. He’s always heard the seal as being what the Matriarch used to jealously guard her secrets, the curiosity of the unknown and the chance to fight again her most tempting calls. No one outside her influence tried- and if they did, they failed. Horribly.
“And on the same note, me changing the seal was supposed to protect Lan Zhan.” A-niang waves a careless hand to A-die. “It’s separate from the others. He can’t learn any of our techniques, and… well, he’s not a part of our sect. Plausible deniability, for when it all went downhill.”
“...can anyone besides you tell that it's separate?” Jin Ling deadpans, eyebrow raised into prime judging position.
A-niang takes an offended breath, mouth opening to refute it, but pauses. “...if they had checked? Really close?”
Hanguang-jun, Jingyi, Sizhui, and Jin Ling just stare at A-niang, unsure what to say. The omega flushes.
“Aiyah, Lan Zhan, don’t give me the eyebrows of disappointment! I panicked!” A-niang exclaims, throwing his hands up into the air. “What was I meant to think? A fully fledged member of a sect that very much dislikes mine pops out of nowhere, looking like that! Saying all those things! What were you planning, huh? Seducing me out of sect secrets with your pretty face?”
Jingyi chokes on a laugh at A-niang’s accusations, quickly turning to hide it.
“Not on my watch! Nuh-uh!” A-niang continues, pointing a scolding finger at A-die and paying Jingyi no mind. “Nice try! Separate seals for you, Lan er-gongzi!”
He plants his hands on his hips, nodding in surety to himself, before seeming to deflate.
“Guess I ended up playing myself in the end though, huh?” He asks, wrapping his arms around himself and chuckling. “So much to say, no way to say it, haha!”
A-niang laughs a lot. Sizhui is starting to realize that. When he’s happy, yes, but also when he wants to cover up when he’s not. What was it A-die had said? A-niang talks and talks, until you can no longer hear what is being said.
It looks like this seal… it's only half of their problem.
They don’t know how to talk to each other. A-niang, constantly putting himself down, A-die, unable to say what he truly means. Like he had noticed before, they both clearly want, but…
They can’t.
And so they stand in silence, so close and yet so far.
Suddenly, in a flurry of white robes, A-die sweeps his sleeves back and drops to the forest floor, carefully pulling his Guqin from his back and settling it across his knees. As they watch in confusion, A-die presses his fingers to the strings…
And the first few notes of the song Sizhui knows by heart echo into the chill night air.
A-niang’s song.
Their song.
Sizhui has heard it, over and over. The mournful strain of the guqin, playing into silence, a call unanswered, is how he knows it best. From A-niang’s dizi, it had come off lighter, happier. Sizhui had thought it was the instrument.
But, hearing it from A-die again, he realizes that must have been how it was played thirteen years ago. How A-die must have played it to A-niang, in stolen moments at the Burial Mounds, how A-niang must have learnt it.
Because now, Sizhui is hearing a third way to play it. Still sad, still calling, still lonely, but… hopeful, at the same time. No longer is this song a well worn, hopeless tradition, calling for a ghost in the same way inquiry does, slowly turning hollow in grief. It’s still a call, but this one is an extended hand, a peace offering. Greif still clings to the edges, a stain that won't come off after just one pass, but the tone is almost… Pleading.
A-niang is watching, spellbound, his eyes shining again. Something about his eyes… doesn’t look right. They’re too bright, too reflective, something… eerily off.
But then he chuckles, and pulls out his flute, and Sizhui forgets everything about that, because he’s playing, Dizi with Guqin, and for the first time in Sizhui’s memory…
The song is complete.
The pleading tone of the Guqin fades under the sharp, wild notes of the Dizi, slotting together like two pieces of a puzzle, a response after so long, the whistles of Sizhui’s lost memories and the comforting strum of all he knows now, together as one. A call, a reply. A question, an answer.
After thirteen years, I’m still here, they say, over and over, the song lifting into a well trodden path. Not a resolution, not yet, but a path.
The final notes of the peace offering, and its acceptance, fade into the night, Sizhui carefully letting go of the breath he was holding, watching his parents stare at each other in the silence, silver and gold, black and white.
A-niang snorts, breaking the spell.
“Ah, Lan Zhan, you know, I heard something very interesting recently.” he hums, twirling his flute in his fingers. “Apparently, you wrote that song yourself! And it’s very important to you! A-yuan and his friends told me such an interesting story!”
A-die turns away, hiding his face- but his ears are bright red. “Mn.”
“Lan Zhan.” A-niang muses, crossing the short distance between them and kneeling down to his height, reaching out to tug at his sleeve. “Lan Zhaaaan, why didn’t you tell me you wrote it for me? And so long ago! I mean, you first played it for me in… that cave.”
He pauses, face doing something complicated. Sizhui might not know everything that happened, but if A-niang didn’t know it was a love song, then how many memories are set in a different light now? Is he only just now realizing how often A-die has said it?
Slowly, carefully, A-niang reaches out, gently touching A-dies face and drawing him to meet his gaze.
“You weren’t lying, were you?” He hums, hand tracing down A-die’s throat to touch the seal. “The day you earned this.”
Sizhui thinks his A-die has forgotten how to breathe.
He also feels like he’s intruding on something private.
“...lying is forbidden.” Hanguang-jun says, only a little breathless under A-niang’s touch.
A-niang laughs, delighted at A-die listing the rules to get out of his teasing, before he sobers, smile fading into something regretful.
“I’ve made you wait for a long time, haven’t I?” A-niang asks, dropping his hand from A-dies throat. “Can I ask you to wait a little longer?”
Hanguang-jun is watching the hand that was touching him like a man in the desert watches water. He slowly reaches out, taking A-niang’s hand loosely into his own, before looking up at A-niang, a question in his eyes.
“You’re here for a reason.”
A-niang’s face shifts, a deadly snarl, red overtaking silver. “I want that traitorous rat dead.” he hisses. “If I have to drag him down to hell with me, kicking and screaming, I will.”
“You promised me.” A-die says, his grip on A-niang’s hand tightening. “That you would not make me watch you do this to yourself. The cave, that man, the curse, the raid… this will be the fifth time.”
What?
Sizhui meets Jingyi’s gaze. A-die had said A-niang was self-sacrificing. Four times… “the cave.” A-niang had said A-die first played him that song in a cave. “The curse” is obvious, as well as “the raid.”
But, “that man?”
A-niang pulls away from A-die, leaving his hand still reaching out. “Despite your best efforts, Lan Zhan.” He says, an effort at that teasing light tone he had earlier. “I’m not a Lan. I lie.”
The tension between them could be cut with a knife. The air is so thick Sizhui can hardly breathe. Though, maybe that’s the fear settling in his chest.
He understands… A-niang isn’t fully human. His eyes are wrong. The fatal wound on his chest. He understands that his being here is unnatural, born of anger and vengeance. He is a quick learner, he had seen A-niang tremble when he had gotten too far from a source.
But still… he had only just gotten him back. Only just heard the song played properly, only just relearned ginger and chili and warm arms. And Sizhui…
Sizhui doesn’t think he can lose that again.
Unbidden, he whimpers, and A-niang startles like he forgot they were there.
“A-yuan?!” He asks, snapping out of the weird staring contest he and A-die were in. Sizhui feels a little ridiculous, whimpering like a little kid calling for their parents, but…
“You said you wouldn’t disappear.” He mutters, ducking his head and willing the tears away. “I… I know that it’s selfish, but…”
“A-yuan, no.”
In seconds, A-niang is by his side, reaching down to hold his hand. “I… I'm sorry. I know this is hard, I just…”
He looks over his shoulder at A-die, who has set his guqin aside to stand. Watching. Not speaking.
A-niang sighs, squeezing Szihui’s hand.
“This whole mess is a long shot, little radish.” He admits. “I’m not entirely sure it will work. I won’t make a promise that I’m not sure I can keep.”
“Then don’t push me away.” A-die demands. “If this is so difficult, then let me help.”
“We can all help!” Jingyi offers, stumbling forwards again. He grabs Sizhui’s shoulder in support (of both himself and Sizhui, as his foot had found a root) and grins at A-niang with a determined glint in his eye. “I messed up your array, so I owe you!”
A-niang blinks, letting go of Sizhui’s hand and backing away. “I’m not entirely sure that's a good idea. It’s dangerous.”
“You’re my A-niang.” Sizhui insists. “I’ll help you in any way I can, especially if I can get answers.”
“If it’s dangerous, all the more reason to bring Hanguang-jun.” Jingyi points out.
“You’ll be working with the demonic sect.” A-niang says, motioning to his mask like he’s reminding them it’s there. “I’m a fully fledged original member. My friend that I lent the mask to? He’s been sworn in. Young Master Jin, are you sure Sandou Shengshou won't take you by the ear?”
Sizhui glances at Jin Ling. He… is a bit of a wild card. He knows A-die would follow A-niang anywhere, and Jingyi will bow to Hanguang-jun’s judgment no matter what. But Jin Ling… who’s to say he won't immediately go to his Jiujiu? Sandu Shengshou, known for destroying any trace of the demonic sect he can find.
Jin Ling, who has been standing rather quietly in the background this whole time, crosses his arms and glares. His eyes flick over the four of them, searching. Thinking. “You already said you don’t like the matriarch, right?”
“She’s an idiot who doesn’t deserve her godhood.” A-niang says, frowning. (Behind him, A-die makes a small disapproving noise) “But that doesn’t change the fact-”
“Then this is Lan family business.” Jin Ling waves his hand dismissively. “It was Hanguang-jun’s hunt, you’re Hanguang-jun’s mate, it’s Hanguang-jun’s call.”
Jingyi beams at him, but Jin Ling has turned away with a huff, so Sizhui isn’t sure he saw it.
“Besides, Chifeng-zun isn’t a bad person.” Jin Ling continues, speaking into the trees. “If there was foul play in his death, we need to figure it out.”
Sizhui and Jingyi turn expectantly to A-niang. He has to let them help now, right? He still looks unsure, but Sizhui thinks it should be fine.
It has to be fine.
“Even if we do succeed…” A-niang starts, his hand coming up to touch his chest, over the wound he had shown earlier. “I’m not sure I can stay. I won’t…”
He looks to each of them, Jin Ling turning a blind eye, Jingyi’s earnest helpfulness, A-die’s desperation, before landing on Sizhui.
Sizhui isn’t sure what face he’s making. He feels desperate. He feels ready to grab on to A-niang and never let go.
Whatever it is, A-niang seems to falter. He reaches out to brush at Sizhui’s bangs that he had messed up earlier.
“I promise this- I’ll do everything I can, I promise I’ll try.” He whispers, hand settling on Sizhui’s shoulder. He turns to A-die, reaching out and catching his hand. “Lan Zhan, I promise I’ll try.”
A-die doesn’t answer. His jaw tenses, once, before he’s stepping closer and pulling both Sizhui and A-niang into a hug.
A-niang freezes up.
For one, terrifying moment, Sizhui is pressed against his frozen A-niang and A-die, the former unsure how to respond, and the latter barely breathing in fear of a negative response… but then the omega softens, head coming down to thunk against A-die’s shoulder.
“You can help.” He mumbles into the robes. “Just… be careful, alright?”
There's a moment of silence, and then A-niang snorts. “A-yuan. A-yuan, he’s making a skeptical, offended, ‘You are the last person who should be telling me this’ look at me, isn’t he.”
Sizhui wiggles back a bit, just to check. “Yes, A-niang.”
“Called it.” A-niang cheers, still muffled into A-die’s shoulder. He pulls back, a small victorious smile on his face. “Come on, then, let's go meet my partners in crime.”
“Ah, yes, the decapitated head and this mysterious friend.” Jingyi nods, as they begin to follow A-niang in the direction of where they had seen the firelight earlier. “So, who is he?”
“He’s a young demonic.” A-niang hums, pushing a branch out of his way. “I found him in an array being half stupid half brilliant, trying to help Mingjue-ge. He’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit. Also, he helped me not die within my first sichen back, so I kind of owe him…”
Sizhui would like to know how exactly someone is half stupid half brilliant, but he guesses if it was a demonic array, the seal wont let A-niang tell him. Besides, he’s not getting a chance to ask- A-niang lifts his fingers to his mouth and whistles, two short, sharp blasts.
An answering, slightly less sharp whistle echoes through the forest as the glimmer of the fire appears, and not a few moments later, they enter a small clearing.
The donkey is immediately noticeable. It’s chomping on a bush only a few feet away, looks up once to judge them, and then goes back to its snack. The head is sat carefully on a tree stump, no less put together than earlier, and no body in sight.
Sitting next to the fire, on the fallen tree that the stump once held, is a skinny young man. He looks strangely similar to A-niang, but with a scrawnier form, tunic and pants rather than robes, and duller eyes, with his hair pulled into a messy half-bun. He looks up as they approach, smiling hesitantly. “Xiansheng! You found them! Are-”
“You.” Jin Ling growls venomously. The young man shrinks back like he’s been struck.
Sizhui looks over, a little shocked. Jin Ling knows this person? The new demonics eyes are wide, staring at Jin Ling like a misbehaving disciple caught by Lan Qiren himself, while the young master's face slowly turns pink with rage.
“What is he doing here?” Jin Ling demands, whirling on A-niang.
“Helping.” A-niang says bemusedly. “Ah, right, you know each other, right? He’s your shufu!”
Jin Ling makes an offended choking sound. “Mo Xuanyu is no Shufu of mine!”
Mo Xuanyu?
Gossip is forbidden in Cloud Recesses, but Sizhui has heard whispers. A young omega bastard son of Jin Guangshan, brought in as a disciple. He was cast out, and then… something happened? He returned? Sizhui isn’t exactly sure.
Jingyi would know more, Sizhui thinks, and when he shoots a glance at his friend it’s clear that he absolutely does.
“Well that’s quite rude.” A-niang says conversationally. “Why not?”
“Why!?” Jin Ling shouts, pointing a finger at Mo Xuanyu, who flinches. “He… that lunatic was always harassing Shufu-yao! And he was friends with Xue Yang, when he was with us, and don’t think no one noticed how the Mo family mysteriously died! What were they, human sacrifices to your goddess?!”
“Abusive bastards, more like.” A-niang says cheerfully, skipping into the camp. He ruffles Mo Xuanyu’s hair, standing by his side, and raises an eyebrow at Jin Ling. “Also, I’ve heard this story. It was Da-ge that killed the Mo family.”
He jerks his head to the decapitated one, who makes an offended face.
“That was my left arm!” Chifeng-zun defends. “It was angry!”
Sizhui doesn’t really know what to do with that. From the looks of everyone else, neither do they.
“Okay, then what about him robbing Carp tower?” Jin Ling accuses.
Ah. That is interesting. “What happened, exactly?” Sizhui asks, as politely as he can manage.
Jin Ling huffs, tossing his ponytail. He doesn’t turn away from Mo Xuanyu for a second. “He was the one to bring news of the Mo family’s demise.” He says. “He came to Sect Leader Jin and said he needed help. Then, in the middle of the night, he cast an array that collapsed all sorts of protective enchantments, broke into Jin-zongzhu’s private study, and made off with a bunch of papers and… and stuff!”
“I did need help! I wasn’t sure- ah!”
Mo Xuanyu grabs at his throat, A-niang quickly bending to support him. “Easy, easy. You’re alright.”
“Why did you steal, then?” Jin Ling presses.
In Sizhui’s opinion, Mo Xuanyu doesn’t look much like a thief. He’s pressed against A-niang’s side, trembling, clearly terrified of his young, unpresented nephew. Half nephew?
“What exactly did he take?” Jingyi asks, when it’s clear Mo Xuanyu needs a second. “I never figured that out.”
Jin Ling makes a face. “Well… I’m not sure, exactly, but…”
“Ooh!” A-niang gasps, raising a hand. “Ooh, I know what it was! Pick me! It was-”
“Don't do that!” The head shouts, and Mo Xuanyu leaps to his feet, grabbing A-niang and shaking him.
“The seal would never let you say it!”
“So it was for the Matriarch, then?” Jin Ling growls, hand reaching for his sword.
Mo Xuanyu flails his hands in the air, aborted sentences falling from his mouth, clearly having no way to say what he needs to. A-niang is just watching in amusement while Jin Ling fumes.
This… isn’t getting them anywhere.
Sizhui steps forwards, putting himself between the demonics and Jin Ling. “Let’s slow down for a bit. Something about this isn’t adding up.”
“It isn’t?” Jingyi asks, confused.
“It isn’t?” Mo Xuanyu says, looking equally as surprised. Jin Ling glares at him, and he quickly backtracks, waving his hands wildly in the air. “I mean! I don’t understand how he figured it out, is all! Or what he figured out! There are multiple things!”
Sizhui sighs, interjecting before Jin Ling can start yelling again. “Chifeng-zun’s arm… well, all his… bits? Are on a vengeful rampage, right? Hunting down your killer? So then why was it in the Mo estate?”
There's a moment filled with nothing but the crackle of the fire as everyone tries to puzzle it out. A-niang is smirking.
“Did Mo Xuanyu do it?” Jin Ling asks, dry and clearly disbelieving.
“No that doesn’t make sense, they’d just kill him here and now.” Jingyi points out.
“Maybe I'm playing with my food.” A-niang coos, patting Mo Xuanyu’s head as he looks up at him, betrayed.
“Xiansheng, I’m trying not to get stabbed here!”
“Hush now, I’m clearly joking.” A-niang soothes, before smirking at Sizhui. “Would you like a hint?” Sizhui and Jingyi nod, invested, while Jin Ling looks on huffily.
“Earlier, I lent him my mask.” A-niang reminds them. “You see, Da-ge’s corpse really doesn’t like him, and, well, what is the mask’s use?”
Jingyi leaps to attention like he’s giving an answer that he knows is right, take that, you stuffy teacher. “The Mask of the Demonic Sect is unique in its cloaking magic. Beyond what it hides on the face, there’s spellwork on it that hides the user’s identity. Their secondary gender, sometimes the primary gender, their spiritual signature, there's even some speculation it changes the voice, and in general makes the user unrecognizable.”
“Ooh, very good! Couldn’t put it better myself.” A-niang cheers. Jingyi looks very proud of himself, but then he frowns.
“Wait. But, the corpse doesn’t have a head.” He points out, motioning to Chifeng-zun. “It can’t see. Or hear. Or smell, or anything. So, what’s the point again?”
“It found Young Master Jin well enough.” A-niang points out, in a tone that is almost too light.
That’s right. It didn’t like Jin Ling, either… while they were fighting it, it tripped on scattered bits of building, flailed at Sizhui and Jingyi, but when it came to Jin Ling, it was always right on his tail. Even before the array was removed.
So it dislikes Jin Ling and Mo Xuanyu in particular. Why?
What similarities do they have? Jin Ling is fifteen, and unpresented. Mo Xuanyu is… twenty? A presented omega, of two years if he presented at the average age. Jin Ling is well groomed, wearing the marks of wealth and glory that comes from being the heir apparent to the Lanling Jin Sect, yellow robes, a vermillion mark on his brow. Mo Xuanyu is wearing a well worn gray tunic, dark gray pants, and a red cloth belt. Even their hair is completely different- Jin Ling’s is lighter, finer, well groomed and glossy, while Mo Xuanyu’s is a tangled, ragged mess.
Really, if he didn’t know better, Sizhui would never guess they were related-
Wait.
“That's it!” Sizhui gasps. “Bloodline! Some corpses have the ability to tell if someone is friend or foe from blood alone. The mask doesn’t just hide the face, but spiritual signature and blood as well!”
A-niang laughs and claps his hands. “Very good!”
“I can still do it.” The head announces, looking curiously at Jin Ling. “It’s like a hum. An angry hum. I kind of want to bite you.”
Jin Ling looks like he wants to back away, but doesn’t.
“So it mistook Mo Xuanyu for someone else?” Jingyi murmurs, scratching at his chin. “Wait- it mistook both of them for your murderer, which means the murderer…”
“Is from the Jin direct clan line.” Jin Ling finishes. He’s still glaring, but less directly at Mo Xuanyu. Just kind of… in general. “That’s who we’re looking for? Your murderer is from the direct Jin Line?”
A-niang nods, looking very pleased with their deduction skills. Sizhui glances at his A-die.
Such a big clue… the bloodline of the man who tore their family apart. Who killed and killed again. Who took both A-die’s love, and Bofu’s brother.
A-die looks positively murderous as the information sinks in. Like he’s about to go hunt down every single one of Jin Guangshan’s children and question them at swordpoint.
Then Jin Ling scoffs and says, “Well that’s not going to help, Zufu was a whore.”
The camp is silent, but for the crackling of the fire.
“Pfft- Ha! HAHAHA HAHAAA-”
A-niang collapses to the ground, cackling all the way and clutching at his stomach. He very nearly elbows Mo Xuanyu on the way down, who looks caught between terror and hilarity so his face is flushing and paling at the same time. Jingyi has to slap a hand over his mouth to stop his own laughter from spilling out.
“I’m not wrong!” Jin Ling shouts over the laughter. Even the head is managing to laugh uproariously, despite not having lungs. “Do you have any idea how many half-uncles and half-aunts I have? That I know of? It could be anyone!”
“Do not speak ill of your ancestors.” Hanguang-jun says mildly, in a tone that means he doesn’t really mean it.
“It’s not speaking ill if it’s true.” Jin Ling mutters, which just sets A-niang off again.
“Even so, it’s a starting point.” The head says, still chuckling. It twitches itself just slightly to look at A-die. “Wangji, you look like more of a spirit than I do. Lurking quietly in the shadows, swathed in white.”
“...mn.”
A-die steps into the light, moving carefully around the fire to drop to one knee by the head, putting them on the same level.
“Chifeng-zun.” He greets. “It’s been a while.”
“Nine years, give or take.” The head agrees. Sizhui, Jin Ling, and a still giggling Jingyi move to sit around the fire and watch one of the strangest conversations they’ve ever seen.
“So…” the head says slowly, eyes rolling to Sizhui’s A-niang. “How did that happen?”
A-die doesn’t answer, simply tapping at his throat.
“Fair enough.” Chifeng-zun backs off amicably. “…How’s Xichen?”
“Doing better, nowadays.” Hanguang-jun hums. “He… will be heartbroken to hear of this. I am sorry we could not grant you peace.”
“Not much to be done, the bastard was good at his job.” Chifeng-zun grumbles. “Though, are you sure you’re truly upset? My death allowed that one to come back.” As he says this, he flicks his eyes to A-niang, as he can’t motion in any other way.
“I would have figured it out eventually!” A-niang protests, pausing in his not very subtle journey over to Sizhui’s side. “He has other victims!”
“Are they as powerful as I am?”
A-niang snorts, slinging an arm over Sizhui’s shoulders. “Doubt it, your anger issues could support three of me.”
“HEY!”
Happily ignoring the angry, but altogether harmless Chifeng-zun, A-niang pulls Sizhui against his chest and starts smothering him in thirteen years worth of built up motherly affection. Sizhui has seen children his age fight this half-heartedly, as they’re getting too old to be coddled… but he’s never had the chance, so he happily accepts the cheek pinching and scenting.
The more he smells like ginger and chili, the more he feels warm hands ruffling his hair, the more solid this feels. Less dreamlike. It’s real.
“You’re alive.” Sizhui hums, and A-niang laughs.
“You’re alive.” he replies, letting go and smoothing his hair down again. There’s the rustle of footsteps and robes behind them, and Sizhui turns to see his A-die dropping to sit by them.
“You’re both alive.” Hanguang-jun says, low and serious as he moves to sit by them “I would like to keep you that way. What is your plan?”
A-niang blinks at him. “Plan?”
He sounds… concerningly confused. Has he really not made a plan?
“You have a plan, don’t you?” Jin Ling asks, disbelieving. A-ninag scratches at his nose, avoiding eye contact, so Jin Ling repeats himself, louder. “You have a plan, don’t you!?”
“Put the head on the corpse and go from there?” Mo Xuanyu offers, a little sheepishly.
“Our enemies,” A-niang begins grandly, covering up Jin Ling’s incredulous retort, “cannot discover our plans, if we, too, have no idea what the fuck we’re doing.”
Sizhui looks at his A-niang in baffled amusement. That’s what they’re going with?
“He’s not wrong.” Jingyi points out, grinning. A-niang nods at him like they are two wise masters, trapped in this small band of foolish highwaymen. A-die just sighs.
“So you don’t have any plan at all?” Jin Ling shouts, swiping a hand over them. “Speaking of, where is the rest of Chifeng-zun? Are you just letting him go on a murder rampage right now?”
“We can tell where he is!” Mo Xuanyu pipes up, pointing into the woods. “He’s that way! I made a trap with my blood earlier, though it will probably wear off… But we need to rest, otherwise Xiangsheng might fade, and that’s a whole other issue…”
“I keep telling you, I’m fine.” A-niang sighs. “Really, though. A-yu was the one who gathered the pieces, after he couldn’t get help. That's what he was doing when I found him.” he informs them, and Sizhui realizes with a start- half stupid, half brilliant. That’s what he was doing when A-niang found him!
He was struggling with Chifeng-zun, and couldn’t get help. When he went to the Jin Clan, he had asked for help from Lianfang-zun, the current Sect Leader Jin, who was Chifeng-zun’s sworn brother. There would have been no one better. And yet, he had ended up stealing, leaving everyone to think he was just lying to get into Carp Tower.
“Mo-qianbei.” Sizhui says, and the omega jumps. He is a little twitchy isn’t he? His eyes are really wide.
Trying to make his voice gentler, Sizhui asks, “When you went to Carp Tower, and asked for help. Could you say what you wanted to say? Or, did you already have a seal?”
Mo Xuanyu blinks at him, mouth open. “I…”
He doesn’t answer fully, but A-niang’s little giggle and hand clap of glee tells Sizhui he got something right.
“My a-yuan is so smart!” A-niang coos. “Very, very good! A-yu wasn’t listened to for a… very long time.”
He settles, looking a little sadly at Mo Xuanyu, who just shakes his head and offers a trembling smile in some appeasement.
“So you weren’t able to tell us what happened.” Jin Ling realizes, the red dot on his forehead shifting with his wrinkled brow. “What you took from Shufu-yao… he said it was papers detailing a ritual, and something ‘private with sentimental value.’”
“Oh, I bet it was.” The head grumbles, glaring murderously into the fire.
“So you wanted help, but couldn’t get it, so you took what you needed.” Sizhui guesses. It’s against the rules to make assumptions, but at this point, that's all they have. “A ritual, and something with sentimental value… yours, Chifeng-zun?”
The head seems to find this supremely amusing, for some reason, snickers. “Something like that.”
“Then the ritual A-niang found you doing was to help Chifeng-zun?” Sizhui asks Mo Xuanyu, who nods uncertainly.
“I… I wanted something too, but… yeah.”
“And all this mess is because of the seals.” Sizhui finishes, eyes dropping to Mo Xuanyu’s throat. The writing is fading, but he knows it can flare up again in a heartbeat, choking off vital information, and vital air, in seconds.
He’s really, really starting to hate these things.
Without the seals, he’d know the name of his A-niang’s murderer. Without the seal, Mo Xuanyu could have cleared his name. Without the seal, he would know so much more about his A-niang, about what had happened between him and A-die, all those years ago.
“Why, though?”
Sizhui frowns at Jingyi, who looks confused at his own question. “What do you mean?”
“I mean-” Jingyi pauses, hands waving in front of himself as he tries to word his answer. “The seals won’t let you tell us about the murderer. But why? What’s the point of the seal hiding stuff like this?”
“What does the Matriarch gain?” Jin Ling catches on. “Is this person also in the demonic sect? Like, it hides internal affairs?”
They look to the demonics, who are shifting uncomfortably. Sizhui can’t imagine what he’d do in this situation. They might not know, or be unsure of how to answer with the noose literally around their neck.
“He… can cultivate resentful energy?” Mo Xuanyu tries slowly. “I don’t think that will help you though. He’s…”
“He’s not a member of our sect.” A-niang takes over, patting Mo Xuanyu’s shoulder. “He’s… what the seals were meant to prevent. Not technically a member, but not incapable of our abilities.”
“A slippery, snakey bastard.” the head agrees.
A-niang nods, scratching his nose. “It’s more… The seals hide internal affairs, yeah. But it’s also personal details. What’s more personal to us than death?”
That question doesn’t get an answer. They don’t know. Won’t know, until they experience it themself. The thing that might trap a soul into stagnation, forcing them to suffer on the edge of life and death, watching everyone else move on as they are trapped in a quagmire of regrets…
What would be more personal, for a ghost?
“Why personal details, though? They don’t seem that important.” Jingyi asks, clearly wanting to shift away from that uncomfortable topic.
A-niang smiles and shrugs. “Something left over from the Sunshot campaign. It was supposed to be a safety net. We had specific grudges, abilities, knowledge, pasts. Any thing that could be used to identify us… Well, plenty of us had Wen brands.”
“The brand used to control the victim needed to be the one that burnt them.” Sizhui repeats from an old lesson. This is one reason for the Demonic sect’s oddities that they were taught. “Masks made it more difficult for the wen to match up who they could control, and which brand would do it.”
“Exactly.” A-niang agrees, motioning at him. “Beyond that, though, fear is a powerful weapon. People fear what they do not know, and do not understand. We capitalized on that, making ourselves into shadows. Spirits. We were faceless and unidentifiable during the war, and then we just… never really changed it.”
He sighs, leaning back on his palms as he gazes morosely into the fire.
“And then… Qiongqi path. The seals became so much stricter, so much harsher, and those that survived became even more like shadowed spirits than ever before.”
The firelight casts his face into high relief, catching on his eyes, a glare that almost hides the haunted look in them. It’s either very ironic or very accurate to refer to someone who has returned from the dead as “haunted,” but for a moment, Sizhui can see the full weight of what his A-niang has been laughing off since they reunited.
He wonders what A-niang’s life was like before the war. Before the demonic sect. He wonders what he’s lost, what family Sizhui might never get to know. Martial siblings, who fought alongside A-niang, with nowhere else to go, died in the raid. Or, surviving on the edges of society, trapped and feared behind seals and masks.
He wonders how they realized the seals had changed.
There's a rustle of robes, and A-die reaches out to place a hand on A-niang’s shoulder. He flinches in surprise, but A-die doesn’t back away, instead squeezing lightly.
“It was not your fault.” A-die murmurs. Sizhui is a little surprised he even has to say this- of course it’s not A-niang’s fault. The matriarch was the one to place the seals, wasn’t she?
Then again, A-niang was an inventor. Maybe he had helped…
But there's no hesitation in his tone- a simple fact, plain and simple. No matter what had happened, no matter what he had helped with, A-die believed in A-niang.
But A-niang doesn’t believe him.
“...Lan Zhan, I know quite a few people who would claim otherwise.” A-niang says, shaking his head. “You think too highly of me.”
A-die frowns and goes to say something else, but he’s quickly cut off with a flash of red writing.
“A-die!” Sizhui yelps, moving alongside his A-niang. It’s useless, they can’t do anything but watch as Hanguang-jun grimaces through the pain, no matter how much Sizhui would like to rip the seal from his skin.
After what is only a moment, but feels like forever, it stops, and A-die rubs at his neck. He goes to say something else, but A-niang interrupts before he can get it out.
“Let’s just sleep, okay? It’s been a long day.” He cajoles. “The juniors fought something way above their level, we’ve been running around like headless chickens- literally, in da-ge’s case-”
“I will bite you.” The head calls, but A-niang just forges on.
“And we’ve been learning all sorts of crazy things. Who’s alive, how others died, all that fun stuff.” A-niang says, brushing at the ground like he’s making a bed. “I, for one, need sleep to digest all that nonsense.”
A-die watches, clearly wanting to talk. Sizhui wants to talk.
But… It has been a long day. As if the very thought of sleep had summoned a spirit, weighing down Sizhui’s eyelids, the full weight of the day has caught up to him in moments.
Across the fire, Jingyi lets out a loud and telling yawn. Jin Ling rolls his eyes and pulls out a Qiankun pouch, taking his bedding and setting it beneath a tree. The others follow, their own bedrolls set around the fire in sleepy silence.
A-niang just lays on the ground. Sizhui has only a moment to feel bad about that before A-die offers his own bedroll.
This sparks a small, insistent, and very polite argument. A-niang denies it, because of course Hanguang-jun should have his bedroll, so A-die stubbornly folds himself into the lotus pose with the clear intention of meditating for the night, ignoring the existence of the bedroll in its entirety.
A-niang pushes Mo Xuanyu into it. A-die starts radiating disapproval, clearly terrifying the younger omega, until finally Jin Ling throws an extra blanket at A-niang and demands that they all shut up.
They do so.
Notes:
LWJ can’t say WWX’s name bc the way he says it is a love confession. WWX put the seal on him while kind of panicking (rightly so, a lot was happening for the guy) and didn’t want to hear LWJ’s feelings, so now that the seal is amped up he can’t say WWX’s name at all.
Also for drama. ;P
Btw WWX is talking out his ass to make the kids trust him so you SHOULDN’T. Unreliable narrator in the way you’re an unreliable narrator to your little cousin.
Also I decided they present at like 18 or smth bc i don’t want to decide secondary genders for the juniors. Or, like, anyone I don't absolutely need to.
Chapter 6
Notes:
Filler and Exposition and a little bit of calm morning routine <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Lan rise early.
When Sizhui blinks awake, the very first thing he does is check to make sure he wasn’t dreaming all of yesterday.
He wasn’t- A-niang is sleeping soundly beside them. Real, there, tucked under a borrowed blanket. He looks so utterly human. So alive.
Hanguang-jun is kneeling at his side, seeming to go through the same thing Sizhui is. Checking to make sure he’s real. Reaching out, hesitant to touch, as if he’s afraid if he does the illusion will vanish.
A-niang shivers in the morning chill. It’s such a simple thing… but it settles something in Sizhui’s heart. Corpses don’t shiver. They don’t feel discomfort. If A-niang shivers, he’s alive.
A-die doesn’t look very pleased with it though.
With a small smile, Sizhui picks up his blanket, and wordlessly passes it to his A-die. Sizhui isn’t using it anymore, after all. Hanguang-jun nods, gently tucking it around A-niang, and then goes to start the fire.
Across the camp, Jingyi groans. Sizhui’s heard it enough times to know his friend is inwardly cursing his trained early waking time. He smiles to himself, cleaning up his bedroll and pulling out a qiankun pouch that he thinks might have some baozi in it? They were expecting to go back to the inn for the night, so they don't exactly have proper rations. They don’t need to eat food right away, due to their cultivation, but A-niang doesn’t have a core. He’ll need something to keep him going.
Maybe he’ll want some of Sizhui’s ginger chews? They’re specifically made for him, with medicinal herbs to combat the yin in his body. They should help A-niang as well.
“Have I ever told you that I hate being incapable of sleeping in?” Jingyi mutters, eyes bleary as he comes to sit by Sizhui. His hair is a mess.
“Only a few hundred times before.” Sizhui replies, nudging his friend's shoulder. “Do you have any food packed? I’m not sure I have enough baozi to go around.”
Jingyi grunts and rummages in his sleeves. “I have some pine nuts? Young Mistress probably has more, want me to wake him up?”
Sizhui doesn’t bother answering, just shooting his troublemaking friend a look. Jingyi puts on his most innocent facade, stealing a baozi and escaping with his meager breakfast.
“Hey, where’d Hanguang-jun go?” Jingyi asks, craning his neck as though he thinks the very tall alpha is somehow hiding behind Sizhui’s body.
A-die is nowhere to be seen, but Sizhui isn’t really worried. “Maybe he went to get more firewood?”
“Hm.” Jingyi muses around a mouthful of Baozi. After a moment, he gulps down his food and asks, “Do you think he’s alright?”
“A-die?” Sizhui asks, a bit bemused. “Why wouldn't he be?”
“Are you alright?” Jingyi presses. Sizhui doesn’t answer, a little unsure what exactly Jingyi is asking. Of course he’s alright.
“Everything that we learned. Your A-niang, chifeng-zun, the demonic sect…” Jingyi elaborates, leaning into Sizhui’s side. “It’s a lot. It’s a lot for me, and he isn’t my A-niang.”
Ah.
Sizhui takes a moment. Is he alright? The easy answer is of course he is. He finally has his A-niang back. He might not know everything, but at least he knows now why he doesn’t, why A-die has never said anything before. The world makes so much more sense… and so much less at the same time.
Sizhui understands why Jingyi is asking now. With every question answered, ten more rise. And the answers to these new questions probably won't be pretty. They… they were dealing with a murder. Two murders, likely more, if that offhand comment about other victims that A-niang made was the truth.
A-niang was so surprised to see Sizhui alive. He had listed all the things that could have killed him. The raid, the incomplete resentful array… How close to death was Sizhui, when he was younger?
He doesn’t remember much of anything. According to Bofu, he was malnourished and feverish when he was brought to Cloud Recesses, and they believed he lost some memories in the process. A-die wasn’t faring much better.
Someone… had done that. To them. Taken A-niang. Taken A-die’s love. And then, only a few years later, they took a sworn brother from Bofu.
Still killing.
“You don’t think A-die blames himself, do you?” Sizhui whispers, unsure how to voice his own thoughts. He’ll worry about A-die for now, he must be feeling so much worse. “He said he failed A-niang… but there wasn’t anything he could have done. He was sealed.”
“And really badly hurt.” Jingyi agrees. “But, you know, sometimes it doesn’t make sense. My parents are both healers, and sometimes… sometimes, I know they think of the people they couldn't save. In the war, and even before and after… even if there wasn’t anything they could have done at all.”
The two of them stare at the merrily crackling flames. Sizhui isn’t sure how Jingyi is feeling, but he feels strangely hollowed out and empty.
“But, you know.” Jingyi says after a few moments of silence, bumping into Sizhui’s shoulder with his own. “Hanguang-jun has a second chance! And so do you. So we just have to make sure they don’t mess this one up, yeah?”
A second chance. A way to learn.
“I’ll do everything I can for them.” Sizhui says, smiling at his friend.
“They definitely need our help.” Jingyi mutters mulishly. “I mean, I know it’s awkward after thirteen years, but… they kind of suck at flirting.”
“You can say that again.” Chifeng-Zun’s head grumbles.
Jingyi shrieks and flails so badly that he almost knocks Sizhui into the fire. He catches himself in time, but it’s a near thing, and after a brief moment of panic Jingyi rounds on the head, which looks far too amused.
“How long have you-“
“Been here?” Chifeng-zun finishes, smirking at him. “I can’t exactly move, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Jingyi turns bright red. “I thought you were asleep!”
“Do sentient decapitated heads sleep?” Sizhui muses. He’s legitimately curious, but Jingyi must think he’s teasing him, because the glare Sizhui receives is quite impressive.
“If you ever meet another one, feel free to gather more data.” The head replies. “But I don’t seem to require it. I doze off, but I’m never truly asleep.”
“Fascinating.” Sizhui hums, because it really is. “Do you think that applies to other fierce corpses?”
“Not sure. I haven’t really compared notes with any, but I’ll tell you what I can, if you’re curious.”
So that’s how Sizhui spends his morning, asking questions of a decapitated head set on a tree stump. Chifeng-zun hasn’t been like this for very long, but he’s still able to answer quite a few questions. Some of the answers really are fascinating.
He can’t feel the temperature as acutely, but he prefers the cold now, even if it makes him a little stiffer. He hasn’t been close enough to a fire to see if he can feel that, and he’s not keen on trying, as he doesn’t think his hair would grow back if it caught. Yes, there are new senses that come with being dead, mostly greater sensitivity to resentful energy and the blood-sensing ability that the rest of his corpse was using. Yes, he has subconsciously tried to touch things with his arms, and yes it is annoying that he can only rock very slightly back and forth.
He helpfully demonstrates the range of motion he has, which is… not a whole lot. It’s mainly gained by working his jaw to shove himself places, and the last few vertebrae he has. Sizhui had noticed that the head didn’t open its mouth very wide… every time it does, it rolls backwards.
“That seems incredibly frustrating.” Jingyi groans in sympathy, over the earlier teasing in favor of this fascinating new information.
“It is. Very much.”
“Ooh, can you eat? Do you want a pine nut?”
“Don’t need to, but I can taste a little. Give me one.”
Sizhui decides not to ask where that pine nut goes.
He does ask about what it was like before Chifeng-zun gained sentience. Did he remember it? What did being a mindless corpse feel like?
Apparently, it was more dreamlike than anything. The angriest dream anyone could have, as he was still seeped in resentment and nothing more. They hit a small issue when they ask where his head was before he was reanimated, and the response is choked off by the seal. The position is strange. Not on his throat, because he doesn’t have one. Instead, it’s higher up on his neck, nearly on his jaw.
Sizhui isn’t sure how to comfort a decapitated head. He also isn’t sure how to comfort a sect leader that he doesn’t have any form of relationship with.
So he and Jingyi just kind of… sit there, wide eyed, as the head grits it’s teeth and bears it.
And then after, is awkward silence, until Jingyi asks,
“…does pain feel different?”
“I can assure you that the house you lot dropped on top of me hurt.” The head snipes, but doesn’t seem to register their apologies, scrunching up its face to think. “All sensation is rather… muted, though. The pain from the silence seal is clearer, but that might just be because it affects more than just the body.”
“Strange.” Sizhui whispers. All this is so interesting. All the information they have on fierce corpses is done by observation. No one has ever been able to talk to one before.
Well, except for Demonic Cultivators. And the Ghost General, probably. But that information has never made it to the Lan’s sect’s curriculum.
Sizhui is mourning the fact that he doesn’t have anything to take notes with when a blanket gets dropped over his head. He struggles out of it quickly, to find A-niang smirking down at him, hair an absolute rat's nest.
“Good morning, Little radish.” He hums, groaning dramatically as he sits by the fire. “I seem to have gathered more blankets in the middle of the night. Was this restless spirit sleepwalking, or was it an offering?”
“A-niang looked cold.” Sizhui responds, folding the blanket and setting it aside. “Are you hungry? We don’t have a whole lot, but Jingyi and I have some baozi and melon seeds? And, I think A-die had something…”
Hanguang-jun, who had reappeared about a quarter way through the head questioning, hums and motions to a small pile of apples he has on a white cloth.
“Oh, you found the apple tree!” A-niang cheers, not even getting up, just kind of extending along the ground, over A-die’s knee (Hanguang-jun tenses so hard Sizhui thinks he might pull a muscle in his neck) to snatch one and then rolling back into a sitting position, looking quite pleased with his breakfast. “We found it earlier, but there was a bit too much rotting fruit around the base for a proper camp. Little Apple seemed to enjoy them though.”
“What on earth is a Little Apple?” A grumpy Jin Ling asks as he rolls out of bed, looking more awake than he should. How long had he just been laying there?
A-niang points helpfully to the donkey, polishing the red fruit with the skirts of his robes. “It likes apples. It’s name is apple. Little apple, if you want to be cute.”
“Thats a stupid name.”
“Your dog is named fairy.” Jingyi points out, clearly down to annoy Jin Ling at any hour of the day. “Now that’s a stupid name. So girly.”
“Says the one whose girly scream woke me up!” Jin Ling retorts.
Jingyi flushes red, and they quickly devolve into a small argument, which Sizhui elects to ignore in favor of watching his parents.
A-niang seems to be enjoying the apple very much, and A-die seems far too pleased about that. Sizhui isn’t blind, he can easily notice the textbook courting behaviors. An Alpha collecting food for an omega? The omega going for food collected by that alpha first, even in the face of other options? There are connotations to that. Sizhui wonders if they realize them.
Probably not. There would be more blushing and careful deescalation involved.
But are they really that oblivious, or is it just the early morning… Sizhui needs all the information he can get, to help his parents get their nonsense sorted out.
“We all shared our food!” Jingyi huffs, the argument clearly having evolved.
“Sounds like a you problem.” Jin Ling replies, suspiciously muffled through what Sizhui can only assume is a mouthful of food that will not be shared.
A-niang polishes off his apple- nearly eating all of the core, too, not sparing a bit of edible flesh- and watches the two juniors fight with a strange look on his face. Not annoyed, no, something… nostalgic.
Then, of course, he sees Sizhui looking at him, wipes the look away with a smile, and chucks the mangled remains of his apple into the fire.
“Don’t mind me, just reminded of something.” he sighs, stretching out his limbs. “Aiyah, I’m growing old… reminiscing! I used to laugh at uncle four and all the aunties on the street corners… I’m still doing it, aren’t I.”
“Mn.”
“Lan Zhan!” A-niang cries dramatically at the interaction, like it’s spurring him on. “Are we old? Ancient? Decrepit? Muddling about in memories while the new generation runs off to make new ones without us? My itty bitty little radish had to pick up a beam for me earlier, because my frail, aging bones couldn’t manage it! Aiyah, I am wasting away… at least you bear your years well, Lan Zhan. Too perfect. It’s quite rude, actually. Lower the standards the rest of us are forced to live up to!”
A-die doesn’t say anything, simply gazing down at A-niang with the fondest expression Sizhui has ever seen, the corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly. He gives no reaction, though, so A-niang turns to Sizhui to pout for attention.
“Your A-niang isn’t that old, is he?”
“A-niang is very youthful.” Sizhui says promptly. Honestly, it's… a bit sad. A-die was a young parent, it’s true. Sizhui had done the math. A-die is thirty-five, Sizhui is sixteen. When Sizhui was born, A-die would have been only nineteen.
And fresh out of the war.
A-niang can’t be that much older or younger than A-die. He likely didn’t age while he was…
How he looked now was how he looked when he died. Three years after surviving a war. Three years of raising Sizhui. In the Burial Mounds. With a curse pumping in his veins. Exhaustion settles into his bones, yes, but…
A-niang looks young.
Too young.
“Aiyah, my a-yuan is too nice to say otherwise.” A-niang sighs, wagging a finger at Sizhui. “I see that hesitation! Hmm… A-yu can be too honest, sometimes. I’ll ask him.”
A-niang gets up, walks a few feet, and then flops dramatically over Mo Xuanyu’s sleeping form. There's a yelp, and a small struggle, but A-niang remains solidly on top of the other omega.
“Xiansheng?” Mo Xuanyu finally mumbles, groggy with sleep.
“A-yuuuuu…” He sighs dramatically, pawing at his face. “A-yu, A-yu, this is very important.”
“Wha…”
“Do I look old?”
Mo Xuanyu blinks up at him, once, twice, three times.
“...not a day older than death, Xiansheng.”
Then, with the devil-may-care attitude that only a half-asleep person can manage, he rolls over, tucks the blanket over his head, and goes right back to sleep.
A-niang is left on the ground, mouth open in shock, and the head laughs so hard it actually manages to knock itself off the stump.
Sizhui has to run to catch it as it rolls merrily into the woods, cackling all the way.
The rest of the morning is rather uneventful. A-niang wakes Mo Xuanyu up, (this time with a grudge) and they pack away the borrowed bedroll into a Qiankun pouch. The fire is banked, sleep ruffled hair combed, the last of Sizhui’s Baozi get eaten, and they’re ready to go.
They run into a slight issue with a stubborn donkey that has found an apparently very tasty bush, but then A-die bribes it out with the last of the apples, and they’re on their way.
The Juniors and Mo Xuanyu walk alongside as A-niang sits on the donkey’s back. His eyes, and the eyes of the head in his lap, are closed, meditating and letting A-die lead the donkey.
“They’re trying to find the corpse.” Mo Xuanyu explains quietly when Jingyi asks. “It's easier at night, when it’s active. Right now, it’s probably tucked itself away somewhere and letting it’s energy settle and fester.”
The omega turns red then, scratching at the back of his neck. “I mean, that’s how Xiansheng explained it to me a few days ago… I’m really not that good at cultivation stuff.”
“Nonsense, you’re getting better by the day.” A-niang hums, opening his eyes and stretching out his neck with a smile. “Found it. It's in Lanling Jin territory, wedged in a rock crag out of the sun. By the time we get there, it will be night again…”
Jingyi grimaces. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Not necessarily. Demonic cultivation is stronger at night, so my spell work will go easier…” A-niang hums, tapping at his chin. “That's why I didn’t have the head on yet, when you broke him out of my array. I wanted my binding to be as strong as possible. Plus, A-yu was getting thread.”
A strong binding…
Sizhui frowns, then starts rummaging in his sleeves. “Binding talismans will help with that, right?” He asks, finding one and holding it up for A-niang to see. “It creates a thread out of spiritual energy that binds two objects together. Better than normal thread, at the very least.”
A-niang blinks, then takes the talisman. He’s looking at it… strangely.
Uh oh. Sizhui knew A-niang didn’t have a core, but- “Can you not use it? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“No! No, I can use it!” A-niang squeaks, snatching the talisman back from Sizhui, who had tried to take it back. “Sorry. It’s a great idea, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it!”
The head snickers. “Yeah, I can’t believe you didn’t think of it- hey!”
Smacking the head, A-niang turns his face away so Sizhui can’t see it properly. Not entirely sure what’s going on, Sizhui looks at his A-die, but… He’s amused too?
“What’s so funny about that talisman?” Jin Ling asks the question Sizhui is dying to, with a little bit more glaring than Sizhui would have done. “My Dajiu invented that talisman.”
“He sure did!” A-niang says, clearly hiding a smile as he shoves the talisman into his robes. “Great work, great guy, uh huh! Sorry, it just reminded me of something funny.”
“Ohhhh…” Mo Xuanyu says suddenly, eyes lighting up. “I get it now.”
“I don’t!” Jingyi complains, tripping forwards a few steps.
“And you won't!” A-niang rhymes happily. “Anyways, I’m bored. A-yu!”
A-niang whips his Dizi out from his belt, pointing it down at Mo Xuanyu. “Pop quiz!”
Mo Xuanyu goes pale. “What? Now? But-”
“No buts! I will no longer allow your education to be stifled by people who can't handle a little lunacy.” A-niang sniffs, flicking his ponytail to dispel the thought like a horse batting away a fly. “Jin Sect, all stuck up little peacocks.”
Jin Ling looks very offended. A-niang ignores him.
“Four categories of things with resentful energy!” A-niang says loudly, twirling his flute around his fingers. “Name the categories, quick requirements for each category, and an example.”
It’s a very low level question. Sizhui could have answered this when he was only ten, and Mo Xuanyu is at least a decade older. He seems to know this, glancing at the juniors with a red face, but he goes to answer anyway.
“A yao is a living non-human, an example would be huli jing. A non-living non-human is a guai. The… the yin tiger amulet counts, I think. A non living human is a gui, ghosts, spirits, and fierce corpses. And, um. A living human with resentful energy is called a Mo. And… a cursed person? Or someone going through a qi deviation?”
A-niang frowns at him. “Technically all correct, but low-hanging fruit on the examples, little demonic.”
Mo Xuanyu shrinks a bit into himself, but A-niang doesn’t look quite done with him yet, if the evil smirk on his face is any indication.
“A-yu, let's say you’re building an array based on the wood element.” He says lightly. “You want to restrict this element, so it does not overpower the purpose of the array. What element do you use?”
Mo Xuanyu curses under his breath, and even Sizhui winces. Arrays are difficult already, but this particular elemental reaction has been used to trick young cultivators for years.
“...fire?” Mo Xuanyu tries, hesitant and probably already knowing he’s wrong.
“Incorrect! The fire has devoured all the wood in your array, and you have created an explosion!” A-niang announces gleefully, sweeping his flute through the air. “Which is sometimes fun, but in this situation we’re being delicate. Second try?”
Mo Xuanyu clearly doesn’t know.
“It’s metal!” Jingyi chimes in, just as Mo Xuanyu goes to answer. “Metal tools cut wooden branches. Wood makes fire go out of control, Earth and Water nourish wood, so the only thing left is metal.”
“Oh!’ Mo Xuanyu nods, looking like he’s trying to memorize it for future “pop quizzes.” “Thank you!”
“Correct.” A-niang hums, looking shrewdly at Jingyi. “But… also not your question.”
Jingyi flushes. “Sorry, Qianbei.”
“Oh, It’s alright! If you want a question, I’d be more than happy to give you one too!” A-niang reassures him. “Traveling can be so boring. Let's see… maybe something more difficult, yeah? Maybe we can relate it to the hunt we’re on right now.”
He taps at his hand with the dizi, humming lightly, before he nods and turns to Jingyi. “Alright. Liberate, suppress, eliminate. Which of these three strategies are we planning to use on Da-ge’s body?”
“Liberate!” Jigyi says confidently. “Because you’re going after the man that killed you both, getting revenge, and liberating your spirits.”
“Incorrect!”
“What?”
A-niang smirks at Jingyi, crossing his arms in smug satisfaction and then quickly uncrossing them with a yelp when little apple takes the opportunity to try and buck him off. For a moment, it almost looks like the donkey will succeed- but then A-die catches him.
For a suspended, startled moment, A-niang and A-die blink at each other in shock.
“L… Lan Zhan.” A-niang whispers, half of his body weight resting on A-die’s biceps.”I, um…”
“It was a trick question.” Sizhui tells Jingyi, because A-niang is too busy blushing and rebalancing himself. “He said Chifeng-zun’s body. They’re liberating their spirits in the long run, but the corpse is too wild for them to do much of anything right now.”
“Exactly!” A-niang squeaks, coughing his voice back to a natural tone and carefully avoiding A-die’s gaze, even as he hands back A-niang’s dropped flute. “So, what strategy are we planning for the body?”
“Suppress.” Jin Ling answers, before Jingyi can try again. “You’re using the higher cognitive function of the head to suppress the body’s resentment, so you can be smarter about liberation.”
“Very good, young master Jin.” A-niang nods proudly.
Jingyi huffs. “But eventually, you’re going to liberate it, so it’s technically the same path! You go in order!”
“Order, order, the Lan are so stuffy.” A-niang waves a hand, completely ignoring the shell shocked look on Jingyi’s face. Sizhui can understand why- that just might be the very first time Jingyi has been told he acts like a Lan. And to be scolded for it, too? “Sometimes things don’t go in order. You have to suppress more violent spirits in order to make liberation possible, and safe. Setting up protective arrays, so you can cast Evocation? Spirit trapping bags, qiankun pouches, dispeling talismans, they all suppress the spirit so you can get a chance to even learn what needs to be done to liberate a spirit.”
“Huh.” Jingyi muses. “I never thought of it like that.”
“You should. Violent spirits are often those who are the most wronged. Any effort should be taken to set things right. And, even when it’s easy, protective arrays over nearby things you don’t want destroyed are always a good idea.” A-niang lectures. “Minimizing danger and destruction along the way are also a part of a cultivator's job. Although… it is less fun that way.”
“Explosions are pretty.” Mo Xuanyu admits, and the demonics share a quick, wild look of gleeful agreement. A-die makes a face at A-niang’s back, but it goes happily ignored as the omega turns to Sizhui, the end of the flute pointed to him now. “Alright, then! Your turn for a question, little radish, but this one might be difficult. What is a Spirit Lure flag based off of?”
“Evil repelling talismans.” Sizhui says immediately. “By writing them backwards, with human blood often used as bait, the repelling effect is reversed, and resentful creatures are drawn towards the flag, or the array made by a group of flags.”
A-niang looks surprised. “That’s… correct. Have you seen one before? I thought you’d need a moment to take the logic leaps…”
“We’re taught about them in lectures.” Sizhui admits, making A-niang's eyes widen further.
“Really? They’re a demonic invention…” A-niang muses. “I thought little Lans wouldn’t be taught our nasty tricks.”
Oh.
Oh, A-niang doesn’t know, does he? Doesn’t know that his inventions were part of the classes Hanguang-jun taught? A-die isn’t even looking at Sizhui right now, looking for all the world too invested in guiding the donkey, but his ears are pink.
Keeping A-niang’s inventions alive… Sizhui can hardly let that little act of devotion go unnoticed, can he?
“Well, they’re quite useful, aren’t they?” Sizhui asks innocently. “Knowledge shouldn’t be forgotten because of where it came from. Hanguang-jun made sure we all knew how to use them.”
Sizhui can practically see A-niang process that information, slow and pondering, turning it over and digesting it, before realization sparks and he whirls around to beam at A-die.
“Lan Zhan!” He yelps, reaching out to tug at his sleeve. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, you’re teaching my hedonistic ways to itty bitty little baby Lans? Really?”
A-die’s ears are red, and growing redder.
“...mn.”
“I’ve corrupted him!” A-niang shrieks with delight. “The Second Jade of Lan himself! What else are you teaching them from my lips, eh? I seem to remember a few books from way back when with some interesting content-”
“Do not.” A-die huffs, ears practically burning now as he turns to deliver a glare strong enough to wither even the toughest of alphas.
A-niang doesn’t seem to care one bit, though, throwing his head back and cackling madly.
“Well, then. If demonic teachings are allowed, let’s see…” A-niang hums, twirling his dizi once more and looking over their little group.
“I’m not learning demonic things!” Jin Ling protests, glaring at A-niang. Sizhui thinks if he wrinkles his brow anymore, his vermillion dot will pop off.
“Well I can’t teach you the good stuff, obviously.” A-niang scoffs, waving a careless hand at the angry junior. “But, then again, even a little information is good information, isn’t it? Imagine going back home and telling your Jiujiu you’ve learned how to identify the different types of Shadow Fox.”
That catches Jin Ling's attention. It should, as Shadow foxes, or Demonic Fox Messengers, were a mystery of the demonic sect that no one had quite cracked.
They were creatures made from shadow and resentment. They melted into shadows, except for their burning red eyes. They could walk through the sunlight, but never seemed to come into focus properly. They appeared at the sides of demonic cultivators, or in areas where they were active. They often caused panic when spotted, the Jiang and Jin sects eradicating any fox they could find to be sure they were rid of them.
There were talismans that could create creatures, of course. Jin messenger butterflies were popular. But the foxes seemed to hold an intelligence of their own.
A terrifying unknown.
“I wasn’t aware there were different types.” Sizhui hums, stepping over a root that has broken up the path.
“Oh, sure there are! Someone must have noticed, right?” A-niang chirps. “They’re not true Huli Jing. Lesser fairies. A shadow of the true self, if you will. Five tails is the most a Shadow Fox can have, and those are rare indeed.”
“My Jiujiu has caught a bunch of them.” Jin Ling boasts.
“Yes, well, your Jiujiu is very nosy and likes destroying our stuff.” A-niang scoffs, then speaks over whatever Jin Lin is about to say (which was probably very angry and very offended.) “Anyways, the more tails they have, the more power they have, and the more connected with the matriarch they are. As they stay on this mortal plane, performing their duties, they’ll lose tails until they fade.”
He holds up his hand, five fingers on display, dropping a finger as he lists each one. “Five tailed foxes are the guardians of a shrine. Four tailed foxes are guides, sent by the matriarch herself. Human cultivators cannot manage creating a shadow fox with more than three tails. A-yu, list those categories.”
Mo Xuanyu squeaks, watching A-niang tick his fingers down. “Um. Three tails are those given more complicated jobs, like companionship or guarding a small area. Two tails means they have short term jobs, like carrying messages. And, one-tailed shadow foxes are weak, usually created as distractions, spies, or helpers in fights, and if they survive those then they end up as just, well, kind of gossips until they fade.”
“...the shadow foxes are gossips?” Jin Ling repeats disbelievingly.
“Did you know that the Duan Sect Heir is having an affair with his younger brother’s betrothed?” A-niang says gleefully. “Oh, I can’t wait for it to blow up…”
“What?” Jingyi gasps, leaning in, completely invested in a way that is entirely against Lan Doctrine.
Before Sizhui can scold him, however, Hanguang-jun turns ever so slightly to say, “Gossip is forbidden.”
Jingyi shrinks back, cowed, but just as before, A-niang doesn’t seem to care a whit. “Ah, boo, Lan Zhan, let the baby Lan live a little. Besides, Anhei Duan is on your southern border, isn’t it? It’s important information!”
Unimpressed gold meets gleeful silver, A-niang’s smile never once fading. If anything, it grows wider the longer Hanguang-jun gazes at him, like a sunflower blooming towards the light.
Finally, A-die looks away with a huff (Hanguang-jun losing a staring match? Unprecedented!) and A-niang turns back to the juniors, clearly eager to share more dubious wisdom.
“In any case, my little ducklings.” he croons. “Given what I have just told you about Demonic Fox Messengers, can you tell me what the one following us is for?”
“What one following-”
“There's one FOLLOWING US?”
Jin Ling has his bow in hand in seconds, and Jingyi nearly trips over his own two feet in an effort to spot the fox.
Sizhui finds it quickly- it's scrambling to hide from Jin Ling, scattering leaves in the process as it rushes to hide in the space under a log, peering out at them.
Blood red, gleaming eyes are the only point of color, the rest just a swirling mass. It looks like it’s soaking up the shadow, becoming one with it, wisps curling off its body as if it’s melting into the darkness…
Sizhui’s wrists ache beneath their ribbons.
“Hey, hey, enough of that!” A-niang huffs, hopping off the donkey and shoving Chifeng-zun into A-die’s hands, before grabbing Jin Ling’s shoulder. “What did I just teach you?”
“But- It’s a servant of the matriarch! Don’t you dislike her?” Jin Ling yelps, the arrow nocked on his bow hardly trembling.
“Again, what did I just teach you? Count the tails.” A-ninag huffs, pointing. “One, two. That's a human demonic cultivator’s messenger.”
“That doesn’t make it better!”
“It does if I recognize that anger!” A-niang laughs, turning to Mo Xuanyu. “A-yu, can you figure out who made that for us?”
The other omega startles, before shifting closer to the fox. It considers him, then glances over at Jin Ling (who is being held back by the scruff of his neck.) Apparently deciding it’s safe to come out, it slowly emerges from under the log to primly pick its way over the leaf litter to Mo Xuanyu.
“Mu’ou dashi?” the demonic asks, petting the fox’s head as its tails lightly fan back and forth like a young master idling in a garden. “It’s from mu’ou dashi, isn’t it?”
Puppet master? The fox is from someone called puppet master? It must be code, or a title, but still. Sizhui isn’t entirely sure they should trust someone who goes by that name.
“It is indeed.” A-niang hums, glancing at Hanguang-jun. “An old friend, Lan Zhan, and though I can’t tell you his name, you know him as well. I was pretty surprised when I came back and he was a member… but, no matter! Xiao Huli, what does our friend pulling the strings want to tell us?”
A-niang drops into a crouch before the fox, which yips once, before its eyes glow red. As if in response, A-niang’s eyes flash, then settle back into silver. It’s awkward, for a moment, Sizhui, Jingyi, Lin Ling, Hanguang-jun (holding a decapitated head) and a donkey standing around two omegas having a staring contest with a fox.
But, the message must be telepathic, because whatever is said very clearly upsets A-niang. The teasing expression he’s been wearing all day quickly drops into a frown.
“Already?” Mo Xuanyu whispers, eyes wide. “I thought it wasn’t supposed to happen until-”
He stops, looking over his shoulder at his audience.
“Until later.” he finishes lamely.
“Is everything all right?” Sizhui asks. What happened? Who was Mu’ou dashi, and what had they said or done? What wasn’t supposed to happen?
A-niang sighs, long and frustrated as he pushes himself out of his crouch. “Fine. Just fine. It’s just I’m not the only one with an agenda, and they’re moving faster than expected.”
He turns to them, a serious expression on his face. “We need to split up.”
Sizhui’s heart drops into his stomach.
“Why would we split up?” Jingyi asks, which Sizhui is grateful for, because his tongue feels like it's been turned to lead.
A-niang sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “It’s not like I want to. I’d love nothing more than to stay with you, but… You’re faster on your swords than we are on Little Apple, and you need to get to Lanling, immediately. Young Master Jin, especially, before Sandou Shengshou starts tearing apart the countryside looking for him.”
“Me?” Jin Ling all but demands. “What’s this got to do with me? What happened at Lanling? Why is Jiujiu there?”
A-niang opens his mouth, makes a face, then lifts his chin and taps at his throat. His seal. It’s answer enough. He can’t tell them. The seal wont let him. The seal is connected to the matriarch. The two clans that have had the most clash with the Matriarch… are the Jiang and the Jin.
Jin Ling’s family.
He looks pale, glancing at the messenger fox with wide eyes like it will tell him what A-niang can’t, but the fox simply stares back at him balefully. A-niang, however, seems to be able to say something, because he reaches out to the boy’s shoulder and grips it tightly.
“No one is dead.” He confirms, voice low and gentle. “No one is dying. But your ‘safe’ nighthunt has gone off track because of me, and you’ve lost contact because of it. After… well. They’ll want to know where you are, okay?”
Jin Ling searches his face, seeming to find something trustworthy, because he gulps and nods. A-niang smiles and pats his head.
“Good. Lan Zhan, give me Da-ge, and… oh, wait! One more thing.”
A-niang turns to Sizhui as Mo Xuanyu takes the head and donkey reins, reaching out to hold his shoulders in the same comforting way he had taken Jin Ling’s. “A-yuan, I need you to promise me something, okay?”
Sizhui’s tongue is still frozen, his heart still in his stomach. He can’t speak. He nods, once to show he’s listening, and A-niang smiles sadly.
“I know this is difficult, little radish, and I’m so sorry.” he whispers, one hand coming up to brush against Sizhui’s cheek. “I still can’t believe that you’re here, and the idea of splitting up…”
Sizhui understands. Sizhui would do literally anything to keep A-niang here, where he can see him. Where he can know he’s not going to disappear. Where he can see living, breathing proof that this isn’t all just some crazy dream. But…
“If it’s what A-niang thinks is best.” Sizhui says, voice only trembling a little bit. “You… you needed me to do something?”
A-niang smiles, pinching his cheeks. “Such a filial child I have, ah? Alright. I need you to not tell anyone that you’ve found your A-niang, alright? Not even people you trust.”
Tell no one? Sizhui wants to shout it from the top of Carp tower itself, that he’s finally found what he lost all those years ago, that a hole in his heart has finally been filled. And, plus, all the information they can get and give might help them find this killer!
“Why?” he asks, lifting a hand to clutch at A-niang’s wrist. He must have a reason. If this is about A-die’s reputation again, though… he thinks Hanguang-jun might tell people just to prove he doesn’t care about it.
A-niang sighs, shoulders drooping. “It’s to keep you safe.” He admits, and Sizhui immediately feels guilty for what he had just thought. “The killer… he’s smart. Too smart. He’ll put two and two together, and he knows how to manipulate the curse. I can’t…”
He shudders, falling silent. Like the words are too much to even say. Seemingly overcome, he drags Sizhui into his chest, and he goes willingly, pressing against his body to feel their hearts pumping together.
You’re alive.
I’m alive.
And we wont risk anything.
“I won’t tell anyone, A-niang.” Sizhui says, muffled into his A-niang’s neck. “I swear.”
A-niang reaches up to pet his hair, before pushing him away to meet his eyes.
“No one.” he stresses, before looking around at their party. “None of you. Not even Zewu-jun or Lianfang-zun.”
“No one.” Sizhui promises. He can see Jin Ling nod begrudgingly, and Jingyi raises his hand to swear.
A-niang nods, letting Sizhui go. “You still have the compass?”
Sizhui pulls it from his sleeve, and A-niang pulls out his own, just to check.
“Good. You should be able to get there by sunset if you push.” A-niang says, backing away. With great reluctance, Sizhui draws his sword and mounts it, Jin Ling and Jingyi doing the same.
For a moment, A-die doesn’t join them. He stands by A-niang, watching him, silver meeting gold, and reaches out to gently brush a stray curl of hair from A-niang’s cheek. For a moment, A-niang meets his eyes, something unspoken passing between them.
“...I’ll be right behind you, Okay?” A-niang murmurs. “I might not have a sword, but I have tricks of my own. I might get there faster, honestly, but I can’t bring righteous cultivators along with me.”
“...mn. Be safe.”
Hanguang-jun mounts his sword, and with Sizhui clutching the compass like a lifeline, they take off for whatever awaits them at Lanling.
Notes:
“Da-jiu” means mothers eldest brother/first maternal uncle. Those who know that “A-niang” IS Jin ling’s Da-jiu are very entertained by the juniors offering one of WWX’s own talismans to him
The wood array question is actually based on the real chinese element system! I did RESEARCH for my few paragraphs of donkey-riding lesson time!
Are the shadow foxes important? Eh. Sometimes. I just think they’re neat
Mu’ou dashi… puppetmaster… the one who pulls the strings… oh I wonder who that could be…
Chapter 7: The Fox has arrived! The fox has left.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They fly fast.
Jin Ling’s worry, the swirling storm of emotions in Sizhui, both make them push themselves into the focus of flying their swords in the direction of lanling like arrows shot from a bow.
Sizhui’s mind is in turmoil. He hates this, hates being apart from his A-niang. He feels like a lost kit. He hates this killer, who took his A-niang away, who was bold enough to kill a sect leader, who even now was keeping them apart. He hates not knowing who it is. He hates hating things.
It makes him feel sick.
The compass, a comforting weight clutched in his hand, keeps jumping strangely. In one moment, it will be at a certain angle, and then it will jump wildly to another. Once, it even swapped the sides it was on, from right to left. Sizhui guesses that it’s because of the demonic technique that A-niang hinted at.
He hopes it’s because there's a strange teleportation Demonic technique.
He doesn’t know what he’d do if the compass broke.
The very thought chills him to the bone, and it’s only Jin Ling’s shout that stops him from spiraling.
“Zidian!”
Sizhui blinks panic tears away, focusing on where Jin Ling is pointing. They’ve been traveling for the greater part of the day, but the glare of the sun high in the sky doesn’t quite overwhelm the unmistakable purple light of Sandu Shengshou’s spiritual weapon.
Jin Ling takes off after it, clearly worried. Whatever happened, it has to do with the Matriarch, and whatever has Sandu Shengshou taking out his whip won’t be fun.
Hanguang-Jun seems to think the same, because he takes off after Jin Ling. Jingyi and Sizhui follow close behind, descending into what seems like pure chaos.
Fifteen to twenty yellow and purple robed disciples, as well as a group of hunting dogs, are running about in what must have once been a normal part of the forest. Now, though, the ground is blown open, revealing an underground hollow large enough for four full grown men to lay comfortably side-by-side. A blood red array sits on the packed earth floor, stacks of talismans fluttering and scattering in the newly-opened air.
On one end- the deeper end, Sizhui thinks, away from what was once the entrance- a small statue of a huli jing sits, the roughly painted sign declaring it “Siwang Zhi Mu.”
With a start, he realizes that the Jin and Jiang disciples are chasing Demonic Foxes, which keep jumping in and out of shadows madly. Most of them have only one tail, but Sizhui spots a few with three and even one with five.
“A shrine of the Matriarch, this close?” Jingyi gasps, clearly horrified. The fox with five tails leaps behind Sizhui, who quickly stumbles out of the way of the Jin disciple chasing it.
The fox shoots an almost betrayed look at him before darting out of the way of a sword.
With a weird feeling in his chest, Sizhui turns back to the fight, just in time to see a woman in a mask and practically jangling with beads smash back into the clearing, cackling madly and dodging purple lightning with almost inhuman flexibility.
“Greetings to the esteemed cultivators! Allow me to welcome you to my humble abode!” She cheers, throwing glowing red talismans into the air. As Sizhui watches, the glow fades, the paper blackens, and single tailed shadow foxes burst from them, dropping to the churned earth and immediately nipping at the heels of the Jin and Jiang Cultivators trying desperately to corral them with the aid of hunting dogs.
“Jiujiu!” Jin Ling shouts, as Jiang-zongzhu chases after the demonic. Jiang-Zongzhu breaks his single-minded attention to the hunt almost immediately to check on his nephew.
“A-ling? Where have you been!”
“On a nighthunt! What’s going on? Why is there a shrine so close by? What happened in Lanling?”
“Jiang-zongzhu! The Array is activating!”
One thing after another, Sizhui groans inwardly, raising his sword into a defensive position. Jiang-zongzhu rushes over to them, dragging his nephew behind himself.
Resentful energy starts to smoke from the array, curling around the edges of the writing, following the path of the growing energy. The winds pick up, pressure building, pressing down on Sizhui, tugging at his wrist ribbons, at the curse bound behind them.
Sizhui’s ears pop, his wrists burn like they’re on fire. With a wince, he stumbles back, only to be caught by Hanguang-jun, who immediately starts pushing spiritual energy into Sizhui’s wrist ties.
The resentful energy has grown into very nearly a tornado, now. Talismans are whipped into the air, glowing from within the smog like red, beady eyes, shadow foxes yelping and cackling as they, too, leap into the shadow.
And then- it breaks.
A shockwave of demonic energy washes over the cultivators, pressure popping in their ears, and they stare at the figures that have appeared, floating, above the demonic array.
Two are translucent, dressed in fine, flowing robes that fade into non-existence near the skirts hemline, flowing unhindered by legs. Their faces are deathly white, with red painted lips curled into coquettish smiles as they clutch the shoulders of the third figure like courtesans at the parties Sizhui isn’t allowed to go to, and doesn’t want to go to.
But the third… the third figure is what everyone is staring at.
Black robes, falling strangely to accommodate nine pitch black tails. Dark power obscures the figure, resentful smoke curling off of them like incense, changing the very air into something thick and ominous. Thick, old fashioned robes wrap around their body. No hairpin or guan adorns the figure’s head, letting resentful energy swirl in wild, unbound hair, until it’s impossible to tell if the tendrils floating on the wind are smoke or solid. Emerging from the miasma are a pair of black, furry fox ears. The mask that covers the top half of their face glints in the dimmed sun, and through the darkened eyeholes, a pair of bright red coals burn with malevolent power.
Something that looks like blood drips down her cheeks. One of the courtesan spirits nuzzles in close and nips at it.
Sizhui is not the only one who falls to their knees, trembling. He is not the only one who knows exactly who this person is. Jin Ling is shaking, Jingyi’s face is pale, and there is an alpha twice their age who has dropped their sword in terror.
“Muqin!” The demonic cultivator that Jiang-zongzhu was chasing gasps, bowing respectfully to her Sect Leader. The Matriarch, Mother of Death, Beast of the Burial Mounds, and Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, turns to her, a smile appearing on her face.
“Hello, Nu-er.” The Matriarch coos. “I see I’ve interrupted a party. Who destroyed my shrine?”
The demonic cultivator points wordlessly to Jiang-zongzhu, who scowls, his grip on Zidian tightening.
“Ah.” The Matriarch sighs, tracing a gentle pattern along the arm of one of her spirits. “Figures. Sandu Shengshou does enjoy smashing my things. Or stealing my things. Tell me, do you still have Chenqing?”
Jiang-zongzhu’s scowl deepens, if at all possible. “You’re one to talk. Return her, immediately.”
Her?
Sizhui struggles to his feet, the resentful energy mostly scattered now, but he’s still forced to rely on A-die. Who is Jiang-zongzhu talking about? The courtesan spirits? He can’t mean the late Jiang-guniang…
“Hm…” The Matriarch muses, tilting her head to the side and tapping at her chin. “No, I don’t think I will. I need her for something, you see. Honestly, I wasn’t even expecting many people at this shrine! Hanguang-jun, always a pleasure. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Though you’ve spoken to another of my children… I’d be careful involving yourself in my business, you know.”
A-die’s grip on Sizhui’s arm tightens, ever so slightly, though his face remains unchanged.
“And twenty-three other cultivators I can’t be bothered to name…” The matriarch muses, slowly turning to count them. “Oh! Twenty-four. Plus three little ones. Ah, I’m really much too weak… in my prime, I could have taken you all. But, well, you truly did a number on me, Sandu Shengshou!”
“Clearly not enough of a number if you’re still talking, beast.” Jiang-zongzhu growls, drawing back Zidian, the whip hissing across the earth like an angry serpent about to strike. “I’ll be sure to rectify that immediately!”
With a crack, he snaps the whip forwards, but the Matriarch simply drops from the air, her companions trailing after her into the remains of her shrine as she cries out, “Nu-er!”
The Demonic Cultivator leaps after her master into the hole, and the fox sweeps an arm over the darkened array. Once again, resentful energy swirls through the air, coalescing around the four women and hiding them from view.
“I will see you all soon!” The matriarch’s voice rings out through the smoke, echoing through the clearing. “I have a promise to keep!”
When Zidan strikes again, it is on an empty array, only the wild fluttering of talismans and the scent of old blood proof that they were there at all.
The curse Sandu Shengshou lets out would earn Sizhui two whole weeks of copying rules balanced on one hand. And that's because it would be a first offense.
“Jin Ling.” He growls, Zidan shrinking back into a ring as he drops to a knee beside his nephew. “Are you alright?”
“That was…” Jin Ling whispers, staring at the place where the Matriarch was just floating. “She… She was…”
With a rough tug, Jiang-zongzhu drags his nephew into his chest, turning to glare at the gathered cultivators. “Destroy that array, immediately! I don’t want a shred of it remaining! And search the area, the damned fox only took one cultivator. There were at least three more we flushed out!”
“Yes, Jiang-zongzhu!”
“Come here.” Jiang-zongzhu grumbles, dragging Jin Ling away from the destroyed shrine. Sizhui, Jingyi, and Hanguang-jun follow behind, and they settle on a toppled tree, a blackened whip mark still crackling on the bark.
“Breathe, waisheng.” Jiang-zongzhu orders, gently shaking Jin Ling by the shoulders. “You’re fine.”
Jin Ling doesn’t look fine. He’s pale, sweating, eyes wide and clutching onto the bark of the fallen tree like a lifeline. “She- she’s back. Really back. He said, but… but I didn’t…”
With another shake, Jiang-zongzhu silences his nephew, before turning on Hanguang-jun. “What the hell happened? They were supposed to be in Guangling! The scouts said you never returned to the inn!”
“Complications.” Hanguang-jun says tersely. It doesn’t serve to calm the angry Sect Leader down at all.
Sizhui isn’t entirely sure why, but his A-die and Jiang-zongzhu have never gotten along well. Whenever they run into each other, whether it be discussion conferences, sect visits, or sheer coincidence, the Jiang and Lan Alphas are at each other's throats.
Well. Jiang-zongzhu acts aggressively. Hanguang-jun is never really loud, but he makes his disdain known.
Whatever the reason is, Sizhui has never learned it. He just tries to smooth things over, so Bofu won’t have even more work to do.
And, speaking of Bofu…
“Wangji!”
There he is.
Two men descend on swords, completely ignoring the destruction to rush to their side. Sizhui knows them both well.
Sect Leader Lan, Zewu-jun, Sizhui’s Bofu, Lan Xichen. He wears the Lan white, with more blue cloth and silver embroidery than Hanguang-jun does. His guan is also more extravagant than Lan usually wear, to signify his position.
Beside him is the Chief Cultivator, Jin-zongzhu, Lianfang-zun, Jin Ling’s Shufu, Jin Guangyao. He wears a stiff cap and the golden robes of the Jin clan, with the same vermillion mark as Jin Ling.
Chifeng-zun’s sworn brothers, the two surviving members of the venerated triad, respected and revered. Both men are Betas, known for their easy smiles and diplomatic ease. Sizhui has been told that he takes after his Bofu more than once. But right now, those smiles are nowhere to be seen, worry clouding both of their faces.
“We felt the resentful energy in this area spike.” Zewu-jun says, looking around. “Is everyone alright?”
“No one is badly injured, Sect Leader Lan.” A Jin disciple reports, bowing. “Just… startled. It would appear the array we found was capable of summoning the Matriarch.”
“The Matriarch- here?” Jin-zongzhu gasps, nearly shoving Jiang-zongzhu aside to grab Jin Ling. “Are you alright? We lost contact during your nighthunt, the scouts I sent after you said you never returned to the inn, and now this? What did she do?”
“Quit grabbing him, damnit!” Jiang-zongzhu growls, pulling Lianfang-zun back. He goes easily, a guilty look appearing on his face.
“I… I apologize, A-ling. It’s been a long day.” Jin-zongzhu sighs, rubbing at his temple. “After A-su…”
They must mean Qin Su, Sizhui realizes. The beta wife of Jin-zongzhu, well loved by her people.
“Shenmu?” Jin Ling asks, looking between the three sect leaders, getting more and more worried with each one. “What’s going on? What happened in Lanling? What does any of this have to do with me or Shenmu?”
“She received a letter a few days ago.” Lianfang-zun says, utterly heartbroken. “Whatever the contents, it upset her greatly, but she burned it before I could even try to read it. I didn’t want to worry you, so your nighthunt went as planned, but… just last night…”
Jin-zongzhu makes a broken noise, covering his mouth, and Bofu quickly reaches out to comfort him.
“She was seen following a Demonic Messenger Fox out of Carp Tower.” Zewu-jun reports grimly. “There's no sign of her. The witness said she seemed to be in a trance, and then we lost contact with you… you can imagine how stressed we were.”
Jin Ling looks truly and utterly horrified. “That’s what he was talking about?”
“He?” Jiang-zongzhu says quickly, frowning. “Who’s he?”
“We met-”
“Jin-gongzi!” Sizhui interrupts, before Jin Ling can say something incriminating. He’s obviously still shaken from seeing his parent’s murderer, and this is a delicate situation. Chifeng-zun’s sworn brothers need to know, yes, but they’re surrounded by disciples and demonic foxes. Sizhui is no stranger to how quickly gossip can spread, even among the Lan sect where it is forbidden. His A-ninag had been worried about what the murderer would do with any sort of information, so Sizhui will be as careful as possible.
He bows politely to the sect leaders, one of whom looks like he’s trying not to cry, one who is growling, and the third very concerned. “Our nighthunt had some… unexpected developments, and I believe it would be best if we spoke more privately. If the Sect Leaders will allow it?”
Zewu-jun and Lianfang-zun look at each other, before Lianfang-zun nods.
“Come, we’ll speak in Carp Tower.”
Carp Tower is a place of extravagance and luxury. The City of Lanling is a bustling merchant hub, the founder of the clan having been a very successful merchant themself, and the shrewd, business focused minds live to this day to make the Lanling Jin the wealthiest of all the clans.
And… also one of the clans with the most scandals.
Whatever the reason, Lianfang-zun is able to find them a secluded room with silencing talismans carved and lacquered decoratively into the walls and door. A servant enters quickly with tea, before vanishing with a bow and a click of the charms activating.
“You said someone told you about something happening in Lanling.” Sandu Shengshou says, wasting no time. “Who?”
Jin Ling takes a breath to reply, but pauses, looking at Sizhui. He’s both betrayed and extremely grateful for this.
On the one hand, he’s just found his A-niang, learned his A-niang was murdered, learned a sect leader was murdered, was then left behind by his A-niang, found out his A-die was cursed, went to find his A-niang again and then met a demonic who might have been forced to rob the jin sect to do what is right, then been left behind as his A-niang messes around with demonic stuff, only for him to run into the Matriarch herself, and honestly Sizhui needs someone else to take the reins now please.
On the other hand, if he doesn’t have control over this situation he might just pass out with nerves. He’s spoken for Hanguang-jun before. He can do this.
“We aren’t entirely sure, Jiang-Zongzhu.” Sizhui admits. “It’s… very complicated.”
“Then start from the beginning, Sizhui.” Zewu-jun says kindly.
Right.
Okay, Sizhui totally has this.
“On this nighthunt, Hanguang-jun’s target was a large, headless fierce corpse, with demonic sect influence.” Sizhui repeats, just to recap what the sect leaders probably already know. “When we arrived, we found the corpse trapped in an array. It had been dismembered, and then put back together. But, well, nearby, there was…”
What to call A-niang? What even is he, technically? Dead, then revived, but reliant on Chifeng-zun’s resentful energy…
“An auxiliary spirit.” Sizhui decides. “Once a demonic cultivator, killed during the raid on the burial mounds from a sword to the heart. We saw the wound. He had the head that belonged to the decapitated corpse. And it was sentient.”
Almost in unison, the three Sect Leader’s eyes go wide with shock. “Like the ghost general?” Sandu Shengshou asks urgently.
“I couldn’tbsay if they were exactly alike, but he seemed to have memories of who he was, what happened to him, and was able to hold a conversation with me very well.” Sizhui admits. For a good while, that very morning, but that isn’t the important part. “The head… claimed to be Chifeng-zun.”
The teacup in Lianfang-zun’s hand clatters to the floor, tea spilling in an arc as it rolls. No one pays it any mind.
“Wangji, was it really…” Zewu-jun whispers, turning to his brother. At Hanguang-jun’s nod, his expression crumples.
Bofu cares very deeply for people. Sizhui has been a focus of that care, he knows how important Bofu’s people are to him. He knows how devastated he was when he lost Chifeng-zun, one of his oldest friends.
And now Sizhui has to tear open that wound.
“There’s more, Bofu.” he says, forgoing the formalities. Bofu doesn’t need to be a sect leader right now, not if Sizhui can help it. “According to him, his death wasn’t an accident.”
“What?” Lianfang-zun whispers, like it's been punched out of him. “Could he say… Did he say how?”
“He wasn’t able to tell us much.” Sizhui admits. “The Demonic spirit that gave him sentience seems to have passed on the silence seal, as their resentment is now one. According to them, the killer betrayed him and sped up his qi deviation somehow.”
“The ghost of a demonic cultivator has influence over what the head says?” Sandu Shengshou asks sharply. “How can we be sure they actually wanted to help?”
“He said he was killed by the same person.” Jingyi offers. The room all turns to him, and he immediately seems to regret speaking, shifting in his seat a little uncomfortably at having the undivided attention of three sect leaders in various states of emotional turmoil. “I mean, we might not know everything, but they both seemed pretty angry about it? And we could see the connection. The auxiliary spirit is being completely supported by Chifeng-zun’s anger, and that wouldn’t happen if they weren’t after the same person.”
“For a normal spirit, yes.” Sandu Shengshou grumbles, glaring at his untouched tea like it’s the cause of all his problems. “But we can’t be sure with a former demonic. Who knows what they’re capable of doing with resentful energy.”
Jingyi makes a face, Sizhui quickly elbowing him to stop whatever he’s about to say. Of course they trust A-niang. He’s Sizhui’s A-niang. But Jiang-zongzhu doesn’t know that, can’t know that.
“I mean, why would the seal stop them from talking about the killer? That doesn’t make sense.” Sandu Shengshou elaborates.
“They said it was because the seal blocks personal details.” Sizhui repeats from his A-niang. “And there's nothing more personal to a restless spirit than their own death. But… they also said that the killer knows some demonic cultivation? But also that they weren’t a member of their sect. I’m not entirely sure what to make of that.”
Sizhui really isn’t. A-niang had said that it wouldn’t help them find him, but the number of people who might know demonic cultivation is slim.
“Do we have any more details?” Lianfang-zun asks. He’s chewing at his lip, and Sizhui can’t help but feel horrible. His wife missing, the death of his sworn brother reemerging…
“Not from them, exactly.” Jin Ling says, sitting straighter between his uncles. “But… they weren’t the only two people there. Mo Xuanyu was too.”
“When did he show up?” Jiang-zongzhu grumbles, but his nephew ignores him.
“According to him, the deaths in Mo Village weren’t him, but a piece of Chifeng-zun’s dismembered body.” Jin Ling continues. “Though, it was after him, because he shares blood with the killer.”
“Shares blood?”
“One of Zufu’s bastards.” Jin Ling nods. “The head confirmed it after we guessed, because the body was going after me, too.”
“It what?!”
“I’m fine, Jiujiu.” Jin Ling reassures him. “But, that’s why he stole from you, Shufu. He couldn’t tell you he needed help, so he stole help. It was some kind of ritual, right?”
Lianfang-zun is a very interesting color. It looks like he’s trying to turn sickly green and angry red all at once. Probably disgusted and angered by Jin Guangshan’s actions, if Sizhui had to guess. “There was a ritual… as well as a keepsake from dA-ge.”
“Then that’s what he was after.” Zewu-jun sighs. “If only we had known… we should have helped him.”
“Could we?” Lianfang-zun rubs at his temples, clearly exhausted. “With so little information… and we aren’t sure exactly who the auxiliary spirit is… did you recognize them, Hanguang-jun?”
Sizhui can feel Jingyi shift beside him, looking over to Hanguang-jun. This is it- there’s no way for him to get out of this without lying and breaking the rules, is there? What will he disobey, A-niang’s wishes, or lan sect doctrine?
“I couldn’t say.” A-die hums, without hesitation. Lan Sect rules, then…
Wait. Not a lie. He said he can’t say- he can’t tell them. Because A-niang had asked him not to. But A-die, that's toeing the line a little close!
Not being able to hear Sizhui’s inner turmoil at Hanguang-jun himself blurring the rules, the sect leaders go back to musing.
“It sounds like a double agent to me.” Jiang-zongzhu says. He’s turning Zidian on his finger, deep in thought. “If this bastard knows demonic cultivation, then he must have some connection to the Demonic Sect. And if he was close enough to sabotage a sect leader, he would have also been within the sabotaged sect… not to mention getting to the body from the grave. You said it was dismembered?”
“Chifeng-zun’s rage grew too powerful, so the killer dismembered the body to suppress it.” Sizhui recites obediently.
“That would be difficult, if he wasn’t a member of the Nie sect.” Sandu Shengshou nods. “And to have demonic cultivation, but not be a member of the demonic sect? I can’t see the fox being too pleased with that. No wonder the demonics are getting involved.”
A betrayal of two sects. Demonic sect, Nie sect… maybe three, if Sizhui counts the killer’s bloodline belonging to the central Jin Clan. This killer gets bolder with each new thing Sizhui learns.
“The auxiliary spirit did say he came through by grabbing onto the Matriarch’s tails, so she probably knows.” Jin Ling says, looking at his Jiujiu, supporting his ideas. “Though he also said he didn’t like her very much, so maybe he’s being used too? He was trying to help us…”
A spark of purple lightning flares on Sandu Shengshou’s ring, and Jin Ling falls silent under his Jiujiu’s glare. “Never,” Jiang-zongzhu says darkly, the spark fading, “trust a demonic. We all know what happens.”
“Sorry, Jiujiu.” Jin Ling looks down at his lap, and Sizhui can see his lower lip tremble. They all know what happens. After all, Jin Ling’s parents had reached out to the Matriarch first.
Had trusted her.
“Well, regardless.” Bofu says, cutting through the awkward silence. “We cannot let this go uninvestigated. Da-ge… Da-ge deserves to rest easy.”
Lianfang-zun nods his agreement. “We won't rest until he does.”
Sizhui looks between the two of them, and can’t help but remember the stories he’s heard. The venerated triad, Chifeng-Zun, Zewu-jun, Lianfang-zun. Chifeng-zun, an unstoppable force leading the main army, Zewu-jun, who carried information and orders to the fronts, and Lianfang-zun, who risked his life from inside the palace of sun and flames. (He even got close to the captive Wei Wuxian, before his death!)
The heroes of the Sunshot Campaign.
Torn apart too soon.
The two remaining members lock eyes, determined, before something in Zewu-jun seems to falter.
“But, A-su…”
Lianfang-zun’s heart seems to break even further.
“We have no leads.” He admits, hands clenching. “And this… auxiliary spirit. It told Jin Ling to return, correct?”
At Jingyi and Sizhui’s nod, the Jin Sect leader’s heartbroken expression turns determined. “Then it might be able to tell me more. If we are helping it, we may be helped in return, and if we lay DA-ge to rest along the way then all the better.”
“I’d also like to speak to this spirit.” Jiang-zongzhu agrees. “Even if it’s lying, or misleading us, any information is good information.”
Sizhui has to admit that he’s slightly uncomfortable with them referring to A-niang as an “it.” He was living, breathing. A person, not a thing. His heart beat, his lips smiled, he was warm and welcoming. A little mischievous, but Sizhui knows he can trust him. Of course, he knows the Sect Leaders have no idea, but still… Sizhui had said “he” to refer to A-niang, hadn’t he?
“Speaking of information…” Jin-zongzhu says slowly, locking eyes with Zewu-jun. When Bofu nods slightly, he turns to the third sect leader. “Zewu-jun already knows this, but there may be a reason the Matriarch and her children are targeting me.”
Sandu Shengshou scowls, tilting his chin ever so slightly in a way that perfectly communicates ‘This had better be good.’ Jingyi, evidently aware that he is about to learn something utterly fascinating and also far above his station, takes a slow sip of his tea and tries to look trustworthy.
“About two weeks past, I had a run in with Xue Yang.”
Jingyi spits out his tea.
In his own state of shock, Sizhui nearly fumbles the handkerchief he offers his friend. Xue Yang was a well known name, for how often he was warned about. An alpha with a deceptively sweet scent, rumored disciple of Wen Rouhan, who assisted with his experiments with the Matriarch’s Yin Iron Amulet. After the war, he was taken in by Jin Guangshan, only to betray their trust years later with the brutal massacre of the Yueyang Chang clan. Caught by Xiao Xingchen, sentenced, but then escaped.
One of the most famous Demonic Cultivators aside from the Matriarch herself. Almost more feared, because (before now), unlike the Matriarch, he was alive.
“Two weeks- Shufu, you were wounded on a nighthunt two weeks ago!” Jin Ling exclaims, looking Jin-zongzhu up and down, like the healed wounds have reopened and become more grievous now that he knows who caused them.
“We had a… slight disagreement.” Lianfang-zun grimaces.
Sizhui can imagine. The previous Jin-zongzhu, Jin Guangshan, had been letting Xue Yang off easy, if reports were to be believed. There was some speculation that he wanted to learn and understand demonic cultivation. Whatever the reason, the late sect leader died before it could bear fruit, and his successor had called for Xue Yang’s sentencing.
There were even some rumors that Xue Yang had a hand in Jin Guangshan’s death, but that wasn’t confirmed. Sizhui thinks. He’d rather not remember the details of that report.
“Why was this kept secret?” Jiang-zongzhu asks, a vein pulsating in his forehead. “Whatever he’s doing can’t be good.”
“Because of what I took from him.” Lianfang-zun rubs at a spot on his side- the place he was injured, perhaps. “He had the Yin Iron Amulet. Whole and repaired.”
“WHAT?!”
Jiang-zongzhu’s fist sends teacups rattling, Sizhui quickly snatching his and Jingyi’s to save them from toppling. Lianfang-zun’s is already on the floor, and Hanguang-jun was holding his, but Jiang-zongzhu and Jin Ling are not quite as lucky.
“The Matriarch destroyed it!” Jiang-zongzhu shouts, ignoring the tea dripping off the table as his nephew scrambles out of the splash zone. “I saw it shatter with my own eyes!”
“And it would appear Xue Yang repaired it.” Lianfang-zun’s voice is even, but Sizhui has grown up with Bofu and A-die. He can see the tension running below the surface. “I had it locked away behind as many arrays as I could think of, but the thought of such an artifact returning…”
He doesn’t need to complete the thought. The Yin Tiger Amulet was what gave Wen Rouhan the strength to start the war, when he stole it from the Matriarch. The Fox had emerged from the burial mounds, amassing her own armies of the dead to fight against it, and once she had finally reclaimed her creation, it drove her mad. It was power, pure and uncontrollable, and coveted by many greedy minds.
An artifact of that power…
“Could he have used it to bring the Matriarch back?” Jingyi asks suddenly. “I mean, if you took it two weeks ago… How long has the Matriarch been back?”
“We aren’t entirely sure.” Zewu-jun admits. “But it is one theory.”
“I cannot stress the secrecy of this enough.” Lianfang-zun says, locking eyes with Sizhui and the two other Juniors. “I had only intended to tell Sandu Shengshou, but the spirit already trusts you, so it may be necessary. Can I trust you not to tell anyone?”
“The Lan do not gossip, A-yao.” Zewu-jun assures him. Sizhui glances at Jingyi, who definitely does gossip at least a little. “Sizhui and Jingyi are dutiful disciples, I’m sure they understand the severity of this.”
That, Sizhui does know Jingyi understands. Together, they nod along with their sect leader, bowing to Lianfang-zun.
“I want to see it.” Jiang-zongzhu demands, getting to his feet. “I watched her destroy it with her final breath. I refuse to believe that thing is whole until I’ve seen it.”
Jin Ling leaps to his feet beside his Jiujiu, clearly determined to follow them, and the rest of the table stands in respect.
“Of course.” Jin-zongzhu nods to Hanguang-jun. “If you and your disciples would like to view it as well…”
“No.”
Sizhui blinks looking at his A-die. He’ll listen, of course, but he won't deny being slightly curious…
“Ah, right.” Bofu says, like he’s realized something. “Sizhui’s curse.”
Unbidden, Sizhui’s hand comes up to his opposite wrist, rubbing over the ribbons tied there. Right. The Yin Iron amulet is one of the most powerful resentful artifacts known. There's no telling what havoc it would wreak on Sizhui’s curse, especially after everything that’s happened recently.
“How has it been?” Bofu asks, moving around the table to Sizhui, who holds up his arm for his Bofu to check the ribbons. “You haven’t been uncomfortable, have you?”
“No, Bofu.” Sizhui says diligently. “It shifted when we met Chifeng-zun and his auxiliary spirit, and the Matriarch’s presence was… overwhelming. But I’m fine now.”
The other members of the discussion are filing out of the room, only Jin Ling throwing a curious glance Sizhui’s way.
“All the same, the binding should be checked over.” Bofu decides. “I was going to ask Wangji to perform cleansing with me…”
“I’ll wait in A-die’s room.” Sizhui offers, patting his Bofu’s hand and smiling reassuringly. “He can check it over when he returns. There's no need to worry about me right now, Jin-Zongzhu and Jiang-Zongzhu are waiting.”
A-die glances at the door, clearly doubtful of Jiang-zongzhu’s ability to wait for anyone, especially since his voice can no longer be heard. Sizhui doubts that ability a little bit too. But Jiang-zongzhu has emotional ties to this situation, and Sizhui is being polite.
A maid leads Sizhui to a guest room, where there's already a small basin of water to wash away the grime of two days of travel and camping. The room is a bit gaudy for Sizhui’s taste- the wash basin, of all things, has gold plating- but it’s quiet and the daybed is comfortable enough.
Cleaner than he was before, Sizhui takes out the compass. If nothing else, the ability to see his A-niang’s direction, being out there, somewhere…
There's a new drawing on the wood.
It’s well done. Neat, clear strokes that wouldn’t be out of place in a professional painting, although obviously done with a bit of charcoal, perhaps on the end of a burnt stick, rather than a proper brush. And yet, the subject matter…
It’s Chifeng-zun’s head. Chifeng-zun’s very angry head. With his odd handle-braided hair being chomped on by a donkey.
Sizhui can’t help but laugh- the head's expression is incredible. Like he’s about to start shouting angrily, right here in the gaudy Carp Tower room. From what he’s seen of his A-niang, he wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t hypothetical, either. If A-niang had carefully sketched this out on a tiny wooden circle, ignoring Chifeng-zun as he shouts his displeasure.
Sharing with Sizhui, no matter how far away he is.
Smiling, Sizhui gently runs a finger over the drawing, the only connection he has, only to immediately regret it as it smudges and comes away dirty. He hadn’t meant to ruin it!
But, almost like it was waiting for Sizhui to touch it, the drawing vanishes, smearing and being wiped away by unseen hands.
Sizhui barely has a moment to mourn it before a small line appears, tracing over the wood, carefully forming into the shape of a radish.
A-niang is asking for him.
Nearly tripping over himself, Sizhui scrambles over to the desk with a small calligraphy set neatly arranged on it. The ink will take a bit to grind, so he rubs the finger with charcoal on it into the wood, hoping the smear will let A-niang know he’s watching while he gets to work.
The radish disappears, only for a new drawing to begin. Doodles, really, small images of clouds appearing across the compass. Sizhui notices with some amusement that they’re almost perfect replicas of the embroidered clouds on the central Lan clan’s forehead ribbons.
His ink has been ground, if a bit watery, so Sizhui quickly picks up the calligraphy brush. He doesn’t trust his own drawing skill, so he instead traces over A-niang’s, darkening the strokes.
Almost immediately, there's a wild, excited scribble in the center of the wood, before it’s wiped away, replaced by a small flower, which Sizhui copies carefully.
The compass is wiped clean again, the clouds vanishing, before A-niang starts drawing again. It’s much slower, kept to one side of the wooden compass, and then stops.
Slightly confused, Sizhui copies the stroke, and then the next, and the next. Soon enough, as their drawings take shape, he realizes what’s happening; A-niang is teaching him how to draw. This one is a lotus.
They work their way through multitudes of flowers. Peonies, orchids, chrysanthemums, lilies. Even a small, four-petaled flower that Sizhui doesn’t recognize at first, until A-niang adds the root system- a buried radish.
It’s a little astounding that the wood keeps wiping perfectly clean. Sizhui must have added enough ink to soak right through paper, but whatever A-niang has treated this compass with just gently repels both charcoal and ink. It’s like writing on polished stone.
They’re partway through a drawing of a branch of plum blossoms when the door slides open, and Hanguang-jun steps over the threshold.
Sizhui stands and bows politely to his A-die, because he is a filial son even in the privacy of this room. But there’s no need for greetings, no need for words. Hanguang-jun simply nods, closes the door, and moves to sit on the other side of the desk, like he’s watching Sizhui write an essay for his lectures in Cloud Recesses.
Sizhui shifts the compass so that A-die can see the drawing, which has been put on pause. He can see A-niang carefully finishing up his branch, but he sets his own aside in favor of writing “A-die.”
The plum blossom drawing stops. Sizhui and Hanguang-jun watch as the character vanishes, and in its place, delicate and soft, a small sketch of a bunny appears, looking up through the almost-matching plum blossom branches.
Hanguang-jun’s eyes go warm.
Sizhui has to wonder if A-niang knows about the warren of rabbits in Cloud Recesses’ back hills. Pets may not be allowed, but A-die simply says that those are wild rabbits, accustomed to human interaction.
One of his very first memories is being buried under a pile of rabbits by his A-die.
But no matter what, the very first thing A-niang had done when told of A-die’s presence is to draw a bunny rabbit. After thirteen years, he remembered what A-die likes.
The plum blossoms and rabbit are wiped away, and a new drawing begins- in the center, this time, two small noses brushing together, before A-niang starts on one side. One rabbit, the other clearly meant for Sizhui to finish.
Sizhui copies each stroke, ever so careful, mirroring his A-niang’s work. As with the flowers, it’s not as neat- he ends up slipping with the brush at the rabbit’s back paw. Before he can wipe away the mistake, however, A-niang starts filling in the rabbit with his charcoal, making its fur black and covering up the fumble.
A white (tan, if you consider the color of the wood, but Sizhui is going to think of it as white because those are what color the ones he knows are) and black rabbit, nose to nose, eyes closed in happy little crescents.
Sizhui loves them. They’re perfect, and sweet, and also something he made with his A-niang, just the two of them. He wants to keep it forever.
A-niang starts drawing again, the smallest of flowers appearing around the bunnies feet. Sizhui joins in, carefully drawing blades of grass- simple enough so that he won't ruin it.
The toll of the bell makes him jump, though thankfully his brush was away from the compass. Nine. Time to sleep.
For maybe the first time since he was very young, Sizhui looks up at his A-die with what he knows are begging eyes, but Hunguang-jun simply holds out his hand. Sizhui passes over the compass, disappointed but willing.
Carefully, so that he won’t ruin the drawing, Hanguang-jun draws the character for “sleep” above the bunnies heads. Almost immediately, it is added too, making it “sleep well,” and then the drawings stop.
Hanguang-jun sets the compass aside, reaching once more for Sizhui, who offers his wrists. Together, they circulate spiritual energy through the curse bindings, probably less than they ought to, but they can always go over it again in the morning.
“Goodnight, A-yuan.” Hanguang-jun says quietly, handing the compass back.
“Good night, A-die.” Sizhui bows, the compass held very carefully so as not to smudge the drawing.
He leaves for his own room, smiling down at the tiny, precious drawing in his hand, the small red marking that connects him to someone with a matching drawing of bunnies and flowers, the wish “sleep well” written above their heads in his parent’s calligraphy.
Notes:
So, how's that for an entrance, huh? Is the mother of death foxy and mysterious enough?
Personally I’m imagining the matriarch in qin/han dynasty hanfu, which is like, the blanket burrito of hanfu, look it up, you’ll understand what I mean. Hides the body, room for tails, clearly an ancient being you guys.
Kinda like this: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/chinese-hanfu-of-qin-dynasty--155937205841217678/
Uh oh, someone kidnapped Qin Su! Oh noooooo whatever will happen to her
Fucking nothing my girl got done so dirty in canon don’t worry bby i have you now.Wei Wuxian; invents instant messaging in ancient china, uses it to draw bunnies and flowers
Chapter 8: Nie Huaisang cries a river, and the Lan go fishing
Notes:
I love finding notes from when I was first planning this story and spotting weird parts where I didn't know what was gonna happen. Fun fact, couldn't decide if this was gonna be ABO or gender swapped for a long time! That's why wwx goes by A-niang. Also, once lost the technical details of the Wei's curse. Found em again. Thank god.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
In the morning, they travel once more. On horses, this time, because flying on swords for three days in a row is too difficult for the juniors. Jin Ling has taken advantage of this, and there is a very happy dog trotting at their heels on the way to Qinghe Nie.
The northernmost of the Great Sects, Chifeng-zun’s former home, and the place of his death. A place where, if their suspicions are correct, A-niang’s murderer might still live.
Sizhui has been to Qinghe before, of course. Chifeng-zun’s younger brother and successor, Nie Huaisang, might not have been a member of the Venerated Triad, but he was as much a brother to Bofu as Chifeng-zun was. Sizhui has traveled with Bofu, met Nie-zongzhu as Zewu-jun helped him to run his sect.
It’s quite rude to say, but… Nie Huaisang is not the best at his job.
The Nie Sect is known for their fierceness in battle. Using single bladed sabers rather than the double-edged straight swords that most cultivation clans use, they require a more vicious way of fighting. They hunt constantly, and either through hours of intensive training or simply the greater amount of meat in their diet, their cultivators are known to be quite large. Even as a wasted corpse, Chifeng-zun is no exception.
Nie Huaisang is.
“Er-ge! San-ge!”
Nie Huaisang is small, waifish, and honestly would not be out of place in a band of giggling young mistresses. Sizhui has never seen him hold the signature saber of his sect, as he prefers to carry painted fans. He isn’t sure what Nie-zongzhu’s secondary gender is, to be perfectly honest. It’s said that he was once friends with Wei Wuxian, and to this day uses one of the omega’s inventions- scent blocking talismans. No one knows what he is, though people seem to agree that Nie-zongzhu is no Alpha.
None of this matters, of course, but compounding with the fact that he looks so out of place, Nie Huaisang is as skittish and frail in mind as he is in body. He’s known as the headshaker- ask a question, and get three “I don't know’s.” No battle ability, no political ability, no studious ability.
Not that Sizhui would ever dare to say so out loud.
“Greetings to Nie-zongzhu.” Zewu-jun says, bowing. Sizhui and the rest of their traveling party follow along.
“Welcome to my surprise visitors.” Nie-zongzhu bows in return. “To what do I owe the honor? I only just left Carp Tower a few days ago! San-ge, did you catch Mo Xuanyu?”
No one seems to find the words for that. All of them shift uncomfortably, not wanting to be the one to say it.
“May we speak more privately, Huaisang?” Zewu-jun says finally. “It’s not… good news.”
Nie-zongzhu does not take it well.
His fan clatters to the table, tears welling in his eyes and a hand clasped over his mouth as Zewu-jun summarizes everything that Sizhui and the others had learned and found.
“I’m so sorry, Huaisang.” Zewu-jun finishes, reaching out to grip his shoulder in support. “I wish I didn’t have to tell you this.”
“I just-” Nie-zongzhu hiccups, taking a deep breath before starting again. “I don’t understand. It was Qi Deviation, wasn’t it? It runs in our family…”
“The- ah, Chifeng-zun claimed someone hastened it.” Sizhui tells the sect leader. He should probably not refer to the sect leader's dead brother as “the head.” It’s cruel enough to be speaking of this even without constant reminders of the corpses desecration.
“So they must have been here, right?” Nie-zongzhu asks, looking around, eyes wide and fearful. “Someone- are they still here?!”
“We aren’t sure, Huaisang. That’s what we’re here to find out.” Zewu-jun reassures him. “We’ll go after him and his auxiliary spirit, and maybe get some answers, but… we need all the information we can get. Do you think you can help?”
Nie-zongzhu nods, looking unsure. “I just… I don’t know who it could be. I’d like to think I trust everyone here, but…”
“It could be anyone.” Lianfang-zun agrees, clearly tired. “Sandu Shengshou had some ideas, I believe?”
“A double agent.” Sandu Shengshou growls. “If they betrayed someone in the demonic sect, as well as Nie-zongzhu, we can assume it was someone who entered a righteous sect while keeping a relationship with the matriarch in secret, only to betray their own during the raid. Likely wiping their hands clean.”
“Which would explain why the auxiliary spirit is angry.” Lianfang-zun explains.
“How would they have entered the sect?” Jingyi asks. “That doesn’t make sense at all!”
The sect leaders immediately start to look uncomfortable. Lianfang-zun looks to the side, Sandu Shengshou’s glare deepens, and Nie-zongzhu flicks his fan over his face.
“Well… the sects were torn to shreds, after the war.” Zewu-jun explains. “The clans too depleted to survive, rouge cultivators tired from war and wandering, even a few who were cast out from their original clan… there were many sects who ended up taking them in to refill their own ranks. A-yao showed me some of the Jin's records of this earlier today.”
“Xue Yang was one of them.” Lianfang-zun confirms, looking ever more uncomfortable. “If he was allowed in…”
Sizhui winces, knowing the end of that sentence already.
“A lesser known demonic would have had a much easier time.” Sandu Shengshou finishes with a grumble. “Our own error.”
Nie-zongzhu looks even more terrified. “The records… I think I know where those are? Ah… I’ll have to ask…”
“I’ll help you later.” Lianfang-zun offers, smiling his sympathy at Nie-Zongzhu. “I still remember my way around. But before that… Do you remember anything strange from that night?”
Nie-zongzhu frowns in thought, pressing his fan to his lips. It doesn’t do much to hide their trembling. “No… not that I can remember.” he whispers, voice creaking like a tree in strong winds, a tear slowly streaking down his cheek. “San-ge was playing cleansing, and… and I made him angry, and then everything went wrong… I’m sorry, I really don’t know… what could anyone have gained from this! Why would they want Da-ge to suffer?”
By the end of the statement, he’s sobbing, hands pressed over his face. Zewu-jun and Lianfang-zun quickly move to his side, comforting him, but it only seems to make the Sect Leader cry more.
Sizhui understands. Of course he does. He’s gone through the same thing, with his A-niang, the feeling of discovery, then horror. Wanting to know more, to understand, and yet, so terrified of what he may discover. Helplessness, learning something was wrong many years too late.
So, Sizhui understands.
That does not make it less awkward.
Evidently, the Alphas do not seem to be comfortable either.
“We’ll… leave you to your moment, Nie-zongzhu.” Sandu Shengshou says, straightening and turning to the door. “If you require any assistance, let me know. A-ling, come.”
Hanguang-jun seems to be of the same mind, bowing respectfully to the entangled sect leaders before gracefully (not rushing at all, definitely not) leaving the room.
Sizhui and Jingyi scramble to follow at his heels.
“That was horrible.” Jingyi groans, once they get far enough away. “I felt so bad.”
Sizhui doesn’t bother answering. He, too, is exhausted.
Also, his wrists are tingling again.
Frowning, he rubs at them. He might not have spent enough time reinforcing them with his spiritual energy. It feels… off again.
“A-die?”
“Mn?”
“I think… my ribbons…”
Hanguang-jun stops his wandering immediately, turning to take Sizhui’s arm and pull him off the path to a small, covered pavilion. He sits them down, pulling up Sizhui’s sleeve to push spiritual energy into the ribbons.
“You did this last night, didn’t you?” Jingyi asks, hovering nervously over their shoulders. “Why is it getting worse this quickly?”
“Got distracted… with the compass.” Sizhui admits, wincing. His A-die’s power is cool and soothing, and Sizhui adds his own carefully, letting Hanguang-jun bend the spiritual power around and into the ribbons binding his curse. But even still, he can feel something darker underneath, pushing at the ribbons, like his hands and arms have gone numb from sitting on a vein for too long.
Jingyi makes a face at him, which somehow conveys his utter disappointment at having to be the responsible one. And Sizhui thought A-die was the only person who could communicate through eyebrow twitches.
The curse tugs at him again, Sizhui opening and closing his hands to try and alleviate it. It feels like… like there's something here. Something pulling at him. He needs to- do something. Go somewhere. Find something.
Something important.
Some-
“Uh, Hanguang-jun?”
Sizhui shakes off the strange feeling, focusing on Jingyi. A slightly bemused Jingyi, who is looking over their heads.
“Hanguang-jun, there’s a… a thing on your head.” Jingyi says, motioning to A-die’s hair. “I think it’s moving?”
Moving?
Sizhui frowns and carefully starts removing his energy from A-die’s, craning his neck to try and spot what Jingyi is looking at.
There, attached to a silver branch of A-die’s guan, is a leaf. But it doesn’t seem like a natural leaf. It’s been cut into shape, almost like a person, with the twiggy stem as the head, and four small limbs as arms and legs. The arms are clutching onto the hair ornament like it’s a lifeline.
“Is that a paperman?” Sizhui asks, understanding Jingyi’s bemusement now. Papermen are difficult to create, and dangerous to use. Any damage done to the delicate form can transfer and harm the user terribly.
“A leafman.” Jingyi corrects, as the little thing flails and tumbles from A-die’s head in a sudden breeze. It snatches for purchase, catching on the ribbon, before A-die reaches up and catches it between two fingers. “What’s it doing here? Whose is it?”
The stem-head looks up as the wind settles, and A-die gently lets it down in an open palm. It balances easily enough despite its paper-thin limbs.
As he does so, Sizhui catches sight of the sigil used to create it- a small, red-blotted mark. That’s… blood. Demonic energy.
“Is that… A-niang?” Sizhui gasps, leaning closer. The little leaf man turns to him, waving. “What are you doing here?”
“You know you reek of demonic cultivation, right?” Jingyi hisses, leaning over them like he can shelter the leaf from view. “What are you doing, marching right into one of the Four Major Sect’s residences? Especially now when everyone is on high alert! Are you insane?”
The leafman turns, balanced on one leg, and nods very slowly, and very seriously at Jingyi.
“A-niang.” Sizhui sighs, already resigned. Papermen are dangerous, and Jingyi is right to say that it would be even more so in such a heavily guarded place. But the leaf somehow manages to look very innocent in all things, and Sizhui shouldn’t be scolding his parent anyways, so he lets it go.
“Why didn’t you use the compass? Is something wrong?” He asks instead, reaching out to the little leaf. It grabs his finger, patting it and shaking itself back and forth. Nothings wrong, okay. “Did you just want to come see us?”
The leaf… shudders? Shrugs? Sizhui isn’t entirely sure, but then it waves one of its arms in a beckoning motion and points into the distance.
“You want us to follow you?” Sizhui checks. The leafman nods.
“To a clue? Or to you.” Jingyi asks as they stand. “And- Sizhui, your curse…”
“I’m fine now.” Sizhui reassures him, already giddy with the idea of getting to see A-niang again. “And we can always check the bindings again there. A-niang made them anyway, didn’t he?”
“Mn.”
A-die gently folds the leafman into the lapel of his outer robe, so that A-niangs arms can hook over the edge of the cloth and point the way.
It’s adorable, too. Smiling slightly, Sizhui follows behind his A-die.
They find the new camp quickly, with the little leaf man pointing. It’s well hidden otherwise- a sandy cove tucked into the bend of a small river, surrounded by scraggly trees and rocks. The donkey looks quite unimpressed with its grazing options, and the head is giving it suspicious looks from its place in A-niang's lap.
A-niang is resting up against a ledge of dirt held in place by gnarled roots, eyes opening as they approach and face quickly breaking into a grin.
“A-yuan! Lan Zhan!” He cheers, setting the head down and scrambling to his feet, nearly tripping, but managing to right himself and all but tackling Sizhui. “My darling child, it has been a hundred years since I have seen your face, I am a parched traveler in a desert, sit back and let A-niang drink you in-”
“A-niang, it was only yesterday.” Sizhui laughs, letting A-niang pinch at his cheeks. It’s a token protest, really, because it does feel like far too long. He feels home, he feels safe, and the burning scent of chili and ginger has never felt so familiar.
“Too long.” A-niang huffs, chin hooking over Sizhui’s shoulder as he engulfs him in a hug. “Lan Zhan! Look at you, standing all mysterious in the background, come here! I’ve missed you and your pretty face.”
Hanguang-jun, with the blankest face in existence, walks up to A-niang and Sizhui, and lets A-niang grab his cheeks like an auntie on new years. It’s a strange picture, especially for the juniors- A-die is nearly a head taller than A-niang, and they’ve never seen Hanguang-jun’s face stretch quite so much.
Jingyi makes the mistake of snorting (loudly) and A-niang rounds on him with an evil glint in his eye. “Don’t think you’re safe, little Lan!”
“Hey- I’M NOT YOUR KID!” Jingyi screeches, turning on his heels and darting away. He doesn’t get far, A-niang quickly dragging him down with an arm around his throat and his hand viciously tugging at his cheek.
“Where’s Jin-gongzi?” A-niang muses over Jingyi’s offended noises. “I’m sure he’d hate this, I must inflict it on him immediately.”
“With Sandu Shengshou.” Sizhui informs him, a little amused. “Where’s the body?”
“Sleeping deeper in the woods, I’ve got an array around it again.” A-niang hums, tugging a little harder on Jingyi’s cheek. “Gave us a run for our money, I think it was following Lianfeng-zun as he flew up here.”
“And Mo-qianbei?” Sizhui asks, ignoring his friend's cry for help.
A-niang releases Jingyi, looking around. “Well, I sent him fishing…”
There's a loud yelp and a splash from the river.
“...but that’s not happening.” Chifeng-zun’s head finishes, watching the omega’s floundering in amusement.
Mo Xuanyu clambers onto a rock in the water, in his undershirt, dripping wet and his hair a mess. He does not make any attempt to save his dignity, merely flopping over the rock belly-first like a washed up corpse.
“Come on, A-yu, not even a tiddler?” A-niang teases, hands on his hips. “Aiyah, what did they teach you back home?”
“Don’t talk if you want to eat.” Mo Xuanyu grunts, lifting his head to glare at them. “You’re the water baby, you catch something!”
“Oh well if you insist.” A-niang sighs, hands coming up to undo his belt. “A-yuan, come with me, something tells me you don’t know how to catch a fish either. Jingyi, do you want to come?”
“Yes!” Jingyi shouts excitedly, taking off his outer robe as well. Soon the three of them are wading out into the rushing water.
Sizhui thinks that fish will probably be afraid of this many people, but he’s not about to question it.
“Alright, children, watch and learn.” A-niang smirks, once they’ve found themselves next to a boulder that's creating a small eddy behind it. “See that eddy? Small, less powerful fish get swept in there, but bigger fish hide themselves behind the rock to lie in wait for those fish. They can use less energy that way. All you’ve got to do is spot them, see?”
“But the water is in the way.” Jingyi points out. A-niang rolls his eyes.
“Of course it is. But, what will a fish have more of than the water?”
“Qi. Lifeforce.” Sizhui answers. Water, especially moving water, has a certain amount of Qi, but a fish will be far more concentrated. “We can… sense them?”
“Very good!” A-niang cheers. “Of course, sensing and catching are two very different things.”
“It’s impossible!” Mo Xuanyu insists, no longer flopped across the rock but instead curled up in a frustrated ball. “They’re fast! And slimy!”
A-niang rolls his eyes, leans towards the water, and holds his position for a moment, almost meditative.
Then, with a quick splash, he strikes at the water, emerging with a flopping fish and a bright grin.
Mo Xuanyu lets out a long, low groan of defeat, Sizhui and Jingyi clapping politely. A-niang bows with aplomb, setting the fish on the rock and quickly killing it with a blow to the head.
“I’ll gut it once we’re done.” A-niang hums, pushing himself up onto the rock. “But we’ll need at least… three, four, five… five, if everyone who can eat wants to eat.”
“If I knew you were hungry, I could have brought something…” Sizhui says, a little guilty. His breakfast might not have been easily transportable, but he should have taken something.
“And deny me the opportunity to drag stuffy Lan disciples into the river and get them all messy hunting for my lunch?” A-niang teases. “No way. Besides, your A-niang must impart wisdom! Thirteen years, you have escaped my tutelage, no more! I will teach you all sorts of nonsense that will have your teachers scratching their heads, wondering where you learned it.”
Thirteen years of learning under his A-niang…
“I look forward to your instruction.” Sizhui bows, like he is in a carefully organized classroom before a teacher, and not waist deep in rushing water in front of a soaked, cackling man with a dead fish.
There's a mighty splash from where Jingyi is standing, and then he starts spluttering and wiping at his face.
“Your hand is a blade, not a palm strike.” A-niang advises, grinning at him. “And when water flies at your face, it is best to breathe out, not in.”
“I know that!” Jingyi retorts, slightly nasally, before turning and blowing out his nose.
Sizhui lets his friend be, sure that he can handle a little teasing, and closes his eyes. Qi is in all things. Finding your Spiritual Roots is one of the earliest steps of cultivation. To find them in other beings is a bit trickier, especially if the energy isn’t affecting you personally, but it is possible.
There. A decently sized fish, swimming up the river, headed right for them. It’s found the tail end of the eddy, swimming up through the path of least resistance.
Hand flat, like a blade…
The splash is, of course, inevitable, especially when Sizhui has to bend down closer to the water for his arm to reach the fish, but he’s learned from Jingyi’s mistake.
He still doesn’t catch the fish.
“Eugh!” He grunts, rebalancing himself. It’s as much a cry of disgust as it is shock- the fish is slimy, hard to grip, and very displeased about nearly being caught.
A-niang cackles. “Touched it, did you? They do feel strange when you’re not used to them. Still, you learn from each other, that's good. Try again! A-yu, you too!”
Mo Xuanyu makes another long grumpy noise, but he slides back into the water to help.
They are not very good at it.
A-niang made it look easy. Not only did you have to have a fish brave enough to come close to you, but also close enough to the surface so that you didn’t have to go under to grab it. (A-niang holds no issue with this, diving straight into the fastest part of the river for his second catch.) The fish were fast, flopped wildly, and felt gross. If there wasn’t a good grip, then all that was caught was slime and a vague feeling of frustration.
Still, Sizhui finds himself having fun. He only manages to catch one, but he’s the first to manage it after A-niang, so he’s pleased all the same.
Jinyi catches two, and looks very smug about it. Mo Xuanyu catches one undersized one, feels bad about eating a baby, and lets it go. A-niang catches a third and declares the six fish enough for a meal, all of them wading out of the river soaked to the bone.
“Ah, I’ve missed real rivers!” A-niang sighs, lifting up his hair and wringing out the water. “Nothing like a cold dip to make you feel alive again.”
Sizhui hopes the “I was dead jokes” don’t become a thing, but from what he knows of his A-niang, they probably will be. A-niang seems to deflect with humor, even about somewhat inappropriate things. He can… almost understand why A-niang wasn’t brought to Cloud Recesses.
After all, right now, A-niang’s appearance would probably have certain Lan Elders spitting blood. He seems to have no care for propriety. His hair a dripping mess, inner robes loosely tied, neck bared-
Wait, what is that?
Sizhui almost misses it, eyes sliding over the spot like an unsteady foot on black ice. But, it’s definitely there- a small, rectangular patch. A talisman? It’s about the right size, right over where a claiming bite would be…
Sizhui looks away. It would be incredibly rude to ask- the neck, and by extension, scent glands, are incredibly private. But, the only thing he could think of that would be there are maybe scent-masking talismans, and A-niang has scented him before, so…
He glances at A-die, because if anyone has the answer, it would be him.
He regrets it.
A-die is also focused on A-niang's neck, but it’s clear from his red ears that it is for an Entirely Different Reason. And it is a reason that Sizhui is not thinking about, ever, thank you. Good for them, but no thank you.
“A-yuan!” A-niang cheers, bumping into his side. “Want to learn how to gut a fish?”
That sounds sufficiently disgusting enough to be a distraction. “Sure, A-niang. You said you would teach me, right?”
“I did indeed.” A-niang nods seriously, grabbing him by the elbow and dragging him back to the riverbank. “Jingyi, a-yu, you want to learn, or would you rather find me roasting sticks?”
“Sticks!” Mo Xuanyu shouts, already scrambling into the shrubbery.
“You’ve written arrays in your own blood and sewn together corpses, how is gutting a fish worse?” A-niang shouts after him.
“Fish are gross!”
A-niang rolls his eyes, pulling a small knife out of the pile of his over robes. “A squeamish demonic cultivator. Isn't that something… Alright, A-yuan, we’re gonna start by bleeding the fish…”
Gutting a fish is interesting. Sizhui is grateful he had taken off his outer robe earlier, because blood would be far too obvious on the white cloth. Still, they manage to make a very small amount of mess, but also attract a few crows. A-niang cheerfully tosses them the guts, causing a racous outcry of cawing.
Sizhui grins and tosses them some more. He likes crows.
“We get the good stuff.” A-niang nods, setting out the last fish as the murky water clears. “Alright, If those two can’t find good sticks, which they probably won't, the plants here are all wiggly and not good for spokes… we can just put them on the rocks next to the fire and turn them around as we go.”
A-niang sighs, poking at their fire, made with a pile of old and dried up driftwood that had been washed up on the riverbank. “I just wish we had some spices… poor fish, bland and untasty…”
“I don’t think untasty is a word.” Sizhui says, bringing the fish over so A-niang can set them on the rock. A-niang rolls his eyes.
“Well you understood what I meant, so… Lan Zhan?”
Hanguang-jun has come up beside them, rummaging in his sleeve. He pulls out a small jar, setting it down at A-niang's side.
“Chili oil?” Sizhui whispers, a little confused. Why would A-die have chili oil?
“You brought me chili oil?!” A-niang squeals with excitement, answering Sizhui’s question. “Lan Zhan, you’re the best!”
Saying this doesn’t seem to be enough, as A-niang scrambles to his feet just to throw his arms around A-die, squeezing him with a wet squelch of not quite fully dry robes.
A-die freezes, arms held awkwardly. Up, but not holding, hovering around A-niang’s sides but not touching, wanting but not doing…
Seeming to realize something is wrong, A-niang backs off, looking sheepish. “Ah… sorry, sorry. I forgot. Um. You’re a little damp, my bad…”
“No.” A-die says, haltingly, hands falling carefully down to his sides. “It’s.. fine.”
It doesn’t look fine.
It looks awkward. Two pieces that should fit together perfectly, not slotting together right. Each of them wanting, and yet not reaching out, not letting themselves… why?
Sizhui doesn’t understand. He can see the look in both of their eyes as they retreat, sees the care that they both have for each other. So why are they so hesitant? What happened, all those years ago?
Maybe… maybe if they have some time alone? Maybe if they can talk it out… but would the seal even let them? How much of their seals overlap? Does this, too, count as personal things, even if they’re speaking to the person who was once their mate?
Not for the first time, Sizhui curses the matriarch’s seal. It seems to be, if not the cause of all his problems, then the largest obstacle in fixing said problems.
Of course, it’s not like he can do anything about it, so he sits at A-niangs side and listens as he explains how to properly cook a fish, both on the rocks beside a fire and the roasting spits that Jingyi and Mo Xuanyu bring back. They’ve only found two decent ones, so both techniques get used.
One of the fish gets absolutely smothered in chili oil. Sizhui hopes that’s A-niang’s. He’s cooking his own, that he had caught and gutted himself, and it feels… good? Like something to be proud of.
He burns himself on the first bite and it immediately douses that pride.
“Take a moment, a-yuan.” A-niang laughs. “Here, Lan Jingyi, this one is the one you caught. A-yu, Lan Zhan… and the spicy one for me!”
“Is the last one for me?” The head snorts, looking up at them.
“That’s in case anyone is still hungry. You don’t have a stomach.” A-niang says primly through a mouthful of spicy fish.
“Do you want an eyeball to suck on?” Mo Xuanyu offers. It makes some sense. Technically, as a former Sect Leader, Chifeng-zun is the highest ranked person here, and therefore would get the eyeballs if this was a proper banquet. They’re also small enough to not be too much of an issue for his… diminished size.
“Eyeballs help your smarts!” A-niang nods, motioning at Mo Xuanyu. “Maybe you can stop leaning on me for sentience.”
“Ha, ha.” Chifeng-zun grumbles. “I don’t think that’s how it works. Nah, I won’t be able to taste it well, and I've never liked the texture. Thank you, though.”
Mo Xuanyu shrugs and slurps out his fish’s eyeball.
“Oh, you can do that, but you can’t gut a fish?” A-niang scoffs.
“It’s different!”
“HOW?!”
“It’s becaumph umpumhurm.” Mo Xuanyu’s answer is muffled through an oversized bite of fish, in a way that makes Sizhui suspect he never formed words at all, but rather made noise in order to have the final say.
A-niang looks distinctly unimpressed, making a face at Sizhui in Fish Gutter Solidarity. He can’t help but laugh a little.
“Something wrong?” A-niang asks suddenly. “Why aren’t- oh, right. No talking while eating. Such a silly rule.”
Sizhui might not be allowed to talk, but he turns himself politely towards his A-niang to show that he’s listening. He gets a soft, indulgent smile, so he’s quite pleased with himself.
“Back home, mealtimes were louder than anything else.” A-niang admits, still smiling, but not at Sizhui anymore. Softer, more reminiscent. “The Burial Mounds were… hard to live in. The only time everyone was together was while we were eating. And, even before…”
He stops, face scrunched up, and rubs at his throat.
Before the burial mounds, Sizhui guesses. At A-niang’s original home. Where was it? What had happened to him? He wants to know, more than anything.
“At your childhood home?” Jingyi asks, when it’s clear A-niang wont, or can’t, continue.
A-niang looks up, smirking at him. “Made you break a rule.”
Jingyi smirks right back, holding out the bones of his fish. “I’m done, Qianbei.”
“Ack! My plan to corrupt you, foiled!” A-niang groans, throwing his hands in the air with pretend frustration. “And… yes, I suppose you could call it that.”
Complicated questions, complicated answers. Yes and no aren’t going to get them anywhere, are they?
“Did you… have your curse back then?” Jingyi asks slowly, then seems to realize what he just said, eyes going wide. “I mean! Not that you have to answer, I was just curious! Stupid question anyways, it’s a bloodline curse, isn’t it?”
“It’s fine, it’s fine.” A-niang laughs. “Neither of my parents were like us. I, uh, did something stupid when I was very young. But I've had it for almost as long as I can remember.”
He looks down at his lap, a strained smile on his face. “It was… difficult. For me. I was… energetic. Emotional. Wild, at times. I heard things, saw things… Still. For the most part, my core was powerful enough to stand against it. When I lost it… well.”
Shuddering, he reaches up to press his palm to his lower diantain. Sizhui has heard the horror stories of the core melting hand. The weakness, the hollowness, that cultivators feel when their power, that they’ve worked their whole life for, is ripped away.
How much worse must it have been for A-niang? Whose curse would have been waiting for just this moment? Sizhui has never felt the full power of the curse, because his binding ties have never been fully removed in his memory. But, when they weaken… his whole body shakes, like a cup filled to overflowing, like a dam about to burst. It feels jumpy and stressful, like he’s being dangled off a cliff, blindfolded, with no idea what will truly happen if he falls.
And he has a core.
He has the curse-binding ribbons.
A-niang doesn’t have either.
Wait, but… that’s not right. Sizhui must have part of this story wrong.
“A-niang?” He asks, setting his (mostly finished) fish aside. “You said you didn’t know I survived, right?”
A-niang frowns at him. “No? What’s this about?”
“Did I always have two ribbons, then?” He holds out his wrists for A-niang to see. Two ribbons, clear as day. “One is all that the curse would have needed. The Lan elders assumed that you gave me yours, and sacrificed yourself, during the Yin Wave from the Matriarch’s death. But, if you had no idea I survived, then…”
Where did the second one come from?
“You didn’t… copy one?” A-niang asks, clearly just as confused as Sizhui. “When it got worse?”
Sizhui shakes his head.
“I never used one.” A-niang admits. “By the time I figured yours out so you wouldn’t wake up the corpses with your tantrums, I was cultivating the resentful energy and using it up, so I didn’t have any use for one. I made multiples, there were four in total, but…”
Slowly, almost in unison, they turn to A-die. He’s the only one who might be able to tell them anything.
Hanguang-jun looks between them, and then down at his own fish, picked clean. He looks… sad.
“Huan Ming.” He says, voice very carefully even. It’s not an answer, not to Sizhui, but A-niang’s breath catches.
“Oh, no.” He whispers, hands coming up to cover his mouth. “No, no… stupid girl, she didn’t.”
“Huan Ming?” Mo Xuanyu asks, leaning forwards. “Who’s that?”
“One of the Burial Mounds settlers.” A-niang says, hands dropping. “She had a… difficult resentful affliction to deal with. A wandering cultivator tried to kill her to be done with it, so she came to the Burial Mounds to seek the Yiling Matriarch’s help. It wasn’t really hurting her, so I gave her one of the extra yin binding ribbons to contain it… She ended up staying with us. Helping us, out of gratitude, and… oh, I should have realized!”
A-niang slaps his head, glaring at the ground. “The ribbons help bind and block resentful energy! The spite sphere collects using resentful energy! The demonics who avoided it were good at shedding their anger, and you two… you two had the ribbons.”
“They protected us from being absorbed by the Matriarch’s last spell.” Sizhui finishes, looking down at his wrists. “But, the yin wave…”
“Would have been too much.” A-niang continues. He looks absolutely distraught. “So Huan Ming…”
“Sacrificed herself.” Sizhui finishes.
“Did you…” A-niang starts, looking at A-die. “Were you able to… to bury her?”
Hanguang-jun bows his head.
“There is a cenotaph.” He says, guilt layered through his voice.
A grave marker with no body.
Sizhui’s heart clenches in his chest.
All this time… he had thought it was his A-niang who sacrificed himself. He had prayed to his ancestors, to his A-niang’s spirit, and thanked him for sacrificing himself. But all this time, it had been someone else? Someone who’s name he never remembered?
Someone who never got a proper burial?
Sizhui understands why, of course he does. A-die was still injured from the Ghost General and the Matriarchs attack. Bofu has even told Sizhui that they were afraid that neither A-die or Sizhui was going to make it. By the time he was well enough to return, her body must have been gone.
But to not get a proper burial… who even knows what would have happened to her body, in the burial mounds. Torn apart by fierce corpses? Turned into one herself? Had she been devoured by the curse mark, without her ribbon? Trapped in this world?
“I didn’t even know her name.” Sizhui whispers guiltily.
“We can go visit it, right?” Jingyi asks, clearly trying to give Sizhui something to focus on. “And, you know, give offerings? Pay our respects?”
Sizhui’s parents share a look.
“I’m not… sure.” A-niang says. “If it’s too close to the burial mounds… I wouldn’t risk it, especially with the resentful energy the way it is after the Matriarch’s return.”
“It’s just within the border.” Hanguang-jun says quietly, sealing the decision.
Sizhui can’t help but slump a little, but A-niang quickly bumps into his side with a small smile.
“Hey, it’s just for now. We can’t be reckless-”
“Excuse me?” The head says incredulously. “Did you just say not to be reckless? You?”
“Oh, shove off.” A-niang grumbles, and then actually shoves the head, which complains loudly about such treatment through a mouthful of rocks. “Do as I say, not as I do. I won't be reckless with him. Not after…”
A-niang trails off, but Sizhui understands. Not after losing him. Not after thirteen years of grief.
“Once everything has settled down a bit.” A-niang says, bumping Sizhui’s shoulder. “And the schemes are done, and the resentful energy has died down, I’ll teach you how to control that curse, okay?”
Talisman work, demonic foxes, fishing, and now how to control the curse… A-niang is a well of information, it seems. Thirteen years of lost time, and now they can finally make up for it.
Except…
“Will you be able to?” Sizhui asks, because the seal has been an obstacle for everything else, and this does seem personal. And dealing with resentful energy? That’s two categories that the Matriarch wants to silence! “If the seal stops you…”
Still, A-niang smiles when he presses a hand to his throat. There's something sharp in it. “It won't if I get this right, A-yuan. I’ll find a way. It’s what I do best.”
“Hear hear.” Mo Xuanyu mutters, shifting the head into his lap so that it is no longer eating rocks.
“So, focus on what we can do, here and now.” A-niang nods. “I assume the whole travel group you came with, and Nie-zongzhu, know about Da-ge’s death?”
“They’ve been informed.” Sizhui confirms, grabbing desperately onto the structure of being able to do something. “I told them you’re an auxiliary spirit.”
A-niang nods. “Technically true. So you aren’t sure what they’re going to do about it yet?”
“Nie-zongzhu… didn’t take it well.” Sizhui admits, glancing at the head. That’s the sentient decapitated head of his brother, of course he didn’t. “We left to give him some privacy. Zewu-jun and Lianfang-zun are with him.”
Chifeng-zun looks saddened at the mention of his three brothers, both blood and sworn. It’s difficult to see. Sizhui can only imagine how helpless he feels, not even able to move more than rocking on his own.
Jingyi coughs.
“So. Um. This is very rude, but I have to check.” He starts, and Sizhui immediately despairs for whatever is about to come out of his mouth. “Uh, Chifeng-zun? You know how you are very, very tall? And how Nie-zongzhu is not?”
The head raises its eyebrows. “Yes?”
“Okay, so I wasn’t eavesdropping.” Jingyi says. Sizhui immediately gives him a skeptical look. “I wasn’t! It was an accident! I accidentally overheard Lianfang-zun tell Zewu-jun that his father… didn’t limit himself to unmated women and omegas? And that there were a few children of high birth that they also had to look out for? And, um, Nie Huaisang is sect leader now, so he’d have motive, and…”
As Jingyi speaks, resentful energy starts leaking from the head. It stains Mo Xuanyu’s lap like blood, drips from dead eyes like blackened, vaporizing tears, hisses through bared teeth as the head seethes out, “Imply that my didi is a bastard and a murderer again, and I will harness every bit of resentment in my decapitated skull to remove yours in kind, you little-”
“Alright, chill.” A-niang huffs, leaning over to plant his palm over the head's face. “He had to check, and to be fair, you do have different mothers.”
“I’m sorry!” Jingyi yelps, bowing. “It’s just- it wasn’t only the height! Something in the way he reacted to the news didn’t seem right to me, I don’t know…”
“Oh?” A-niang hums, leaning closer to Jingyi without removing his hand from Chifeng-zun’s face. “How so?”
Jingyi glances between A-niang and the head a little uncomfortably. “I… don’t know? It’s just… he seemed to expect it, almost.”
Seemed to expect it?
Sizhui isn’t sure what exactly Jingyi is on about, but it seems intensely funny to A-niang, who finally removes his hand from Chifeng-zun’s face to cover his grin.
“Sorry- sorry, give me a moment-” A-niang snorts, turning away from them. He’s clearly trembling from restrained laughter, and Jingyi shoots Sizhui a bewildered look.
A-die seems confused as well, but Mo Xuanyu just looks tired.
“Okay.” A-niang sighs, turning back to them and wiping at his eyes. “No, Nie Huaisang was not involved in our deaths in the slightest. Honestly, I’m pretty sure he despises being sect leader, and never wanted to be in that position if he could help it.”
“He never listened to me when I tried to train him.” Chifeng-zun growls. It’s the fond and exasperated grumbling of an older brother. “There's so much he never even tried to learn.”
Sizhui suddenly feels very guilty for thinking of Nie-zongzhu as an incompetent leader.
Chifeng-zun had been strong, young, and healthy. He had no mate, and no heirs, but there was no indication that Nie Huaisang would have ever needed to become sect leader at all. No one could have truly prepared for the qi deviation, it had come out of nowhere and left the current Nie-zongzhu with a position he never wanted and had never expected to take.
No, not fully out of nowhere. Someone had planned it. Had caused it.
“Does he have any plans?” Chifeng-zun asks, recapturing Sizhui’s attention. “Or did you not get that far.”
“They were going to check the records for anyone brought into the sect after the war.” Sizhui reports, still a little confused, but at this point he thinks it’s just a state of being while dealing with A-niang and the seals.
“Hmm, good plan.” A-niang hums. “Useless, in the end, but good plan.”
Useless?
“Have them check the stone castles.” Chifeng-zun advises. “They might find something useful there.”
“Oh, I hated that place.” Mo Xuanyu groans. “Why man-eating castles? Why? Why would someone make those?”
“Man-eating whats?” Jingyi squeaks, eyes wide.
The head rolls his eyes at them. “They serve their purpose. You weren’t supposed to be there.”
“I needed your legs!”
“The castles don’t listen to reason! You were stealing!”
Sizhui has no idea what’s going on anymore. How would checking the records be useless? Was the killer not there? Were they wrong about when he had entered the sect? What were the Stone Castles, and did they really eat people? What were they supposed to find there? Sizhui knows that Chifeng-zun’s body was scattered, and from what Mo Xuanyu had said, the legs used to be there. But Sizhui had seen the corpse wandering around, and it definitely had legs, so they clearly weren’t there now. What were they supposed to find?
“Lan Zhan, A-yuan isn’t allowed to go.” A-niang says suddenly. “That place is weird and I do not trust it.”
“Mn.”
“So, we’re not going to the man-eating castles?” Jingyi asks. He looks very concerned. Sizhui isn’t sure if his friend is grateful or disappointed. He’s not sure if he’s grateful or disappointed.
A-niang opens his mouth to say something, but before he can…
WOOF!
A-niang’s eyes go wide, tensing up.
Jingyi frowns, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of the source of the noise. “Is that…”
“Fairy!” Jin Ling’s voice calls, clearly following his dog. “Did you find them?”
Oh. Maybe they’ve disappeared for too long, if Jin Ling is using Fairy to hunt them down. Well, Sizhui thinks, getting up, they can plan together, this way, without repeating the information-
“wAAAAAAAH!”
Sizhui nearly trips and faceplants into the rocks in shock. He’s not entirely sure what's happening- one moment, they were just talking, and the next, rocks and fish scraps are flying everywhere in a shockwave of resentful energy, voices shouting in confusion.
And then they’re just standing there, on a beach, Fairy scrabbling on the rocks as Sandu Shengshou and Jin Ling peer warily out of the bushes at them. Sizhui and Jingyi can do nothing but stare at the spot where the demonics just were.
A-niang is gone.
“What was that?” Jin Ling asks, slowly coming out from behind his Jiujiu.
“Uh.” Jingyi says intelligently, bangs blown wildly away from his face. “Well, we saw Chifeng-zun and… and the auxiliary spirit, and Mo Xuanyu, so we were talking, and then…”
“You startled them.” Hanguang-jun says simply, smoothing down his robes.
Sandu Shengshou makes a face like he’s eaten something particularly sour. “Do you have information, at the very least?”
“Something about the Stone Castles.” Sizhui reveals. “I think it was one of the places where the killer stashed a body part. The legs, if I heard correctly, though I’m not sure what they expect us to find…”
“You couldn’t get them to say?”
Sizhui winces, already knowing that this isn’t going to go over well. “I was… just about to ask?"
“And then you scared our only informant.” Hanguang-jun repeats. Sizhui desperately wishes that his A-die will stop talking. He’s not used to wishing for that.
Jiang-zongzhu glares at him. “Well, pardon us for being concerned as to why Hanguang-jun and his disciples vanished randomly into the woods. This isn’t your territory. You didn’t think to inform us? Nie Huaisang, at the very least, deserves to know his brother might be here.”
“Forgive us, Jiang-zongzhu.” Sizhui says, quickly moving between his A-die and the sect leader. “We were unsure how long they would stay put, and… well, Nie-zongzhu appeared distressed, and you… don’t have the best relationship with the demonic sect.”
“Excuse me?”
“Demonics don’t like you, Jiujiu.” Jin Ling says smartly, Sizhui thanking him fervently in his head. “I mean, if you scared them away just by showing up, imagine what would have happened if we came here from the start.”
Sandu Shengshou shoots a poisonous glare at his nephew, who quickly escapes to try and stop Fairy from eating one of the half-eaten fish on the rocks. It’s probably a good idea, because it’s suspiciously red and looks like A-niang’s.
“I hold no shame in being something the demonics fear.” Sandu Shengshou growls, turning on his heel. “Maybe Hanguang-jun should feel concern that these beasts seem so comfortable with you.”
He marches away, still talking over his shoulder, poison dripping from his tone. “Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you go easy on the beasts, oh light-bearing lord of justice.”
Hanguang-jun doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to for Sizhui to see the utter disdain in the flare of his nostrils and narrowing of his eyes, the smallest change before he sweeps after Jaing-zongzhu back to the Unclean Realm.
The juniors rush to follow them, but Sizhui can’t help but wonder what Sandu Shengshou meant.
Notes:
Okay so whats funnier- NHS being an alpha despite being tiny, him being a beta and wearing scent blockers just to fuck with people/honor WWX and his inventions, or him being an omega so the most dangerous ppl in this story are the overlooked ones? Or should I just never mention it?
Also, I wonder what that talisman on WWX’s neck is? What's it hiding? Angst, perhaps?
Huan Ming will come up again later! I’m actually really proud of their story, so I hope you’ll enjoy it, but you’ll have to wait for a while.
Ya anyway it was Fairy that scared WWX. Though he probably would run from JC too. Also I saw a tumblr post saying they wish fairy was a chow chow instead of a husky PLEASE go look them up this is my canon. WWX would be PETRIFIED of these things, and the temperament works with Fairy’s personality rlly well, and apparently emperors used to keep them. Fairy doesn’t actually show up a lot here but yeah.
Chapter 9: Pin the Head on the Corpse (Gone Wrong!)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It seems that Chifeng-zun’s brothers are waiting for them in the hall.
Lianfang-zun looks slightly bemused at Sizhui and Jingyi’s rumpled appearance- unlike Hanguang-jun, who had managed to avoid the worst of A-niang’s hasty departure, the juniors were wet. Wet and blasted with wind and pebbles and maybe a bit of fish.
“What happened to you?” he asks, politely concerned.
Sizhui steps forward, bowing to the sect leaders. They had vanished without telling anyone anything, and it really is quite rude. “My apologies. It would appear that Chifeng-zun’s body followed us, and the demonics followed the body.”
“Da-ge is here?” Nie-zongzhu gasps, very nearly dropping his fan. “You talked to him again?”
“Yes, but it looks like the demonics are being wary of… people they haven’t met yet.” Sizhui says, carefully not looking at Sandu Shengshou. A-niang had said not to trust anyone, not even Zewu-jun, so it’s not just him they’re avoiding. But, well, A-die was antagonizing him earlier, so it’s probably a bad idea to do so again.
Zewu-jun sighs, resigned to it. “It makes sense. The Juniors are children, and Wangji is known for being fair. As Sect Leaders, we would have no choice but to take them in. Were they able to tell you anything?”
“They said something about the ‘Stone Castles.’” Sizhui reveals. “I think Mo Xuanyu had to go there to collect Chifeng-zun’s… ah, legs.”
Nie-zongzhu’s face goes from hopeful to horrified.
“There were parts of him in the Castles?” He gasps. “But… how would anyone have known? Those are…”
He falls into silent shaking, leaning into Zewu-jun’s hand on his shoulder. Well, it looks like he knows what the Stone Castles are, at least- Sizhui hadn’t the slightest idea. Whatever they are, they seem to have brought on an even worse reaction than before.
“Can I ask what they are?” Jingyi asks, raising his hand awkwardly. “Mo Xuanyu also called them Man-eating castles, so…”
Nie-zongzhu trembles. “I… I don’t like talking about it… san-ge, would you?”
“Of course.” Lianfang-zun says, stepping forwards to explain. “Every Sect has their secrets. In this case, well… they’re a suppression technique. Setting untamable resentful energy against itself. For him to be placed there, even just a part… it is not kind.”
Resentful energy against itself… fighting itself? Would that mean that a part of Chifeng-zun’s spirit had been trapped in the clash? Sizhui knows better than to pry about sect secrets. But he does know that they are rarely pretty. The inevitable ugliness of an unending fight that, sometimes, leads to difficult solutions.
Whatever these Stone Castles are, there’s more to it than he knows.
But, also…
“How secret are they exactly, Sect Leader?” Sizhui asks, not sure if he should address his own sect leader, the clearly distressed Nie-zongzhu, or Jin-zongzhu, who seems to know a great deal about the situation, for some reason.
He was once a member of the Nie sect, after all, before he was claimed by his father.
It doesn't seem to matter who he’s asking, though, as all three look confused.
“Explain, please.” Zewu-jun asks politely.
Sizhui nods, trying to organize his thoughts. A-niang had said searching the records was a good idea, but useless in the end. And with the strangely cagey way the Sect Leaders are referring to the Stone Castles…
“Lan Disciples are not allowed into the Room of Forbidden Books unless they are of a high enough rank, or they have good reason.” Sizhui says as an example. “I understand that it might not be the same thing, but if this killer was an untrusted newcomer, how likely are they to be told of the Stone Castles?”
It’s almost funny, how synchronized the three stiffen in realization, looking at each other with uncertainty. Surprisingly, it's Nie-zongzhu who answers.
“They wouldn't.” He shudders, eyes wide and terrified as Sizhui’s words sink in. “I didn't even know until… San-ge, they must have been here… they must have been someone Da-ge trusted! Really trusted!”
He bursts into tears again, but Lianfang-zun looks too shocked to offer any form of comfort.
Sandu Shengshou shifts on his feet, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Then my theory might be incorrect. It might have been someone born within the Nie Sect, who learned demonic cultivation through other means.”
“Perhaps.” Zewu-jun sighs, one hand supporting Nie-zongzhu. “But they could have… overheard something? From an elder, speaking carelessly? The Nie can be boisterous.”
It's clear in his tone that he doesn’t believe it, but the words seem to calm Nie-zongzhu down, if only slightly.
“We’ll look everywhere, just to be sure.” Zewu-jun continues. “For the moment… I want to try and make contact with Da-ge. The four of you are acting as messengers, at this point, but… do you think he’d agree to meet with us?”
Sizhui frowns. “I’m not sure, Zewu-jun.”
The answer is no. A-niang clearly didn't trust anyone, had said specifically that he wanted everything as secret as possible.
“I don’t think it’s Chifeng-zun’s choice exactly.” Jingyi says suddenly. “I mean. He’s sentient, yeah, but… he’s a head. He relies on the auxiliary spirit and Mo Xuanyu. If anyone’s running, it’s them.”
Nie-zongzhu is back to looking horrified, but the other Sect Leaders are just resigned.
“My last interaction with Mo Xuanyu was hardly on good terms.” Lianfang-zun admits. “As with the auxiliary spirit… the last it knew, we were leading a raid that it died in. I would avoid us as well.”
“I wasn't either of those things!” Nie-zongzhu says suddenly, raising his hand.
Yes, but you look faint at the mere mention of your brother's decapitated head, and I’d prefer to not have to find out what the sight would do to you, Sizhui does not say, because that would be rude and disrespectful.
“We still ought to be careful, Huaisang.” Zewu-jun says. “We are at odds with their cultivation, with their existence. Mo Xuanyu and the Auxiliary Spirit are right to be wary. Perhaps we can ask for a meeting?”
“…you want to organize a meeting like this is intersect politics.” Sandu Shengshou says, slowly, as if to showcase all the flaws in the idea.
“I want to be as polite as possible.” Zewu-jun corrects. “It’s almost sundown. The Auxiliary Spirit will be stronger and less flighty in the darkness, Gui are always more comfortable at night.”
Sizhui nods. Ghosts and spirits are often scattered in the daylight, it’s why Nighthunting is called just that- night hunting. And A-niang had said something about being stronger then, it was why they were waiting to reassemble Chifeng-zun.
“That’s it!” He realizes. If A-niang wants to avoid sect leaders, he can. “They were going to try and reconnect Chifeng-zun’s head once it got dark. But, once Chifeng-zun’s corpse is whole, the demonics won't have to carry his head around. So we can ask him to come alone!”
A-niang won't have to worry about being recognized by the killer, won't have to worry about them making the connection to Sizhui. Mo Xuanyu won’t have to meet with those who are honor bound to lock him away. The Sect Leaders won't have to deal with their contradicting duties, to both their sects and their brother.
“That is a good plan!” Nie-zongzhu exclaims, almost relieved. “We’ll just need to ask. Can you really ask him?”
“If we go tonight, while they’re trying to replace the head, they shouldn't be that hard to find.” Jingyi reasons, already accepting the job. “We might even be able to help! I don’t think the demonics have full control of him. Like, at all.”
“Wait, has that thing just been out in the woods?” Jin Ling asks incredulously, leaning forwards to get in Jingyi’s eyeline. “What were they thinking?”
“They said they had it in an array! I think.” Jingyi defends. “Haven’t you been listening? The Auxiliary Spirit will be stronger at night, and it’s the one that knows how to do the sentience… thing. So of course they waited to deal with it.”
“Oh, you’re a master of demonic cultivation now?”
“I’m using logic, it’s not my fault you can’t follow!”
“You-”
“Quiet.”
Jin Ling and Jingyi obey Sandu Shengshou immediately and without question. Sizhui can understand why- the alpha looks terrifying when he’s calm, but right now…
“The Auxiliary Spirit is the one who knows how to create sentient corpses, correct?” Jiang-zongzhu asks, lightning flashing in his eyes. “One of the originals, who died in the raid on the burial mounds, only to return on the tail of the Matriarch.”
Sizhui shifts on his feet. “Yes?”
“The only other sentient corpse was the Ghost General.” Jiang-zongzhu continues. “It's clearly not a common technique, even among the demonic sect. The fox is stingy, she keeps her secrets close. I don’t see her letting this Auxiliary Spirit go free if it has that knowledge. It doesn't make sense.”
“What are you implying, Jiang-zongzhu?” Lianfang-zun asks.
“I’m implying that I don’t trust that damned fox not to take an opportunity.” Sandu Shengshou growls, fists clenching with a purple spark. “From what the juniors have told us, and what’s been inferred, Chifeng-zun makes a powerful corpse. A mysterious spirit shows up and luckily knows a technique so rare we only know of one other instance of it being used? That other instance being an incredible asset to the Matriarch?”
Sizhui’s blood runs cold.
He doesn’t think A-niang is turning Chifeng-zun into a new Ghost General, does he? That can’t be right.
Except, it almost does make sense. The Matriarch admitted to being weakened, in that ruined shrine, and if Lianfang-zun was right and she had kidnapped Madam Qin because she was after the Yin Iron Amulet…
She’s trying to get stronger.
Surprisingly, it’s Jin Ling that speaks up.
“I don’t think the Spirit is reporting to her.” he defends. “If anything, he said he partially blamed the Matriarch for his death. And…”
Jin Ling stops, swallowing his words, before taking a deep breath and continuing on. “He apologized. For my parents. And he spoke like he pitied the Ghost General. I don’t think he would do that to someone.”
Of course A-niang wouldn’t!
“It doesn’t matter what the Spirit says or thinks.” Sandu Shengshou hisses. “The Matriarch’s power is using and manipulating fierce corpses and spirits. We cannot trust that this spirit is honest, and even if it does have good intentions, we can’t trust the Matriarch.”
Sizhui wants to glare and insist that they trust A-niang. Because Jin Ling was right- A-niang wasn’t lying.
Sizhui knows this for sure. A-niang had called the Ghost General by its human name. He had said that the Ghost General would be happy to see Sizhui. He had said that the Ghost General was horrified with what had happened. A-niang had looked so sad, so scared, so angry and afraid…
But Sizhui doesn’t have any way to disprove what Sandu Shengshou is saying.
The Ghost General was a puppet. But then, maybe Sandu Shengshou is right, and so is A-niang.
Could it be possible? A-niang’s pain, being used like a game piece? The very thought makes Sizhui sick.
“What do you suggest we do, Jiang-zongzhu?” Lianfang-zun asks, bowing his head slightly. “If you’re right, then after they manage to get the head on the body…”
Bad things, most likely.
Jiang-zongzhu doesn’t seem to have a plan though, simply shrugging and suggesting, “Steal the head?”
“Chifeng-zun’s sentience is connected to the Auxiliary Spirit, just as the Auxiliary Spirit's life force is attached to Chifeng-zun.” Sizhui interrupts. He will NOT be letting A-niang fade like he did the last time he got separated from his source. “And Mo Xuanyu is balancing both of them. If we want to stop the ritual and keep them able to talk, we need all four- the head, the body, the spirit, and the cultivator.”
And to keep A-niang safe, they need to stay together! Sizhui might not know the particulars of how it works, but he will do his best to keep them alive. He might not want them captured, but if they must, they must take all four.
“But they probably won't take kindly to being restrained.” Zewu-jun muses, frowning. “And if Sandu Shengshou is right, we’d be bringing powerful, angry spirits under the Matriarch’s control into our midst.”
They all fall silent then, unsure. To get the source of information might be to alienate the source of information, to do nothing might lead to losing what leads they have.
Someone’s stomach growls.
“Aha…” Nie-zongzhu squeaks, his face, already red from crying, flushing more. “Apologies. It seems… that all of this has truly tired this one out. Perhaps we will think clearer on full bellies? I’ll have the kitchens prepare something…”
Sizhui might have just eaten with A-niang, but it wasn’t a lot, and food does seem like a good idea. Soon enough, they’ve been placed at a table, food laid across it. Braised pork with soy sauce, sliced noodles, boyu, and sweet and sour carp.
There are also a few vegetable dishes, most obviously for the Lan. While eating meat outside of Cloud Recesses is allowed, most Lan are creatures of habit, and stick with the foods they are used to.
Still, Sizhui definitely recognizes some of the food. He notes with some amusement that the sweet and sour carp is made with the same kind of fish that A-niang had taught them how to catch earlier. It tastes much different, cooked in sauce, rather than roasted over the fire.
A-niang…
Sizhui hopes he can keep himself safe. From both sides of this divide. The Matriarch and her mysterious power, the sects and possible corruption… Sizhui isn’t sure what would be worse. What poses the most threat. If A-niang is as valuable as A-die and Sandu Shengshou seem to believe, then the Matriarch won’t hurt him, right? No matter how dangerous and cruel she is?
Maybe it will be better for A-niang to be under the sect's protection. The Murderer wouldn’t be that stupid, to try and destroy him under the noses of Four Sect Leaders and Hanguang-jun!
And yet… Sizhui hadn’t been entirely honest. A-niang’s strange flesh-and-blood body, clearly alive despite the wound sunk deep into his chest, definitely should have been reported. In his defense, he was trying to draw attention away from his A-niang! But, now that the sect leaders are going to try and talk in person…
Well, Sizhui might be about to get in quite a lot of trouble.
But that’s future Sizhui’s problem!
Slurping at his noodles, Sizhui thinks that maybe A-niang was right about the whole “no talking while eating” rule being a little silly. All Sizhui can do right now is think.
Think, and worry, and try to find a path forwards, only to find all his roads washed out.
In the end, it still ends up being the three juniors and Hanguang-jun that set out to talk to the demonics once it turns dark.
Of course, they’re armed with several signal flares, worried orders to stay safe (especially in Jin Ling’s case, as he had to fight off both his Jiujiu and his Shufu) and with several Jin and Nie cultivators gathered and ready to swoop in if something goes wrong.
Sizhui checks over his signal flares, just to be sure.
White for “we’re coming, they’ve agreed to talk, don't frighten them.”
Yellow for “We’ve had to use a little force, come help but be gentle.”
Red for “Everything has gone wrong, send reinforcements.”
Sizhui hopes they won't have to use red. He doesn’t think that will end well.
“You know where they are yet?” Jin Ling asks, stepping over a root. He looks tense- probably remembering what exactly the body had done to the three of them last time.
“The compass says this direction.” Sizhui replies evenly. They haven’t heard anything yet, but it’s only a matter of time. A-niang is hardly quiet, and the body might not have a voice box, but it had powerful lungs and it liked smashing things.
If they’re fighting, they’ll hear them before they see them.
Which means they’re nowhere near the demonics, and just marching silently after the compass’s directions. The trees are larger here, despite their mountainous range. Probably better for shade, and the headless corpses comfort.
“Thank you for sticking up for A-niang.” Sizhui says after a moment. “When Jiang-zongzhu was wondering about motive and the matriarch.”
Who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t. Jiang-zongzhu’s patience and mercy is nonexistent when it comes to the Demonic Sect. If he had decided A-niang was a threat…
Jin Ling makes a “tch” noise. “Don’t mention it.”
“Kind of have to.” Jingyi muses, and Sizhui is already regretting opening his mouth and potentially starting them off. “You, speaking for a demonic? I thought Sandu Shengshou’s head almost imploded right then and there.”
“Why you-”
Jingyi dodges the angry swat with ease. “What! It was surprising!”
“I hate the demonic sect, but I'm not an idiot!” Jin Ling hisses. “I have eyes and ears. It's pretty obvious that Sizhui’s A-niang didn't have much of a choice! The curse? A lost core? Joining the Matriarch was clearly a last, desperate attempt at survival and revenge.”
Sizhui takes a slow, steadying breath. Right. He hadn’t truly wanted to think about it, but maybe A-niang really is more of a puppet than he seems. If their curse generates resentful energy, and he has no core… then Jin Ling was right, joining and staying with the demonic sect was his only chance.
How lucky for A-niang, that a grandmaster so suited to his unique situation appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. How unlucky that it had fallen apart so fast.
“It makes me wonder.” Sizhui says, reaching to wrap a hand around his wrist, against the silk of his binding ribbon. “All the people in the incomplete resentful array… the people the Matriarch locked into suspension. How many do you think were like A-niang? Or Huan Ming?”
“Who?” Jin Ling asks, frowning in confusion. That’s right, he wasn’t there.
“She was… My Shijie? I think?” Sizhui tries. Shijie does make sense. A senior martial sister in what was his birth sect. “She… she sacrificed herself for me. That’s how I survived, back then. Apparently, she had her own curse that these bindings controlled. But… she gave me her ribbon.”
Huan Ming. He’ll remember that name, he promises to himself. Huan Ming.
“Oh.” Jin Ling says. His voice is quiet, contemplative, quickly looking up to check that Hanguang-jun is out of earshot. “I guess it makes sense, then. What Jiujiu said. Hanguang-jun must have known them.”
It takes Sizhui a second to remember what he’s talking about. Jiang-zongzhu, accusing A-die of not taking in demonic cultivators… It does make sense. He had to have known the Demonic sect, and all of its people, if he had visited A-niang and Sizhui when Sizhui was still little. Sizhui knows that not everyone in the demonic sect was absorbed by the incomplete resentful array.
How many of those people, A-niang’s friends, people who A-die knew, people who had known Sizhui, were still alive?
“It kind of makes you feel horrible, doesn’t it?” Jingyi muses, kicking at a clot of dirt on the ground. “What about Mo Xuanyu? He’s your uncle, isn’t he?”
Jin Ling scowls at him, fists clenched. “No. He knew. I pity the people who didn’t know, who were desperate, but he knew exactly what the Matriarch was capable of. If he wasn’t being useful for once in his life, I’d… I’d drag him right to Jiujiu! That crazed madman…”
“Quiet.”
At Hanguang-jun’s first words since they set out, the three juniors immediately fall silent. Without the budding argument, Sizhui can hear exactly what has caught his A-die’s attention; the crashing of an angry fierce corpse.
He quickly checks the compass, just to be sure, and the small red marking is trained right on the source of the noise.
“They’ve already started.” Jin Ling says, drawing his sword. “Let’s go.”
They don’t have to go far, as it turns out.
As they run to the noise, Mo Xuanyu comes crashing through the branches, shrieking wildly. The shrieking stops with a loud grunt when he smacks against the ground.
“Mo-qianbei!” Jingyi calls, quickly dropping to a knee to help the omega. “Are you alright?”
From the pained, wheezing gasp Mo Xuanyu makes, Sizhui is pretty sure all the air got slammed out of his lungs. Poor guy.
But, he’s wearing the demonic mask. It seems to be working, as far as Sizhui can tell- no hints of the omegas scent. That means his blood is hidden.
Which means the corpse is going for anything that moves.
Which means…
“A-niang!” Sizhui calls, already running towards where Mo Xuanyu had been flung from. Sure enough, he skids around a tree to find A-niang ducking and dodging around a very angry headless corpse in a small clearing.
(said clearing is made more clear by the recently knocked over trees)
“A-yuan?” A-niang gasps, ducking under a clawed hand. “What are you doing here?”
“We came to help!” Sizhui explains, sword already drawn, his spiritual energy gathering at the edge. “They think-”
The corpse whirls around and launches itself at Sizhui before he can get the rest of his words out.
“A-yuan!”
Sizhui dives to the side, but the corpse isn’t after him. It’s after Jin Ling, who was coming up just behind him.
Bichen swoops between the corpse and Jin Ling, knocking the strike off course. In the next moment, Hanguang-jun has his sword in hand, pushing Chifeng-zun’s body back, inch by inch.
A-niang grabs both Sizhui and Jin Ling by the arms, dragging them back. “What are you two doing here?” he hisses, shaking them lightly. “We said stone castles!”
“We wanted more information.” Sizhui explains. “It sounded like you were about to say something when Sandu Shengshou scared you off!”
A-niang groans. “I can’t even remember whatever it was! And why this one, ah?” He shakes Jin Ling again, until he angrily tugs his arm out of A-niang’s grip. “Young Master Jin will just make Da-ge more upset!”
“Well, clearly you’re not doing too well on your own!” Jin Ling retorts, glaring. “We saw Mo Xuanyu go flying- and where’s the head?”
“Eh, I might have dropped it.” A-niang hums, waving a careless hand and completely ignoring their horrified looks. “Oh, there you are, A-yu! How are you feeling?”
Mo Xuanyu stumbles into view, one hand wrapped around his ribs and the other on Jingyi’s shoulder for support. “Everything hurts and I’m dying.”
“Well, why’d you get hit then?” A-niang asks wisely. Sizhui can't see the top half of Mo Xuanyu’s face, due to the mask, but from the offended way his mouth contorts it’s very clear he’s unimpressed by A-niangs snark.
Before he can say anything though, A-niang is talking again. “Alright, if you’re here, make yourself useful. Little Lan’s, see if you can find the head while Lan Zhan and I calm da-ge’s body down, I think it went that way. A-yu, see if you can set up the array. Jin Ling, how good are you at dodging?”
The disciples immediately straighten at their orders. Jin Ling smirks confidently. “It won’t lay a claw on me.”
“Good. Let’s go!”
With years of training and quick orders, the juniors leap into action. Sizhui and Jingyi take off to where A-niang had motioned, the sound of a flute and Jin Ling’s goading rising behind them.
“Chifeng-zun!” Jingyi calls, peering around a tree. “Chifeng-zun? Can you hear me?”
“I can’t hear anything…” Sizhui muses, looking around. What exactly had A-niang meant by “dropped” him? Had he been smacked out of A-niang’s hands? How far? Had he landed face down, where he couldn’t speak?
Also, it was dark, and the light from Sizhui’s sword only shines so far.
Sizhui can hear Hanguang-jun’s guqin join the soul-calming song, so maybe this isn’t so urgent- A-die is very good with his music. Still, A-niang said find the head.
“Chifeng-zun?”
“Here!”
Jingyi and Sizhui take off after the sound of Chifeng-zun’s voice. It seems he’s fallen into a swath of low-growing shrubs, which explains why they couldn’t see him.
“No, here! I’m in the bush!” Chinfeng-zun complains as Sizhui walks right past him. “That idiot, what was he doing? And what are you doing here?”
Sizhui drops to his knees, reaching in to try and untangle Chifeng-zun’s hair from the bushes twigs as Jingyi leans over his shoulder. “Sandu Shengshou was worried that the Matriarch might be using Qianbei to turn you into the next Ghost General.”
“They think what?!” Chifeng-zun complains. “They’ve already got a Ghost General, Wen Ning hasn’t been destroyed. What, am I Ghost General two? Lan Sizhui, I appreciate it, but just pull me out. I’m dead. I don’t need all my hair.”
Sizhui has managed to get most of it out, so he obeys, still wincing at the tug. “We had to make sure. They were going to storm the whole place and take you all in. They want to talk, even if it’s to you alone.”
“Let’s get me back together first.” Chifeng-zun grumbles. “Idiots… why would they send children here?”
Sizhui tries not to be offended by that. He's a proper Lan Disciple! He's allowed on solo nighthunts! He might be slightly out of his depth, but he’s not helpless!
“A-niang!” He calls, tucking Chifeng-zun under his arm and turning back into the clearing. “I’ve got him!”
A-niang doesn’t stop playing his dizi, but he interrupts the normal progression of notes for a happy little whistle. So Sizhui thinks he heard him.
The corpse seems to be slowing down, red energy from A-niangs dizi and blue from A-die’s guqin swirling around it, calming it, until its frenzied swipes look like they’re moving through syrup. Shadowy figures summoned by A-niang clutch its limbs, weighing it down, and Jin Ling keeps dancing around it, tripping it up as it turns this way and that. Mo Xuanyu limps around the edges of the clearing, painting sigils onto trees with his blood.
Flute playing is not conducive for giving instructions, so Sizhui sits back and watches. He knows the head has to go on the body, but when? How delicate is the sentience spell? Is there some form of ritual?
With a cry of satisfaction, Mo Xuanyu scribbles the last character into his array and smacks it with his clean hand. Something in Sizhui’s blood shudders, and the whole array starts to glow.
A-niang drops his flute. “Alright, back up! Juniors, get outside the array. Lan Zhan, pull your energy in!”
Almost immediately, the corpse starts twitching at the lack of spiritual music. How powerful is Chifeng-zun?! To already be moving, mere moments after two different sorts of resentment-controlling music were played over it?
“A-yuan!” A-niang calls, turning around and raising his hands. “Throw me the head please!”
“Oh, yeah, just launch me. Sounds like a great plan.” Chifeng-zun grumbles. Sizhui doesn’t see him offering any other options, and A-niang seems to want them out of the array, so he winds back and throws the annoyed, decapitated head as instructed.
This is a strange nighthunt, Sizhui reflects, as his A-niang catches Chifeng-zun.
As if sensing the head, and its impending ascension to higher thought, Chifeng-zun’s corpse immediately begins flailing about in protest. Fortunately, the array Mo Xuanyu set up seems to have done something to trap its feet, so it is only the wildly swiping arms and torso that cause issue.
A-niang runs in, clambering up Chifeng-zun’s body like it’s a tree, latching his ankles together around its waist and holding on for dear life. The corpse is not impressed, reaching up to swat at its new burden.
“Damnit, Da-ge, hold still!” A-niang curses, one hand fisted in the corpse's robes and the other in the head's hair.
“I am not in ANY form of control right now!” Chifeng-zun shouts, bouncing and swinging wildly back and forth in a way that would probably make him nauseous if he had a stomach.
“Do we… help?” Jingyi asks, a little unsure. Sizhui doesn’t know. It hardly seems like a delicate procedure, but again, A-niang had sent them all out of the array and even had A-die pull back his qi.
Unsure, he looks at Mo Xuanyu. He’s the only one who might have even the slightest clue as to what’s happening, but unfortunately, the omega just shrugs.
“Don’t look at me. I’m just writing out the array that Muqin gave me and hoping for the best.”
Sizhui’s breath catches in his chest.
“What?” Jin Ling hisses, slowly turning to his uncle in horror.
“The array the Matriarch gave me, in a dream.” Mo Xuanyu continues, shrugging. “To support Xiansheng and Chifeng-zun. I’ve just been rewriting it over and over for them. I don’t actually know what it does, but it seems to help?”
An array, given to Mo Xuanyu, by the Matriarch, specifically for A-niang and Chifeng-zun.
A-niang and Chifeng-zun were inside an array made by the Matriarch, for them.
Sizhui knows, of course, that all Demonic Cultivation comes from the Mother of Death, but this is made FOR Chifeng-zun and A-niang. Which means the Matriarch knows they’re with Mo Xuanyu. The Matriarch knows that they’re working together to find the killer, the Matirach knows that Chifeng-zun is a powerful corpse, the Matriarch has never truly taken her eyes off of A-niang…
The Matriarch has never let her knowledge out of her grasp.
Sandu Shengshou was right.
“Got it!”
Sizhui whips back around to the array, where A-niang has managed to tie the head on with a binding talisman- the same binding talisman Sizhui had given him. He’s not sure whether to be happy or upset that it worked.
Chifeng-zun’s head is on. The Matriarch’s array is working. And Sizhui doesn’t know what it will do.
Will Chifeng-zun immediately bow to the Matriarch’s whim? Is loyalty written into these glowing symbols? The way A-niang had spoken about “Wen Ning” it was clear that he still had some higher thought, but he could not disobey, either. Is it like the Wen Brands? Forcing obedience?
And what about A-niang? If he’s feeding off of Chifeng-zun’s resentment, and this spell binds Chifeng-zun to the Matriarch- what will it do to him? Will A-niang be bound as well? Or will the connection be severed, now that there’s no need for a secondary anchor for Chifeng-zun’s sentience?
Did the Matriarch just use A-niang for this? Or is the theory about the killer betraying the Demonic Sect true as well? Will they be allowed to get their vengeance, but only as pawns in a greater plan?
The same way the Matriarch had used all her children.
Chifeng-zun howls, the resentment flooding out, then tightening in, like a wild animal slowly coming under control.
Sizhui wants to put all of this on pause. To ask A-niang all these questions, born from a cultivation and a sect he doesn’t understand. But he can’t-
A-niang has already let go, and ribbons of resentful energy are wrapping around Chifeng-zun’s body, the array working as Sizhui watches on, horrified.
“What do we do?!” Jingyi asks, looking between Sizhui, Mo Xuanyu, Hanguang-jun, and the array. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Wait for it to work?” Mo Xuanyu asks, bemused. Sizhui feels a sudden spike of anger in his heart- does he really not see the issue here?! Jin Ling was right to call him mad!
Jingyi turns on him. “We can’t just do that! What if-”
“A-yu is right.” A-niang interrupts, walking up to them. He’s keeping one eye on the roiling mass of energy. “There’s really nothing we can do except wait for it to work.”
“But-”
“No buts.” A-niang huffs, slapping a hand over Jin Ling’s mouth. “Da-ge’s head needs to calm all the rage in that body down enough to take full control. Any outside interference might set him off and make this whole thing difficult.”
“But qianbei-”
“What did I just say?” A-niang asks, frowning at Jingyi. Before they can try again, though, an agonized roar comes from the center of the array.
“BASTARD!” Chifeng-zun roars, clawed hands clutching at his head like he’s in pain. “TRAITOR! SON OF A WHORE! I WILL NOT LET YOU!”
Something’s wrong.
If Sizhui couldn’t tell from the wild motions of the resentful energy and the corpse in its epicenter, then A-niang’s face, serious and on guard, is.
“TRYING TO CONTROL ME AGAIN?! I WILL NOT OBEY!”
“What is he on about?” A-niang mutters, biting at the nail of his thumb. “It’s like he thinks that bastard is here… That’s not supposed to happen, what’s wrong?”
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong!” Jin Ling shouts, shoving A-niang's hand away. “It’s Mo Xuanyu and this array!”
A-niang blinks at him. “Hmm? What do you mean- oh!”
He bonks himself on the head with his flute, motioning to the characters of the array with his other hand. “A-yu’s blood is getting mistaken for Chifeng-zun’s killer! Poor da-ge, he probably thinks he’s trapped in an array made by that bastard!”
Sizhui wants to slam his head against a tree. That’s not what’s happening, a-niang!
“I WILL RIP YOU LIMB FROM LIMB, JUST AS YOU’VE DONE TO ME!” Chifeng-zun roars, and then with a mighty heave, the light of the array shatters into a million pieces.
The force of the energy slams into Sizhui’s chest, lighting his blood on fire. But, at least Chifeng-zun is fighting back! Maybe they have a chance to fix this?
“RAARGH!”
Nope, the corpse wants them dead too.
They scatter, the thud of Chifeng-zun’s body hitting the ground behind them.
“I thought he was supposed to recognize us!” Mo Xuanyu shrieks, diving behind a tree. “He’s got eyes! I’m not him!”
“Da-ge can’t recognize anything right now!” A-niang calls back, whipping out his flute. “He’s trapped in the moment of his death! All he knows is rage!”
“DIE!” the corpse roars, as if agreement.
Sizhui ducks to the side. He feels drunk. Too much energy is flying everywhere, and no matter what the array was meant to do, it seemed to corral most of the resentment. With it broken, Sizhui can feel it reaching for him, digging into the bindings on his wrists, calling out to his curse.
The notes of a Guqin and a Dizi start swirling in the air.
“THE GUQIN CANNOT SAVE YOU NOW, YOU LYING SNAKE!” Chifeng-zun growls, turning on Hanguang-jun. His eyes are red, glowing, unseeing, black energy seeping from his tear ducts and the cut around his throat. “YOU- Xichen?”
Sizhui thought the mute corpses were pitiful.
But this… he can see the pain and confusion on Chifeng-zun’s face, stiffened in death as it is, wild eyes, trapped in the moment of his death, a wild Qi Deviation that took his reason and life with it.
And now, even more confusing, he’s faced with the spitting image of his sworn brother in Hanguang-jun, who, gritting his teeth, continues strumming at the Guqin.
It’s horrible to watch.
Chifeng-zun’s face contorts into a snarl. “That won't work- IT’S NOT GOING TO WORK!”
He lunges forwards, Hanguang-jun swinging his guqin out of the way to avoid damage to the instrument. They trade blows, so fast Sizhui can barely see.
“The Guqin must be reminding him of what happened when he died.” A-niang mutters. His eyes are flicking back and forth, trying to keep up with the brawling alphas as he brainstorms. “The sound of the instrument combined with a Twin Jade probably isn’t helping, but there's no way I can settle him with my current Dizi, it’s far too weak…”
Sizhui pushes himself to his A-niang’s side, clutching at his wrists.
“A-yu’s blood was a horrible component for the array. We should have used mine! Ugh, I wrote the one back at the abandoned settlement, that one would have worked properly!”
Jingyi winces. “Sorry…”
“It’s fine, it’s fine…” A-niang groans, rubbing at his temples. “Come on, think. A focus. My blood? No, A-yuan will react to it. Adding another spirit might make him feel ganged up on. Separating the body parts to try again might damage his spirit. If I leave him to calm down, the mad rage might slip across the connection and infect me, which will only cause more problems…”
“HERE!” Mo Xuanyu shouts, throwing the mask. A-niang catches it, turning it over in his hands like he’s surprised it’s ended up there.
“Use it! Please use it!”
Use it? Does he mean wear it? Sizhui doesn’t understand what’s going on. His head feels like it’s full of cotton. He doesn’t trust Mo Xuanyu, not anymore. Maybe he’s really just that naive, but something’s gone wrong, and it’s from him.
“A-yu, you know I can’t-”
Hanguang-jun is thrown back, Chifeng-zun growling and swaying side to side. The Nie Alpha was a proud Cultivator- the Eldest of the Venerated Triad, the leader of the Heijan front during the Sunshot campaign. But now… now he stands, shoulders hunched and hands clawed, a feral beast.
A corpse powerful enough to knock down Hanguang-jun.
A-niang curses, running forwards to put himself between the corpse and A-die. Almost subconsciously, it seems, A-niang raises the mask to his face, and Sizhui feels a sudden wave of terrified anticipation. Like all your hair standing up before being struck by lightning. The feeling of weightlessness before the fall. Something is about to happen, and Sizhui’s blood is singing with it.
Before the mask sits properly on A-niang's face though, he screams in pain and drops to his knees.
“A-niang!” Sizhui yelps, rushing forwards. Hanguang-jun is quicker, almost as though he teleported to A-niang’s side.
Sizhui doesn’t understand what’s wrong, though. Had there been something wrong with the mask? Mo Xuanyu was wearing it earlier. A-niang had worn it too- pushed up so it was more of a hat than a mask, but it was worn. So why is A-niang clutching at his chest like he’s been stabbed in the heart?
Hanguang-jun’s breath wheezes on his next inhale. For him, that’s a gasp of abject horror, and it is not helping Sizhui’s panic, thank you very much.
“Your brand…” A-die whispers, pulling A-niang’s robes back. At any other moment, Sizhui would be horrified at his shamelessness, but right now he’s horrified for an entirely different reason.
Because A-niang’s old wen brand. The mark of one of the most horrific and violating weapons of the Sunshot Campaign, the weapon that forced obedience onto unwilling war prisoners, the weapons that were all destroyed with a vengeance- it’s active.
Someone is controlling A-niang.
“Those were destroyed.” Jin Ling insists. When had he gotten so close? Sizhui can’t be sure. Everything is coming to him slowly, through a fog.
“It’s fine.” A-niang hisses, slapping A-die’s hands away. “It’s fine, old orders, I moved on reflex-”
A-niang has a wen brand. An active Wen Brand. One with orders that control his actions, and hurts him if he disobeys.
A-niang is enslaved.
“A-niang…”
“XIANSHENG!” Mo Xuanyu calls. He’s taunting the corpse, but it doesn't look sustainable.
“This doesn’t matter right now!” A-niang insists, pulling himself away from A-die. “Da-ge needs help, and A-yu is right. I need to go all out. But I… I can’t do that with you here.”
He’s sending Sizhui away again.
“No. No, there’s got to be some other way-” Sizhui insists, grabbing A-niang’s arm. He still doesn’t know about the array, and Mo Xuanyu might not know he’s helping the Matriarch but still!
“A-yuan, you don’t need to worry about me, okay?” A-ninag says, cupping his face. “You can’t be here when the mask goes on, for more than just one reason. Lan Zhan, can you please take them away?”
A-die looks as unsure of this plan as Sizhui does.
“Let me stay, at least. The fox-”
“Hanguang-jun.”
A-die falls silent in the face of A-niang’s quiet glare.
“Get my son out of here. Now.”
Sizhui feels cold.
“...mn.” Hanguang-jun takes Sizhui by the shoulder, moving him back.
Sizhui doesn’t understand.
He doesn’t understand, but he wants to. He wants to figure out what's happening, he wants to help A-niang, he wants to tear the invisible chains that bind his A-niang apart.
But he can’t. A-niang is right- the curse is getting worse, his blood and Jin Ling’s blood is only getting in the way, the Guqin will only make Chifeng-zun angrier.
So he backs away. He lets A-die take his arm, his and Jin Lings, and lead them away.
The sounds of the fight fade behind them- or maybe it’s just the pounding of Sizhui’s blood in his ears. He can see Jin Ling throw a signal flare up; red, for “everything has gone wrong, please send help.”
The next thing Sizhui can recognize, he’s being set on the ground, and the sect leaders are here.
“What happened?” Sandu Shengshou demands, not bothering with greetings.
Sizhui doesn’t know. Even if he did, his head hurts too much to answer.
“Chifeng-zun’s rage overpowered the sentience spell.” Jingyi gasps, panting. They haven’t been running that hard. “The Auxiliary spirit couldn’t… It couldn’t go all out with us there, because…”
“It had a Wen Brand.” Jin Ling growls. He’s glaring back the way they came, fire in his eyes. “And it’s active. Old orders, it said- but it couldn’t use its full strength with us there.”
Another blast of resentful energy. A pillar of black and red smoke shoots towards the sky as the very atmosphere seems to darken, the pressure of the world changing with the addition of something new.
A Demon.
An Immortal.
“Matriarch.” Sandu Shengshou growls, Zidian crackling from his hand as he rushes off to confront her.
Sizhui wants nothing more than to follow. To help. That pillar of resentment is coming from where his A-niang was, his A-niang who was hurt and branded and cursed.
But his own curse won't let him. His blood is solid iron in his veins, and he can do nothing but sit on the cold earth and shake.
Notes:
I cannot begin to tell you how difficult it is for me to not write Jingyi saying “dude.” It’s such a Jingyi sounding word. If Jingyi lived in a time where the word dude existed he would call Sizhui dude. “Sizhui, dude. Yo mama is so crazy he tried piggyback riding an angry fierce corpse.”
Also please imagine WWX on one of those bucking bronco rides in texas bars holding nmj’s head in his off hand thats whats happening here
Chapter 10: The Juniors get laid off
Notes:
Merry Christmas, its 2 am and I only just finished with the metric fuckton of cookies we made.
Don’t expect much from this chap sorry
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The fog in Sizhui’s head clears with each note of A-die's Guqin and Bofu’s Xiao.
He still feels like there's an open, gaping wound in his chest, and all of his blood has evacuated through it, but hey! Now he can perceive reality (and agony) with clarity! Whoopee!
“Mo Xuanyu was given an array by the Matriarch.” Jin Ling is explaining, going over their most recent run in with the demonics for the sect leaders benefit. “Chifeng-zun reacted badly to it- a control, of some kind? Written in blood from our line, it reminded him of his killer, and he went mad. Guqin music from Hanguang-jun only made it worse.”
“We did play clarity to him.” Zewu-jun admits. He’s shaky on his feet- this is hard on all of them. “I can’t imagine… We know too little. The sentience spell, and whatever this array is that Mo Xuanyu is using…”
“That traitorous bastard.” Sandu Shengshou growls. The lightning arcing from Zidian burns in Sizhui’s eyes, leaving dark splotches in his vision.
“...I don’t think he’s malicious.” Jingyi looks between each of the Sect Leaders, unsure if he’s about to get in trouble for speaking out of turn. He’s good at that. “Mo Xuanyu clearly cares about them. He calls the Auxiliary Spirit Xiansheng! And he didn’t… ‘let it slip,’ he just told us, straight up, that he got the array from the Matriarch.”
He pauses, shifting under the attention of several stressed and angry Sect Leaders. “I don’t know if he’s stupid enough to admit that. He could just be, uh. Stupid.”
Stupid enough to reveal his hand, or stupid enough to be taken in by the fox.
“He always has been… impressionable.” Lianfang-zun sighs. “I wish I could have been there for him more, but…”
“Malicious, not malicious, it doesn’t matter.” Sandu Shengshou glares at them all, unimpressed. “The Matriarch has her hands on a deadly fierce corpse, maybe more powerful than the Ghost General. Again, with what happened in Lanling… She’s clearly consolidating her power, and we don’t have the luxury to be lenient.”
Lenient.
On A-niang?
The compass is a heavy weight against Sizhui’s chest. What will he see if he looks at it? The red dot still pointing towards that clearing? What if A-niang dropped it? An entirely different direction? The Matriarch seems to have a teleportation ability now. Are they gone, like that demonic at the shrine?
Sizhui closes his eyes against the shudder that runs its way through his body. He feels like he’s been dunked into a pond of freezing cold water- and there's something nasty at the bottom.
“You alright?” Jingyi’s voice asks. Sizhui opens his eyes, smiling in reassurance to his friend.
Jingyi does not look reassured.
Neither do the Sect Leaders.
“Remind me again why we’re sending a cursed child and a child with the blood of the gui’s killer up against a set of demonics?” Sandu Shengshou’s judgy eyebrow is nearly in his hairline. Sizhui thinks Jin Ling must have learned the art from him.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Zewu-jun sighs, tucking Liebing away. “Lan Sizhui and Jin Ling were there when all this was discovered, after all, and they have brought us good information. Lan Jingyi as well, of course.”
Bofu nods to Jingyi, who seems like he would like to be pleased, but is too unsure of how this conversation is going to manage it. Or maybe Sizhui is just projecting.
“I will admit, though… This incident has me far too worried for them.” Zewu-jun continues, unyielding. “Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, thank you for your efforts so far, but with the Matriarch being involved, I simply cannot allow you to continue on this nighthunt.”
Sizhui knew it was coming, but he can’t help but stiffen in horror. He can’t leave this nighthunt! His A-niang is one of the spirits! His A-niang, who he’s only just found, who he’s only just learned might still be enslaved! He has the compass that leads to him! He can’t just walk away!
“Sect Leader Lan, please-” Sizhui starts. He’s begging, and disregarding orders from his Sect Leader, but he really doesn’t care because that’s his A-niang!
Hanguang-jun’s hand presses onto Sizhui’s shoulder, and he immediately cuts himself off, looking up to his A-die. He has to know why Sizhui can’t let this go- but A-die just gives the tiniest shake of his head, and an apologetic look.
Right. Sizhui isn’t supposed to be this invested- he’s supposed to be level headed, a model Lan Disciple. Cautious with his curse, doing his best to not worry his family. He can’t… he can’t fight this, it would look suspicious, wouldn’t it? And he’s already too affected by the resentful energy.
Still, he feels empty at the thought. A paper lantern that’s fallen into the water, flame extinguished, paper growing soggy and the inked painting bleeding into the waves, soon to sink to the lakebed.
“I understand that you’ve become invested, and wish to help these gui, and it is very honorable.” Zewu-jun says kindly. (Sizhui thinks, rather mulishly, that no, Bofu does NOT understand.) “But it’s become far too dangerous for you, especially. I’ll keep you informed, I promise, Zhi-er.”
“...Thank you, Zewu-jun.” Sizhui bows his head in all politeness, hoping that it covers up the agony in his heart.
He’s a Lan.
They’re good at that.
“For now, lets head back and rest.” Lianfang-zun decides. “We’ll get nothing done sitting around here.”
Sizhui is not resting.
He’s pacing back and forth, watching A-niang’s compass shift as he turns, the little red dot pointing steadfastly in the same direction, proving that it works, proving that he still has a connection to him.
Hanguang-jun is sitting, looking unphased to anyone else, but far too stiff, too tense, for Sizhui to be relaxed. If A-die is nervous, then something is wrong, something is wrong wrong wrong.
“Anything yet?” Jingyi asks. His head is turning slowly to follow Sizhui as he marches back and forth, like some strange neck loosening exercise.
The written are you okay mocks Sizhui from the unchanged wooden surface. Flipping it over to check the other side reveals nothing.
“No...” Sizhui sighs, flipping it again to see his own writing. Still mocking, still unchanged.
Someone knocks on the door. Sizhui really can’t tear his eyes away from the compass, but Jingyi scrambles to go open it.
“He has an active Wen Brand?” Jin Ling hisses, marching into the room, eyes locked on Hanguang-jun. “Are you kidding me? You didn’t look surprised at all, did you know?”
A-die bows his head, hand clenching in the skirts of his robes. “I knew. I… They were looking for it, back then.”
“They?” Jin Ling demands. “Who are ‘they?’”
“The Demonic Sect.” Hanguang-jun clarifies. “Many of their members were branded. W- He was not the only one who’s brand was never found. Old orders in effect. It is…”
A-die pauses, the words stuck in his throat not by a seal or a brand, but by his own pain at what they suggest. “It was one of the reasons that he refused to come to Gusu with me.”
Sizhui thought he couldn’t feel worse for his A-niang. The curse, the brand, both forcing him to act in a certain way, unsure when he would next be overcome with an unstoppable compulsion? Sizhui would hide too.
“Never found, or never handed over.” Jin Ling growls, crossing his arms and looking over the Lan haughtily. He really has learned from Sandu Shengshou. “That omega is dangerously good at demonic cultivation. He said that his blood is a powerful focus, he generates energy, and he knows too much of the Matriarch’s secrets. Just like Jiujiu said- there's no way the fox ever lets him go.”
Jingyi leaps to his feet, glaring at Jin Ling. “Jin-gongzi!”
“What!”
The pointed glance Jingyi makes in Sizhui’s direction is not subtle in the slightest. Neither is the way Jin Ling’s eyes go wide in regret, like he’s just realized that Sizhui is in the room.
Sizhui isn’t offended. Or hurt, not really. Jin Ling is right. It might be terrifying to hear, but it's the truth, and Sizhui can’t do anything about it.
He can’t do anything except stare unseeing at an unchanging compass, a desperately scrawled question sitting on the surface.
“Sizhui.”
Hanguang-jun’s voice is calm and insistent, and Sizhui realizes that he’s spiraling, a little bit, on the edge of a full blown panic attack, but he can’t seem to get a grip. Like he’s headed right for a pit, and the ground he’s clutching at desperately is made of sand and rolling pebbles.
“Sizhui, the compass.”
He nearly drops it. Was he squeezing it too hard? If he’s cracked it by squeezing it too hard, he will cry.
It’s not cracked, thank the heavens, but- Sizhui’s message is being erased.
A-niang is writing.
“He’s writing.” Sizhui rasps, both Jingyi and Jin Ling immediately gather around to watch as the strokes come together into, Safe.
The panic curling in Sizhui’s chest loosens.
“How on earth is he safe?” Jin Ling asks incredulously. “Did he escape the Matriarch?”
Maybe A-niang doesn’t want to worry him. Maybe whatever he’s using to write isn’t delicate enough for the compass to write a lot, or he wanted to make sure what he wrote first was bold enough…
“That’s blood.” Jingyi whispers, then immediately slaps his hand over his mouth. It’s too late, though, because Jingyi is right- that IS blood. A-niang is writing to tell them he’s safe, in his own blood.
“He’s used to writing with it.” Hanguang-jun says, gently removing the compass from Sizhui’s trembling hands and setting it on the table. “Do not worry.”
Sizhui isn’t worried! He’s all kinds of calm!
He quickly wipes the word away, collecting the ink he had ground earlier- it’s gone a little tacky, but he can just add a bit more water.
What happened? Sizhui writes, hoping his hands don’t shake too much.
The writing vanishes and reappears in an instant.
Got cocky. Siwang Zhi Mu is stronger.
Siwang Zhi Mu. Mother of Death. The Matriarch’s official title, the one written on her temples. Sizhui wonders if writing the name is a hint- is it because the Matriarch is a God? Or an Immortal? Are sentient corpses something only one who has surpassed death can create? It would make sense. The Ghost General is unique for a reason.
“They tried something above their power level.” Sizhui muses. “That’s why A-niang wanted me gone- he had to tap into his curse. He managed the head’s sentience when he had full access to his curse power, and then, when he tried to put the body together…”
“He got overwhelmed with all the pieces, rather than just one.” Jingyi finishes, realizing exactly what Sizhui has. “Part of the ritual slipped, and Chifeng-zun’s mental state slipped too.”
Jin Ling scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at the compass like he can see through and find the answers. “Ritual slipped, or the Matriarch left a part out.”
Sizhui isn’t sure, and he doesn’t bother answering the question, letting it hang ominously in the air as he rewets his brush.
Chifeng-zun?
Mad. A-niang writes back instantly. Then, with a slightly less messy script, Stable.
Sizhui lets out a sigh of relief. Chifeng-zun’s anger can still support A-niang, which is good. He thinks.
Demonic Cultivation is not his strong point, but he can only assume.
“Ask him about the Matriarch.” Jin Ling demands, leaning in closer. “Even if he can’t tell us everything, we need information.”
Sizhui’s hand tightens on his brush. He’s been doing a lovely job of forgetting all about the Matriarch, actually, he’d like to go back to that. Still, he asks.
Fox?
There's a pause, like A-niang is trying to figure out what to write.
Tired.
“Well that’s useless.” Jin Ling grumbles. “Unless he can tell us exactly where the fox is, then we can’t do anything. We can’t even track her! Stupid transportation talismans. Aren’t those supposed to be difficult?”
“Maybe she made something new.” Jingyi points out. “Qianbei was talking about a way for demonics to travel quickly, wasn’t he?”
Sizhui ignores them, wiping away the ink to draw the beginnings of a chrysanthemum, just the way A-niang had taught him when he was playing with the compass at Carp Tower. A-niang immediately joins in, happily filling the compass with drawings of flowers, delicate despite writing in his own blood. Sizhui’s are slightly sloppy despite having a proper brush. It’s nice to have a connection like this, even if he can’t talk face to face, feel his A-niangs warmth or smell the spicy, comforting scent. Already, he can feel the panic from earlier slipping away.
“We should just tell the Sect Leaders that the spirit is Lan Sizhui’s A-niang.”
Oh, there it is.
“What?” Sizhui asks, mentally pulling out the cotton in his ears (which was (also mentally) placed there to avoid Jin Ling and Jingyi’s bickering). “I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening.”
Jin Ling scoffs at him. “It doesn’t make sense to hide this from them! Especially if we’re not a part of the investigation anymore. What if Hanguang-jun has information he can’t give properly? That he can’t explain?”
“A-niang said not to tell anyone.” Sizhui reminds Jin Ling. “It was the only thing he asked of us. The killer is in the sects.”
Jin Ling crosses his arms and looks down his nose at Sizhui. “Are you saying you don’t trust your Zewu-jun? My Jiujiu? Shufu-yao? They’re already keeping the secret of the Yin iron amulet. They know how to keep things quiet.”
“Of course we trust them!” Jingyi interjects, glaring at Jin Ling like he’s insulted their honor. He kind of has. “Qianbei specifically said don’t tell anyone, even Zewu-jun! Word for word! And the Yinhufu clearly isn’t a very well-kept secret, if we know about it!”
Jingyi sits back on his heels, looking very smug with his argument.
“It still doesn’t make sense.” Jin Ling insists. “That, right there-” he points at the compass, and Sizhui has to quash an inexplicable urge to bit his hand “-is a direct line of communication right into the Foxes Den!”
He rounds on Hanguang-jun, throwing his arms out in a plea. “The Lan aren’t even allowed to lie, are they? Withholding important information has got to be against some rule!”
“…do not break promises. Be faithful to your mate.” A-die lists quietly, a hint of petulance in his tone. “I will not go against his wishes. I will not break his trust, or impose my own will on him.”
“Even for his own good?” Jin Ling demands. “Whatever he is- Fierce Corpse, Sentient Spirit, Mo or Gui- its clear his very blood is useful! A potent powerboost to whatever the Matriarch decides!”
“I will not go against his wishes.” Hanguang-jun repeats. It’s clear he has given all his thoughts on this matter, and Sizhui cannot help but be thankful for his A-die’s stubbornness.
Jin Ling seems to see that he’s not getting anywhere, but he’s not one to give up either. He leans in, sneering right in A-die’s face: “Aren’t you his Alpha?”
Sizhui swears the temperature in the room drops, and all three juniors immediately stiffen.
Hanguang-jun’s even gaze has gone utterly frigid. Sharp as winter chill, like the blinding light of snow glare when it is least expected. There's even small wisps of Spiritual Energy curling off his shoulders! A-die settles himself within a breath, but Sizhui definitely saw them.
Something about Jin Ling’s taunt had hit a soft point. Sizhui’s not entirely sure why, exactly- Alpha, Beta, and Omega Dynamics never make sense to people before presentation. But Sizhui knows enough to understand that questioning the validity of someone's presentation is incredibly rude. Especially in relation to one’s mate!
At least Jin Ling looks properly terrified and regretful.
Jingyi looks like he’s about to pass out.
Hanguang-jun closes his eyes and takes a breath, and the scent of sandalwood and press of spiritual energy vanish under cool, unbroken jade once more.
“He is wise.” Hanguang-jun says quietly, when it seems he’s gotten control of himself. “I trust him. He understands more of the situation than we do. I will not play with what I do not know. I will follow the one with more information than me, I will yield to the one in a more precarious position than I.”
He makes direct, pointed eye contact with Jin Ling. It's not as terrible a glare as a few moments before, but it still has him shrinking into himself.
“It takes a poor Alpha to willingly and deliberately make an Omega feel unsafe.” A-die says slowly, clearly, gold eyes not quite ice, but still unforgiving, cold metal. “He has made one request of me. One request, meant to keep both him, and his child safe. If I have information I must share, I will share it. Until then, I refuse to put Sizhui at risk for a possibility, when I have already been warned of the consequences.”
It’s an effective lecture. Jin Ling looks completely cowed, unable to make eye contact with the angered Alpha, trembling slightly.
“...Understood, Hanguang-jun.” He grumbles, just polite enough for it to not be completely impertinent. “I’ll return to Jiujiu now, he’ll be worried I snuck out.”
He turns to leave, and Sizhui is suddenly struck with the last time he saw Sandu Shengshou worried over his missing nephew- right before they were told of Madam Qin’s disappearance.
“Young Master Jin, wait.” Sizhui calls as the other Junior reaches for the door. He pauses at Sizhui’s words, so he quickly continues; “I’ll ask about Madam Qin first, alright? I know you’re worried for her.”
Both of them have important people in the Matriarch’s clutches. Sizhui doesn’t need to imagine what Jin Ling is feeling right now, after all, he’s feeling it himself.
Jin Ling looks surprised, but Sizhui doesn’t bother to look for long. The other boy has been embarrassed, and really doesn’t need more attention than he already has on him. Quickly, Sizhui wipes away A-niang’s flowers, (feeling a bit guilty) and writes.
Madam Qin?
For a moment, there’s nothing. Sizhui can see the silence bear down on Jin Ling like a physical weight. And then,
Unharmed. A-niang writes. Nothing more, nothing less.
Jin Ling spends a moment looking at the single word, before he scoffs and stomps back to the door.
“Useless information.” he seethes, but the tension in his shoulders seems to have eased.
As the door slams shut, Sizhui wonders if the seal extends to writing. Most likely, or someone would have worked it out by now, after seventeen years of them being active. The Matriarch’s plans for Madam Qin probably fall under the seal.
Still, what could A-niang really tell them? Sizhui wonders, looking down at the compass. Jin Ling isn’t wrong. This is a direct line of communication to the foxes den. A perfect spy. And Sizhui has it.
Sizhui, who is no longer allowed on this Nighthunt.
It… doesn’t make sense for him to keep it, does it?
Sizhui isn’t on the hunt. Even if he was, his curse wont allow him to follow the hints, won't allow him to go to the stone castles and look for clues, makes it too risky for him to chance meetings with Demonics. But, If A-die has it, he’ll be able to find A-niang. Talk, properly talk, without Sizhui and the other Juniors possibly getting in the way of the seal. Find clues and actually follow them, unlike Sizhui, who’s curse won't let him follow the Stone Castles hint.
And that will leave Sizhui… alone. With no way to contact him.
Just Like A-die. A-die also lost A-niang, A-die also only just found him again, also only just regained a connection.
Sizhui cannot be selfish.
“A-die.” Sizhui calls, gently rubbing the edge of the wood grain under his thumb.
“Mn.”
Heart sinking in his chest, Sizhui holds out the compass to Hanguang-jun, trying not to let it tremble. He doesn’t really want to give it up, but… but A-niang is A-die’s mate. His Omega. He’s the one who will be working to investigate his murder, so A-die should have the compass.
“It makes more sense.” Sizhui whispers, trying to make his fingers let go of the compass, to stop clutching to it like a lifeline. “If you’re still on the Nighthunt, the investigation, it makes sense for you to have it.”
“Sizhui…” Jingyi whispers, shocked that Sizhui is giving it up. Sizhui doesn’t dare look at him.
A-die reaches for the compass, Sizhui desperately pushing down the urge to yank it back- and gently folds Sizhui’s fingers over the smooth wood.
“He gave it to you.” Hanguang-jun says, pressing Sizhui’s grip tighter. “It is yours.”
This is making it very difficult to be logical. Do not be greedy, the rules say. Be a Filial child. “But… the Nighthunt. It makes more sense if you take it. I’d just be getting in the way.”
“He has never cared much for sense.” A-die shakes his head, a fond uptick to the corner of his mouth. “And I doubt he will be pleased with me if I do take it. If he wishes to speak with me, he will find a way. It is yours, Sizhui.”
Pulling the compass back to his chest, Sizhui can’t help but be relieved. He knows that it’s probably foolish of him to keep it, no matter what A-niang intended, but still.
“It is late. Xiongzhang will have a new assignment for you in the morning.” A-die says, politely not commenting on Sizhui’s eyes, which he just knows are wet with relief. “I would prefer to check your bindings once more.”
“Yes, A-die.” Sizhui agrees mindlessly, before looking back down at his compass. “May I say goodbye?”
A-die bows his head in a short nod, and Sizhui quickly scrambles for the last of his ink.
Goodnight, A-niang. Be safe.
A-niang does not reply with words. Rather, as Sizhui watches, a small bunny tugging on a radish plant takes shape on polished wood, a final drawing.
It feels like a hug goodnight.
Breakfast is delivered, rather than meeting with the Sect Leaders again. It makes sense, as one can hardly expect Sect Leader Nie to host properly after all this. Sizhui and Jingyi eat their Mianpi Cai Dofu in traditional silence, and yet, it seems more somber than usual.
Sizhui wonders if the spice in the Mianpi would be to A-niang’s taste. Probably not, as A-niang had nearly drowned his fish in chili oil and this seems to be watered down for the Lan. Usually Sizhui would be grateful, but now he just feels separated from what little he knows of A-niang.
The compass sits on the table beside their food, in Sizhui’s view. It feels like a placeholder.
They finish, carefully placing the dishes to not cause trouble for the servants.
“Hanguang-jun said Zongzhu would have an assignment for us, right?” Jingyi asks as they pick up what few belongings they have scattered about. “Should we go directly to him?”
“We can ask if he’s busy.” Sizhui decides. Zewu-jun is often busy with meetings, after all, and it would make sense if he wants to speak with the other Sect Leaders on the Nighthunt. “If he doesn’t have one for us, it might be rude.”
“Wonder if the young mistress will get stuck with us again.” Jingyi mutters, fiddling with the tassel on his sword, before leaning back and groaning dramatically. “Jiang-zongzhu and Jin-zongzhu probably want him out of the way. They’ll be sending us on a baby nighthunt, so it makes sense.”
“Nighthunts of any difficulty are important.” Sizhui reminds his friend. He understands some of his annoyance, however. Many minor nighthunts are simple tasks, with intangible gui who really only need a small favor, or a nudge in the right direction, to pass on.
Unfortunately for Jingyi, he’s terrified of intangible spirits. Give him a corpse coming at his neck and he’s fine, but a confused ghost child looking for a lost toy? Nope.
It’s amusing. The face Jingyi is making at Sizhui right now is also amusing.
“Don't laugh! You’re supposed to be my friend, Sizhui.” Jingyi moans. “I trusted you. Do not bully the weak! Do not mock the fearful!”
Sizhui hides his smile behind his sleeve, knowing that will just make Jingyi more dramatic. Still, the other junior looks almost proud as he blusters about not being afraid of anything.
Pleased with himself, as he’s made Sizhui smile.
“Sizhui, Jingyi.” Zewu-jun says, approaching them. It’s been a short while since breakfast, and they’ve found themselves in a garden, a few birds chirping from the trees. They rise and bow respectfully to their Sect Leader, though he simply smiles and shakes his head.
“You are well?”
Sizhui can see it for the layered question it is. Are you angry with being sent away? How is your curse? You slept soundly?
Sizhui does feel better, Jingyi being an effective distraction from most things, but he still cannot lie. “Well enough, Bofu. The investigation?”
“We haven’t gotten far yet.” Zewu-jun admits. “A-yao and Huaisang are going through the records, but we haven’t been able to travel to the Stone Castles as of yet. I believe we will be going later today. Before work gets in the way, however, I know it was rude of us to steal your hunt.”
It is quite rude, in the ways of the sects, to take the glory from others, especially juniors who are looking to make a name. But Bofu is right to do it. It is only logical from his position.
“It wasn’t really ours in the first place, it was Hanguang-jun’s.” Jingyi points out before Sizhui can say anything. “We were just along for the ride.”
“Regardless, you’ve worked hard and given us a great deal of information.” Zewu-jun smiles proudly at them. “There is a small cleansing nighthunt a short flight away, if you would like to attend.”
Looks like Jingyi was right, they will be going on a minor hunt. “Of course, Zongzhu.” Sizhui agrees politely. “What seems to be the issue?”
“A patch of resentful energy, between Pingyang and Hedong, requiring cleansing.” Zewu-jun explains, looking quite pleased that he’s found something to busy them with so soon. “A few different sects besides us have sent disciples. I believe the Ouyang Sect heir will be there as well, with Pingyang Yao and Hedong Fu. You have your guqin?”
“Of course, Zongzhu.” Sizhui bows. So it’s an intersect relations hunt… Pingyang Yao and Hedong Fu are neighbors, and in the area Body had mentioned, but Baling Ouyang is a bit of a distance from both. They are, however, friends with Pinyang Yao. Hedong Fu tends to keep to themself. Sending Sizhui along will likely be beneficial to their own sect ties. Then a thread of suspicion creeps into his mind, and he asks, “Which of our disciples will be there?”
“I believe Lan Dongyun, Lan Shiling, and Tang Zhanchi will be there, as well as a fourth who’s name eludes me for the moment.” Zewu-jun admits, looking quite embarrassed.
Sizhui bets he’s forgotten. Those three are the important ones- three of the strongest players of cleansing and clarity of their generation. He’d had his suspicions from the moment Zewu-jun had told them it was a cleansing mission. Sizhui is being sent somewhere where his curse will be handily kept in check merely by him being there.
A simple, and obvious solution, but a solution nonetheless. Still, Sizhui can’t help but feel a bit babied.
“We’ll be there.”
“I’ve sent word with a messenger butterfly.” Zewu-jun says with a smile. They’ll be expecting you three. Thank you again, for your hard work.”
Three. Jin Ling is coming as well.
Sizhui and Jingyi bow to their sect leader, who, with a final smile, turns back to the paths of the unclean realm.
Probably going to work on the investigation, Sizhui thinks. The Stone Castles. The mystery of Chifeng-zun’s murder. Hunting for clues, and Sizhui can’t follow them, even though it’s his own A-niang at the center of it all.
Notes:
Don’t worry Sizhui baby, you’re the main character! The chaos will follow you <3
Chapter 11: Finding the Forgotten
Notes:
The juniors stumble across some real fucked shit here, but it’s mostly implied.
TRIGGER WARNINGS:
rape, wartime pleasure women, Wen Clan being bastards.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They head out quickly.
Jin Ling ends up leaving Fairy behind, as the dog has quickly befriended Sect Leader Nie and is bringing a great deal of comfort, and they want to fly on swords in order to not leave the others waiting.
(Also, Fairy seems to be having a bad reaction to something she ate. Sizhui gets a sudden flashback to a half-eaten chili-oil drowned carp, thrown haphazardly on the ground in panic.)
Jin Ling is not pleased by this. This displeasure seems to translate into quick flying, however, so they very quickly find themselves at the area where they’re meant to be meeting the other disciples.
“Here.” Sizhui calls, pointing down. There's a small river they’ve been instructed to follow, until a double waterfall- that’s where they’ll meet up. It’s a mountainous area, difficult terrain. Sizhui isn’t surprised there are pockets of resentment here, where it can collect in hard to find caves and ravines, cut out by rivers that have long gone dry as they spill into newer, easier waterways. Such as the one that serves as their meeting place.
It seems the other juniors are already there. Sizhui can see the four Lan Disciples he knows, and ten disciples from other sects, clearly distinguished by their robes. They land, bowing to the other juniors.
“Apologies for keeping you waiting.” Sizhui greets. “This one is Lan Sizhui, of the Gusu Lan Sect.”
“Jin Rulan of Lanling Jin.” Jin Ling says shortly.
One of the disciples in maroon makes a face, replying just as shortly, “Chen Yangheng, Pingyang Yao sect.” Like the rest of his sect siblings, he wears maroon robes that come up into points at the shoulders, and he’s wearing a black hat.
“Fu Xiaxu, of the Hedong Fu Sect.” a much more agreeable disciple introduces. His sect wears a brighter red, with rounded shoulders and no hat.
“Ouyang Zizhen, of Baling Ouyang Sect.” The next introduces. He wears green and white robes, but his guan is different from the others wearing the same, rounded and more elaborate. Sizhui guesses he’s the Sect Heir. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Sizhui nods. That's the seniormost disciple of each sect introduced, he thinks.
“Right, let's get to work.” Lan Shiling, a no nonsense Shimei that Sizhui knows very well from an incident involving heated discussions of poetry, decides. “Chen-Gongzi, it was the Yao sect that requested help?”
Chen Yangheng sniffs pompously at her. “We were asked by some traveling merchants. They were forced to change routes due to a rock slide, and hired a rogue cultivator to help them through the passes, in case of Yaoguai. Halfway through, their Compass of Evil started to shake and point in a certain direction. The merchants were scared, so the cultivator went to check it over, but couldn’t find anything beyond a stain of resentment. He couldn’t cleanse it on his own, so he went back, marked the area, and delivered his clients to us, where they made a report.”
Sizhui looks around. There’s quite a few disciples… seventeen, if he’s counting right. Six Gusu Lan, including him and Jingyi, one Lanling Jin, four Baling Ouyang, three Pingyang Yao, and three Hedong Fu. A Compass of Evil only points towards lower level spirits, so why so many?
Have they been put in such a large group for protection from the rumors about demonics stirring?
“The Yao sect was requested, but technically it's on Hedong lands, so they became involved.” Ouyang Zizhen offers at Sizhui’s confusion. “And because I was visiting with A-die, he and Yao-Zongzhu thought I would benefit from some exercise. The Lan Sect are well-known for their cleansing, so when Lan-zongzhu offered assistance, it was gladly taken.”
Sizhui can understand how many sects became involved now. (Even though it is, a bit, Bofu’s meddling.) “I see. Do we have a location?”
“Vague directions, and a Compass of Evil.” Lan Dongyun, a tall, rather square, and dependable (in Sizhui’s experience) disciple. “If it worked for the rogue cultivator, it ought to work for us.”
“That means whatever is there is low-level, at least!” Tang Zhanchi, a Lan outer Disciple who is always a touch slow on the uptake, but reliable once she gets there, says eagerly. “It shouldn’t be that difficult!”
“That's the only reason they’re sending us.” Jin Ling grumbles.
There seem to be two reactions to that. Annoyance at being treated like children, the same as Jin Ling. The “well, duh” of those who've accepted they’re nowhere near their seniors level quite yet. (Ah, three reactions- the youngest Lan, Hou Rouxing, looks very relieved they’re not on a dangerous hunt.)
It doesn’t matter, in the end, how they feel about it. This is their hunt, that they have been entrusted with, and they will see it out to the best of their ability. Those with Compasses of Evil pull them out, and they start moving through the mountain paths.
Sizhui takes quick advantage of this, checking A-niang’s compass. (Technically, they were invented by the same person, so there.) The red dot isn’t where it was last night- it almost looks like he’s been teleported again.
He wants to ask, but… he can’t be distracted. Also, he doesn’t have ink. Or charcoal.
He should have grabbed charcoal.
“Over here!” Fu Xiaxu calls. “It’s the marking the rogue cultivator made!”
Sizhui puts A-niang’s compass away, going to investigate. The marking is simple- a hastily written “Danger, resentful energy” and an arrow pointing the way.
Jingyi holds up his compass, the needle swinging to point in the same direction as the arrow. Well, at least nothing has moved around. If it’s tied to a specific location, then it should be easy enough to cleanse.
They move on, searching over the rocky passes, the compasses leading them through a maze of winding crevices and old riverbeds.
And still… nothing.
The place feels quiet. Dangerously quiet. The compasses point steadfastly in the same direction, and the hair on the back of Sizhui’s neck is standing up, but still… quiet. Whatever is here, it’s sleeping.
Eventually, they emerge into a more open area. Cliffs still rise up on every side, the only way out, or up, through a maze.
“Look.” Jingyi says, holding out his Compass of Evil. It’s started to spin wildly- they must be in the right place.
“Search the area.” Chen Yangheng orders. “There's seventeen of us, we should be able to find whatever it is.”
They scatter, some closing their eyes and trying to sense the source of resentment, and others poking around overgrown bushes with their swords.
It’s clear that someone has been here, Sizhui decides, as he inspects a ring of stones. It’s in the rough shape of a fire pit, though it’s obviously very old. Trapped in the underbrush nearby, there's an old tent, the pale fabric punched through by determined plants.
Tang Zhanchi seems to have seen it as well, poking at it with the end of her blade. “Do you think we can pull it up?”
“The roots and dirt have taken it over. We’ll only destroy it.” Sizhui decides. “Let’s look for other clues first.”
Is that what the resentment is? Travelers, who met their fate here, in a maze of rock walls and cliffs, unable to be found or laid to rest, even as the signs of their presence began to rot?
“Is that another tent?” One of the Hedong Fu disciples asks, coming up behind them. “That’s three.”
“Three?” Sizhui frowns, scanning the others. Chen Yangheng and his sect siblings are poking at another swath of fabric, still partially sticking up, but so covered in dirt it looks like an oddly shaped rock. A little to their right, Ouyang Zizhen and one of his Shidi’s have a torn patch of white fabric.
“They’re all evenly spaced…” Sizhui whispers, checking over the tents again. “It was organized. Follow the lines, we should see how big this camp was.”
Big, is the answer.
The tents, half buried and rotten after at least a decade of abandonment, stretch from a sheer cliff face into the open area, each a decent size width and length.
“The fabric is good, to have lasted this long.” Lan Shiling deduces once they’ve reached the end of the tent remnants. “They must have been wealthy. There are a few preservation talismans embroidered into the hems, and some sort of symbol used to be dyed there, but it’s long been washed out.”
“A large, well off, organized party.” Lan Dongyun nods. “Maybe a band of merchants, diverted from the usual path like the ones who brought this to the sects.”
But what could have killed them? Any smart travelers would hire at least one cultivator guard, especially if they had the money to do it. There aren’t any signs of tearing from claws in the fabric, and though a rock fall has destroyed a few tents, it was nowhere near destroying the entire camp. Most of the destruction seems to have happened after the camp was abandoned. So then, what could have happened?
“Uh… I don’t think it was merchants.”
Fu Xiaxu is the one who’s spoken, standing awkwardly in between two of the tents on the more overgrown side. Slowly, he turns around, clutching something in his hands. There’s a sharp inhale from someone behind Sizhui.
It’s an old war banner- square, with half- rotten ribbons on the side not attached to the pole. The white has been stained with dust, and the red has been bleached in the sun, but the symbol embroidered proudly on it is obvious.
A red sun.
The War Banner of the Wen Clan, flying high in the air like in the horror stories they’ve been told since childhood.
They’re in an abandoned Wen war camp.
Before any of them can say anything, before they can move past the shock and horror of the discovery, a low growling noise echoes through the area, bouncing around until they are surrounded.
The disciples draw their swords in a chorus of singing blades.
The echo isn’t coming from the cliff walls, Sizhui realizes as he looks around. It’s no illusion of being surrounded, but rather, the terrifying truth.
Clawed hands tear through fabric and roots alike, old limbs creaking to life, pushing up through dirt and rocks like a particularly demented crop. Their hair lies tangled and unruly, the occasional hairstick or ribbon dangling uselessly in the lumped knots of old styles. Their clothes half rotten, skin not faring much better, though some are still caked with white powder on their faces.
Fierce corpses.
Dozens of them.
Sizhui is starting to think that maybe seventeen juniors wasn’t overkill after all.
“Look out!”
In a cacophony of screams, the corpses attack.
Sizhui blocks a set of claws, stumbling backwards. The corpses are mostly female. Aren’t they known to be especially fierce? Sizhui can attest to that now! They’re nowhere near the strength and speed of Chifeng-zun’s headless corpse, but there are so many, and each one fights like a vicious beast! A vicious beast with a grudge! And claws!
A Hedong disciple goes tumbling to the ground, quickly rescued by his sect siblings.
None of them were prepared for an attack, Sizhui realizes, angry at himself. They’re pinned against the cliff, corpses between them and the exit. There's a pair of Ouyang Disciples on their own, Tang Zhanzhi has dropped her guqin, and one of the Yao disciples had been trying to investigate inside a rotten tent, and is now stuck.
Sizhui quickly moves to cover him as Lan Dongyun cuts the fabric away from his panicked body.
One of the Ouyang disciples gets thrown, and Chen Yangheng quickly kicks his opponent aside to catch him. It leaves Ouyang Zizhen alone.
Alone, and very outnumbered.
“Help!” He shouts, kicking a corpse that’s going for his legs and slashing at another two with his sword. “Uh, please!”
“Ouyang-gongzi!” Sizhui shouts, ducking under the arm of a fierce corpse and running forwards to save him, but he doesn’t get very far before there's another corpse swiping at his neck.
Like a pack of wolves who have isolated their prey, the corpses close in on Ouyang Zizhen, grabbing at his robes and trying to drag him to the ground. He puts up a valiant effort, managing to knock at least five away from himself as the other disciples try to fight their way to him, but soon enough Sizhui loses sight of the boy entirely.
“Shixiong!” the Ouyang Disciple who was thrown away shouts, voice cracking. “Shixiong!”
“Shit.” Someone growls, which in Sizhui’s opinion is not very helpful right now.
“SHIXIONG-”
The whistle of a flute pierces through the air.
Everybody flinches- whether it be sect disciple or fierce corpse- turning to face the sound of the Dizi, which demands attention as it cuts through the panic like a blade.
It’s coming from the opening in the cliffs, where perched on the back of a donkey, eyes red and focused, is…
“A-niang?” Sizhui cries, shocked. How is he here? He doesn’t have a sword, and they’re hundreds of Li from Qinghe!
The other Lan disciples whip around to stare at him, but Sizhui doesn’t pay them any mind. There's someone at A-niang’s side (a demonic, judging by the mask, but definitely not Chifeng-zun or Mo Xuanyu, they’re too short) and they run forwards, swinging the bamboo stick in their hands and knocking corpses around as they go.
“Don’t just stand there, do something!” The new person orders, shoving another corpse out of the way, bracelets clattering on her wrists. “Damnit, are you cultivators or not? He’s hurt!”
Shaking off his surprise, Sizhui pushes forwards with his sword. The corpses are clearly confused, not fully under the control of A-niang’s flute, but not quite as vicious as before. They’re pushed to the side easily as A-niang’s new companion sets to work.
Ouyang Zizhen is uncovered quickly, his sect siblings driving forwards with single minded purpose, but it’s A-niang’s companion who gets there first. With a grunt, she punches the corpse sitting on his chest off of him, grabs him under the armpits, and drags him into the safety of the disciples.
“Are you alright?” She asks, as Jingyi and Jin Ling move to guard them.
“Uh…” Ouyang Zizhen says, looking up at her in amazement as a patch of red grows on his arm. “You… hi…”
The girl’s mouth twists, like she’s trying to hold back a laugh, and she raises her voice. “Xiansheng! This one’s dying!”
A-niang forces his way to the disciples, Little Apple kicking in anger at any corpses that get too close. “A-Qing, your bedside manner is atrocious.” He informs her primly, using his flute to parry an angry corpse. “Hi A-yuan! Other children! Sorry for intruding, is everyone alright?”
“Who are you?” Tang Zhanchi asks, clearly lost.
“This one is a savior!” A-niang chirps, twirling his flute. Red energy gathers at the end, and with a swipe of his arm, he sends out a shockwave forcing the corpses back. “Hello, lovely to meet you. Please follow A-Qing, there's a protective array back at the cliff you were all running away from.”
“Like hell we will!” Chen Yangheng growls, lifting his blade to point it at A-niang, who gasps in overly-affected offense. “I’m no idiot! This whole thing was probably a set up! Rogue Cultivator using a demonic tool like a Compass of Evil, then demonics showing up and trying to pin us against a cliff?”
Jingyi slips between the Yao disciple and A-niang. “Chen-gongzi, we used compasses of evil too. We know this person, they’re not a trickster!”
“Why are you being friendly with a demonic?!” The Yao Disciple demands, not lowering his sword. “What is going on?!”
“Shixiong, who?” Tang Zhanchi asks, clearly still stuck on her earlier question. “Did you call him A-niang? Why would you…”
Sizhui winces. The one thing A-niang had asked of him, to not tell anyone that he was his A-niang…
“I know it’s confusing, but a lot has happened.” Sizhui explains quickly. “This is my A-niang, he has my curse, he knows the song.”
“Hanguang-jun’s song?” Lan Shiling has one doubtful eyebrow raised, bending her headband oddly.
“He’s been cursed or something!” One of the Hedong disciples shouts. “Everyone knows Hanguang-jun’s lover is dead!”
“Death is boring.” A-niang hums, kicking away a corpse. “But this isn’t the time for introductions, that song won't bind them forever. Head back towards the cliff, trust me!”
“No!”
They devolve into arguments, swords pointing at the demonics in between clashes with the fierce corpses. Sizhui isn’t sure what to do- there doesn’t seem to be anything by the cliff, but he trusts his A-niang. He’s also very worried about him fainting again- where is Chifeng-zun? Mo Xuanyu? The mask on his head, will it activate the Wen Brand again?
He wants everyone to shut up and stop yelling, he needs to explain, to let everyone understand what’s going on. But between the disciples shouting and the corpses growling, he doubt’s he’d be heard, let alone listened to.
In the midst of the chaos, the girl who arrived with a-niang looks down at Ouyang Zizhen. “Hey, you’re a sect heir, right?”
Ouyang Zizhen still looks a bit shell shocked. “Um. Yeah! Yes? What do you…”
“Great.” the girl smirks, grabbing his arm and hoisting him over her shoulders. “Oi! Dumbasses! I’m kidnapping a sect heir, you should probably follow me!”
“Hey!”
The girl (had A-niang called her A-qing?) takes off, Ouyang Zizhen waving cheerfully from her back, seemingly taking no issue with his captivity.
The disciples follow her, swords raised, A-niang sighing deeply as they give chase. “A-qing, you are doing a horrible job at making them trust us!”
“Don’t care if they trust us, I want them not dead!” A-qing (Qing-Quniang, Sizhui should probably call her) shouts back, running to the cliff’s sheer face. For a moment, Sizhui is worried that she’ll be trapped there, and the other disciples will hurt her, but then…
“Did she just walk through the rock?!” Jin Ling yelps, skidding to a stop.
He’s not stopped for long, because A-niang grabs him by the back of the collar and drags him along. “Yep! That’s the array we were telling you about! A-qing has very good eyes, you know. Come on!”
Jin Ling is shoved through the wall without ceremony, and the Ouyang disciples quickly go after their sect heir, but Lan Shiling and Chen Yangheng hang back.
“I’m still not following you!” Chen Yangheng insists. “This is clearly a trap!”
“Chen-gongzi, we don’t have time for this.” Sizhui cajoles. “Please, just let us explain-”
“Thirty to forty corpses that want you dead, or two physically weak cultivators that want you alive, at least for the moment.” A-niang interrupts. “Half your party is already inside. You’ll be lowering your chances if you split up to die.”
Chen Yanheng looks at his sect siblings, unsure, but the press of the corpses behind them is too much.
“Fine.” He grumbles, not yet sheathing his sword. “But I still don’t trust you!”
“Eh, that’s fine.” A-niang says carelessly, then disappears into the rock.
It feels like stepping through water, a cool ripple pressing against Sizhui as he passes through the illusion, the sensation vanishing as he steps all the way inside.
Oh, they were right before. It’s a Wen Camp.
Banners with the red sun hang from the walls, a few having fallen over the years. One lies like a tarp over what looks like a box, from the way it’s draped. Sets of jars and supplies line the back corners. Chains are driven into the wall with long iron stakes, far away from the supplies.
There are… a lot of manacles. A prison camp?
Most of the disciples are investigating, poking at the supplies, the strange, translucent watery illusion of the rock face, behind which the corpses are milling about in confusion. Giving the donkey in here with them a wide berth.
Ouyang Zizhen has been stripped of his outer robe and boots, the girl who had “kidnapped” him poking at the wounds on his shoulder, mask removed now to see better.
Her eyes are pale white, Sizhui notices with some shock. Over the pupil and iris, a filmy white sheen- and yet, she appears capable of sight, if the way she’s inspecting Ouyang Zizhen is any indication.
“Does anyone have water? We need to wash out his wounds so he doesn’t get corpse poisoning.” She asks, looking around. “Also, bandages, and I’m pretty sure his ankle is twisted.”
“You’re really pretty.” Ouyang Zizhen tells her, starry-eyed.
“And you’ve hit your head on a rock.” She replies. “Water and bandages, please.”
One of the Ouyang disciples rushes to obey, and Sizhui figures she’ll probably be alright.
“A-niang.” He says, moving to the omega’s side now that he’s made sure the area is safe. “Why are you here? What happened to the others? Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine, little radish, I promise.” A-niang laughs. “Da-ge needs to settle, A-yu is with him to keep the spell up. Honestly, I’m a lot stronger now that he’s been put together! My mask is enough to keep me stable, even at long distances. For now. Anyways, Da-ge… wouldn’t be very good on this mission.”
For now? A-niang, what happens when that “for now” runs out?! And the mask… the stupid mask. The one that marks A-niang's bond with the Mother of Death. The one that activated A-niang’s wen brand. The one that’s tied to A-niang’s belt, because if he puts it on properly then it will hurt him. The one that might have summoned the Matriarch, causing A-niang to be taken by the Mother of Death.
So then why is he here?! And what does A-niang mean, Chifeng-zun wouldn’t be good on this mission?
“Ahem.”
Sizhui stops glaring at the mask, wincing. Right. The other disciples have questions. Lan Shiling and Chen Yangheng are looking at him, both with their swords unsheathed, though Lan Shiling’s raised eyebrow is just as sharp as her blade.
“Shixiong, this Shimei would be ever so grateful for an explanation.” Lan Shiling says, the very epitome of sweet politeness. “This… Demonic. You believe he is your mother?”
“I know he is, Shimei.” Sizhui corrects. He understands her hesitance- he had also been unsure at first. “He knew the song A-die plays every night with Inquiry. He knew my old childhood nickname. He has the same curse, I recognize his scent, and A-die confirmed it himself. This is my a-niang.”
“…right.” Lan Shiling says slowly. “Hanguang-jun’s mate is this random Omega. A random demonic Omega, who definitely has access to spirits and their knowledge.”
“A-die confirmed it.” Sizhui repeats, frowning at his Shimei.
Cheng Yangheng scoffs. “Right. And your A-niang, dead for thirteen years, miraculously comes back just in time to save us from a band of fierce corpses in an undiscovered wen camp. And I suppose it’s just coincidence that we happen to have three heir apparents, two of which are from major sects?”
“That girl knew Ouyang-gongzi was a sect heir!” One of the unnamed yao disciples agrees, pointing at Qing-guniang with his sword. “Clearly he’s a target!”
A-niang makes a face at them. “If I wanted Jin-gongzi and A-yuan, I would have taken them when they were alone in the woods and I had that massive fierce corpse… partially under control.”
Partially. Right.
“Also… who are the Ouyang?”
“...A-niang.”
“What?! I wasn’t good at remembering all those sect names back then! It’s been thirteen years! I don’t remember an Ouyang sect out here!” A-niang complains. “Also, that kid is wearing a fancier Guan. It’s not that hard.”
Qing-guniang hums in agreement.
“In all honesty, I’m getting a little tired of Juniors popping out of nowhere while I’m trying to work!” A-niang sighs dramatically, leaning on Little Apple. “It’s rude! Jin-gongzi shot me!”
Jin Ling looks very proud of himself.
“What work?” Chen Yangheng asks, still suspicious. “Any work for the demonic sect is something we can’t allow. Why are you here?”
“I’ve got an idea.” Fu Xiaxu calls. “Look what I found.”
Sizhui thinks Fu Xiaxu should shut up and keep his hands to himself, seeing as the last thing he found was a wen banner and he had waved it around and woken up a bunch of fierce corpses.
Fu Xiaxu does not shut up and keep his hands to himself, because Sizhui did not say that aloud. Instead, he pulls the box that was under the fallen wen banner from the wall out, open for everyone to see its contents.
Wen brands.
Branding irons, as they are, are simple spiritual tools. Low-level weapons that need only a small amount of energy to use, seen as brutish and basic, only to be used on criminals. A way to leave a cruel scar on a victim.
The Wen had taken this scar and made something new out of it.
The wen had taken their crest of the sun, and made it the crux of an array. They required far more spiritual energy than normal branding irons, and they had used the scars they left behind as curse marks, binding the will of the victim to whoever held the weapon that had branded them.
Wen Brands, was their name. But often, in hushed, angry whispers, they were referred to as Enslavement Brands.
Any that were found, were immediately destroyed. But some were never found.
Prime example: The one in the box in front of them. A long handle, and multiple detachable burning ends- so that different people could hold control over the victims.
Disgusting.
“You’re here for those, are you?” Chen Yangheng scowls, raising his sword and angling it for A-niang’s throat. “Here to bring these back to your mistress, so that she may enslave innocent people? It’s a good thing we were here to stop you.”
Sizhui bristles. A-niang has a Wen brand, he wouldn’t bind someone else to one! “You can’t keep jumping to conclusions!” He insists. If there are others like A-niang, others who don’t want to be in the demonic sect, others who are trying to help, then it’s no wonder no one knows about them, between the seals and people talking over what little they can say!
“Eh.” A-niang shrugs, entirely nonchalant. “He’s not wrong, I am here for those.”
The disciples all pause.
Did he just… admit to it?
“And Xiansheng says I’m bad at gaining trust.” Qing-guniang comments in the shocked silence. She sounds almost impressed.
“Well, I’m not going to lie!” A-niang says, sounding almost offended at the notion. “The poor baby Lans will be utterly scandalized! And it’s not like they’ll believe me anyways. Cultivators are very stubborn with their opinions. They’ll call an orange green even as it ripens.”
“Why you-”
“I am not asking that you believe me, gongzi.” A-niang’s interrupts Chen Yangheng. “I am only asking you to listen. May I speak?”
The Yao disciple makes several faces, each more bothered than the last, before he huffs and waves his hand in careless permission.
“Many thanks.” A-niang hums, looking over the cave full of disciples. As they watch him warily, he walks over to a ledge, sitting down on it with a sigh, hands coming up to tug at the collar of his robes. “Many of you were shocked that A-yuan’s A-niang is a demonic- well, here's part of the reason why.”
His collar is loose already- loose enough to be pulled down, loose enough to show the scar. The red sun that is all over this cave, but rather than chipped paint on a clay pot or faded red embroidery, the mark is made of reddened and stretched skin, healed over, but still easily discernible.
A Wen Brand.
“One of the Wartime demonics.” a Hedong disciple mutters. “Tricked into following?”
“Hardly tricked.” A-niang admits, resettling his robes. “I have no core. And, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I managed to pass down a lovely little curse to A-yuan over there- I absorb resentful energy. Without my core, and with a brand that… affects my control of the curse, I really didn’t have much choice. Learn demonic cultivation, or die. Painfully.”
An easy choice, Sizhui hopes the other disciples can see. The Matriarch was an unknown, the only way out. A-niang couldn’t have known it would get this bad.
“The brand affects your curse?” Lan Shiling asks, her cold exterior slipping just the slightest bit in pity.
“Ha. Let’s just say the Wen’s experiments could be… creative.” A-niang growls, teeth bared in a scowl at the memory. Lan Shiling looks like she very much regrets asking. “Seventeen years is a long time, but, well. As those three saw…”
“Still active.” Jin Ling says, crossing his arms and meeting the horrified gazes of the other disciples head on.
“Those… One of those isn’t yours, is it?” Tang Zhanchi whispers, staring at the box. “Should we destroy them?”
“Oh, I have no idea where my brand is.” A-niang says, shaking his head. “My orders are active, but it’s just… gone. Last time I saw it was thirteen years ago, so who knows where it is now.”
Thirteen years?
Sizhui freezes. Thirteen years. Thirteen years ago was when the Matriarch attacked Qionqi path, and the sects retaliated against her. It was when A-niang died, when Sizhui was brought to Gusu. If A-niang last saw it thirteen years ago…
Had the wen brand been involved with his death? Was A-niang nonchalantly giving him a clue? Trying to slip around the seal of silence around his throat?
“But wherever it is,” a-niang continues, unaware of Sizhui’s rushing thoughts, “It’s still bothersome. Destroying the brand is the only option we’ve found so far, but I thought… If I could find another set… A spirit bound by a wen brand, and the full weapon. I might be able to find another way, and set myself free.”
A-niang smiles, reaching up to press a hand over his chest, over the wen brand. Like he can still feel the pain. “It’s been so long since I’ve been free. You know, back then, I thought that once I found it, once I had my own will… I’d finally say yes to Lan Zhan.”
Lan Shiling makes a sound like she’s been punched.
She’s not the only one- multiple disciples have wide, pitying eyes as they stare at A-niang’s sad smile. Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen have already given in, tears streaking down their faces.
Sizhui himself feels like A-niang has grabbed his heart and squeezed. A-niang had… wanted to come to Gusu. Was waiting until he was fully himself, until he had regained control. Would have taken Sizhui to Gusu with him, probably.
How different would his life have been? With a happy, smiling A-niang, one who teased his a-die, one who would have definitely gotten on Shugong’s nerves, but he’d be lenient if he saw how happy a-die was. A-niang would have probably been great friends with Bofu. Both had constant smiles and a way of putting others at ease. A-niang would have been mischievous, sure, would have been adored by all the younger Lan. Probably would have approved of Jingyi.
Would have called Sizhui little radish even as he grew up. Would have understood the curse, would have been able to sit by his side and understand.
Sizhui… would his name even be Sizhui? Chasing memories, to recollect and long for, derived from an old poem. A name in honor of a lover unable to be pursued. Maybe he would have had a different name entirely.
“You…” Lan Dongyun starts, then coughs. “You can’t force these spirits into experiments. If they’ve really been branded, and are waiting this long to be freed…”
“I was going to ask!” A-niang says, frowning at him. “We demonics work with spirits whenever we can, it’s much easier. That’s also why I didn’t try to force control over them fully, earlier. Takes too much energy, probably wouldn’t have worked, and makes them wary of me.”
Doing just enough to back the spirits away…
“Suppression, then liberation.” Sizhui realizes. Just like what A-niang had told them during their traveling lesson. “Calm them down enough to work things out properly.”
A-niang smiles proudly at him. “Aiyah, my little radish is learning my lessons so quickly! That’s correct. I’m going to give them a way to let go, or a way to help me save others from their fate. It’s a win-win, isn’t it?”
“How are you going to ask them?” Jingyi asks. “We have Inquiry, but I don’t think that was your plan.”
“No, of course not.” A-niang waves his hand. “But there's more than one way to commune with the dead. Have you ever heard of Empathy?”
“The high-level technique that is always written with multiple warnings on the risks of possession and insanity?” Sizhui deadpans. A-niang. A-niang, please say no.
“Yep!” A-niang chirps. Dangit A-niang! Sizhui is about to protest when A-niang continues. “Well, the technique I’m planning is based on that! Just… more in line with Demonic Cultivation.”
That’s worse! Empathy is already considered a borderline demonic technique, what exactly does “more in line with demonic cultivation” mean?
“Can you explain it?” Sizhui asks. He wants to at least know what his A-niang is thinking of trying. “Or will the seal stop you?”
“I might be able to.” A-niang hums, tapping at his chin with his dizi. “If I start choking we’ll have our answer. Alright, lesson time!”
He sounds quite giddy with his captive audience, smiling brightly at all of the disciples of righteous sects who’s ears he is about to fill with heretical practices.
“Empathy is a ritual involving channeling a spirit into oneself for the purpose of seeing their memories. Extremely useful to help the spirit pass along, or to learn more about sinister plots with no living witnesses.” A-niang says with a wink. “It is, however, incredibly difficult. You are allowing a spirit to possess you, to share with you what is most often its worst memories. As such, a more dominating possession and insanity are quite common. In other words, don’t try it, unless you have no other options. It’s not fun.”
Sizhui distinctly remembers his lecture on this technique. A-niang is going about it in a much different way.
“It also only allows one spirit to be channeled at a time. Which, given the crowd of beauties out there, isn’t going to work.” A-niang waves his hand over to the hazy rock wall, like a merchant showing off their wares. “So! The technique I was going to attempt, has been named ‘Sympathy.’ Similar, yet different.”
He looks over the gathered disciples, eyes glimmering. “Speaking in the definition of the word, not the technique, can someone tell me the difference between sympathy and empathy?”
“Empathy means to understand another’s feelings, while sympathy means to share those feelings.” Lan Shiling says with all the poise of a Lan classroom.
A-niang nods. “Correct. And so, considering the difference in the names, can you guess the difference in the techniques? I’ll give you a hint- Sympathy is strictly resentful cultivation.”
Making them guess, figure it out on their own. Sizhui isn’t sure if A-niang wants them to learn, or simply needs them to make connections on their own before the seal will allow him to continue, in the same way A-die was able to tell them more about A-niang’s inventions once they had figured it out.
Sympathy… sharing feelings with another, not simply understanding. Requiring resentment. If Empathy is channeling the memories of another…
“Sympathy lets you use your resentment to understand theirs?” Sizhui tries. It doesn’t seem nuanced enough. “With… similar memories?”
A-niang smiles proudly at him. “Very good, little radish. That’s correct. Sympathy allows me to use my own memories, my own source of resentment, and… well, for lack of a better term, throw it at the spirits. The result is we’re all dragged into our similar memories, the ones our resentment is born from, and we grow to understand each other. If done right, the Gui learn that I am not their enemy. That I have suffered the same things they have, I understand, and I will help them if they help me.”
Leading and using Gui. The Matriarch had forced hundreds of fallen Wen soldiers, forcing them to follow along with her will. But it must have been difficult- Even judging from the last few days, judging friend and foe by blood is ingrained into corpses like Chifeng-zun.
It shows just how powerful the Matriarch truly is, that she controlled so many.
It shows how much kinder A-niang is, that he works with rather than against the will of the deceased.
This way of demonic cultivation sounds almost like Liberation.
“So… this technique.” Fu Xiaxu says slowly. “You’ll be able to use it to convince the spirits to let us go?”
A-niang scrunches his face up. “Well…”
Always a catch, Sizhui notes with a small sigh. Every technique has its upsides and drawbacks.
“Empathy is contained within the body.” A-niang explains. “Sympathy is messy. Throwing resentment around, the spell happens in the air between caster and target, rather than within either one. Meaning I can appeal to more than one spirit, but, well. Sometimes it can be hard to pick which souls get caught up, and I wasn’t expecting so many… variables.”
He’s careful not to look at Sizhui when he says this, so Sizhui knows exactly what he’s thinking. After all, Bofu had sent him here to benefit from the cleansing the other disciples would be playing, and now, the entire operation has been flipped on his head.
This technique might be dangerous for Sizhui’s curse.
“So you need us to leave.” Chen Yangheng guesses. His sword still hasn’t been sheathed, Sizhui notes. It’s not leveled at A-niang’s neck anymore, but it hasn’t been put away.
“I would prefer that.” A-niang confirms, eyeing him warily. “I assume Gongzi has his suspicions?”
“Ehh…” Chen Yangheng sighs, rolling his free hand in a “Go on” sort of gesture, though he seems to be saying it to himself. “I just still think it’s really, really convenient. Find a bunch of impressionable disciples, including your supposed son, magically know that there's a protective array hidden behind an illusion. Inside this illusion is a dangerous weapon, which you need because you want to be free of your brand in some sob story. And then you have a technique that will perfectly solve the situation, but you need the… what did you call us again? Variables? To clear the area.”
He sniffs, raising his chin and glaring down his nose at A-niang. “And I can assume you want us to leave an incredibly dangerous, will-trapping item with you?”
“That would be ideal, yes.” a-niang shrugs. “I take it that's not happening?”
Chen Yangheng scoffs. “Unlikely. I don’t trust you, or your little sob story. That whole thing could easily be a lie. Why are all of you so easily swayed?”
“You’re right.” A-niang admits. “Words are just words, in the end. I can’t force you to believe anything, and I won't try.”
“At least you have some sense.” Chen Yangheng admits, his grip on his sword shifting. “We’ll destroy this Wen Brand, so it won't cause harm to anyone else. If what you’re saying is true, then I’m sorry, but I can’t gamble with the free will of innocent people.”
A-niang chuckles, pulling his flute out of his belt and twirling it in his fingers. “And I cannot stand another moment of my will not being my own.” he says gently. “So it would seem that we are at an impasse, Gongzi.”
The other disciples shift a little uncomfortably, looking at their sect siblings for guidance. No one seems to know what to do, what to say, as the Yao disciple and the Demonic Cultivator stare each other down in calculating silence, weapons in hand.
“No we’re not.” Qing-guniang says suddenly.
They all turn to stare at her, ready for whatever solution she’s thought of. Qing-guniang looks confused that they haven't figured it out already.
“Your issue is that you don’t know if Xiansheng is telling the truth, right?” Qing-guniang asks Chen Yangheng, her pale eyes disconcertingly focused. “Sympathy doesn’t just throw resentment around. It also throws memories around. Witnesses get dragged into sympathy, even if they don’t share those memories. Xiansheng was talking about it on the way here.”
She turns to A-niang, nodding despite her teacher not giving her a response. “So, if they see your memories of the brand, feel your feelings about it, they’ll see you won't do it to anyone else.”
“Absolutely not.” A-niang says, arms crossed and frowning at Qing-guniang for even suggesting the concept. “Forced empathy is even more dangerous than the usual kind. They’ll have no control, and in these memories… they’re just kids. Besides, with the curse…”
Sizhui tucks his wrist ribbons out of sight. He… he’s in the way, isn’t he?
“It’s that or be stuck here, making vague threats at each other until we starve to death.” Qing-guniang says simply, shrugging. “Or we fight them for it, and you don’t have the energy for that.”
“A-qing!”
“I’m supposed to keep you stable, Xiansheng.” Qing-Guniang says innocently. “That includes protecting you from yourself. Da-ge said.”
“I’m alright with it.” Chen Yangheng speaks over A-niang’s grumbles about meddling corpses and how he’s going to decapitate Chifeng-zun again. “We thought this was a cleansing mission at first- these Lan disciples are good at clarity and cleansing, right?”
“Lan laoshi says my head is as empty as the clearest pond!” Tang Zhanchi offers brightly.
A-niang pauses what he was about to say, blinking at Tang Zhanchi. “That’s… great, kid.” he shakes his head, getting back on track. “But my memories are a mess on the best of days. I don’t know if the silence seal will take this as a violation, and even if they can see… I wouldn’t wish these memories on… anyone…”
He trails off, eyes flicking between each disciple's face to the next. All of them stubbornly determined.
“...you want to use A-qings plan, don’t you.” he says flatly. It’s not a question. He gets nods in response anyways.
“It makes the most sense.” Fu Xiaxu admits. “We’ve seen a lot. We’re trained to fight monsters. We know the history of the Sunshot campaign.
Ouyang Zizhen, looking a bit more lucid, nods in agreement. “Carrying the memories of these corpses is the least we can do for them, after they’ve been forgotten for so long.”
A-niang drops his head into his hands, groaning for almost a good ke. Sizhui wonders if he’ll actually do this technique- it does seem to be their best option. Seeing A-niang’s memories… understanding a part of what he went through.
Sizhui would be lying if he says he’s looking forward to seeing his A-niang suffer, in a distant past where he can change nothing, can help no one. But maybe… maybe he can understand. He doesn’t know so much about A-niang…
“You should at least know what you’re getting into.” A-niang groans. (Sizhui thought he would have been groaned out by now, his lung strength is impressive.) “I’ll let you decide then. But you should know… reading, hearing about things. It’s far different from experiencing them.”
Chen Yangheng crosses his arms and lifts his chin, a challenge for A-niang to continue. With a small grimace, A-niang nods back at the crowd of fierce corpses outside.
“Those fierce corpses. When they were alive, what were they?”
The disciples dutifully turn to look through the illusion, inspecting the corpses.
“…human?” One of the Yao disciples shrugs. A-niang makes a face at him.
“More specific.”
“Wen prisoners.” Lan Dongyun says next. “This was a prison camp. They attacked when we flew the banner.”
“Yes, but a specific type of prisoner.” A-niang leads, motioning back to the corpses as they mill about.
Sizhui isn’t entirely sure what they’re looking for. None of the corpses are wearing specific colors, so probably not political prisoners. A way that they died? A way that connects to A-niang’s memory, something he doesn’t want to show them…
“…Women. Omegas.” One of the Hedong Fu disciples says quietly. She watches the corpses with a strange expression on her face- horror, resignation? “Branded women and omegas.”
Branded women and omegas.
Sizhui snaps his gaze back to the corpses. She’s right- most of the corpses are female, and the males are all slim and softer-looking than Alpha or Beta men tend to be. And, Sizhui hadn’t noticed before… the necklines of all their robes are pulled wide. He had thought it was just the inevitable disarray of sitting dead for seventeen years, but…
There's discoloration, sitting in rings of bite marks around their necks. Bruises not allowed to heal. Injuries not sustained in honorable battle, but in violation.
These corpses were…
“Those jars.” A-niang says into the quiet of horrified realizations. “The ones with the red wax seal, up on the crate. What’s in them?”
No one moves, for a moment, eyes still stuck on the corpses, seeing them in a new light. It’s Jingyi who snaps himself out of it, moving to investigate with hesitant hands.
There's a clink as he picks one up, echoing in the cave.
“Hea…heat inducers.” Jingyi gulps, the jar shaking in his hand. He drops it in a haste, missing the edge of the crate and sending the jar crashing to the floor. The ceramic shatters, scattering pills every which way over the floor.
The disciples shy away from the scattered pills like they’re poison.
A-niang seems to have no such fear, leaning down to pick up one of the decade-and-a-half old pills between his fingers. It crumbles between his pointer and thumb into a fine powder.
One that might have easily been dissolved in water or tea.
“So.” A-niang hums, rubbing the powder between his fingers. “Are you still sure you want to experience the memories of these spirits?”
A few of the disciples still look a little lost, but most have the same, horrified expression on their face. Sizhui is sure he has one mirroring theirs.
A-niang had said that similar memories were those most likely to crop up, with sympathy. He plans to use memories of his that are similar, recognizable, to the captives in this camp. Similar memories to those in this camp would mean…
“Like Ouyang-gongzi said.” Chen Yangheng says, jaw set in determination, despite the slight pallor to his face. “To bear their memory, after all this time of being forgotten… it’s the least we can do. If it supports your story as well, then all the better.”
The others nod, a few catching the wrists of their confused shidimei’s and whispering to them.
A-niang brushes the powdered pill off on his robes with a sigh. “Fine, fine. The disciples are determined to see this through. Well then, we can at least be smart about it. Whoever wants to take the full brunt, stay closest to me. You’ll be able to see the most. Those of you who want to stay out of the splash zone, back up, behind whoever’s playing clarity. Which of you Little Lan can do that song? With confidence?”
Sizhui raises his hand alongside Lan Shiling, Lan Dongyun, and Tang Zhanchi. He may be cursed, but he’s not helpless. He can do something, and he will. A-niang eyes Sizhui, but doesn’t say anything.
“You four, set yourselves up. Meditate, or… whatever. Try not to drag me out too early, that won't end well.” He waves his hand. “Jin-gongzi, you don’t happen to have a Jiang Clarity Bell, do you?”
Jin Ling reaches into a qiankun pouch at his waist, pulling out a small silver bell, purple tassel dangling from the bottom. “I have one.”
“The Jiang Clarity Bell, worn by all disciples, has the ability to clear the mind and instill focus into it’s user.” A-niang recites, smiling wryly at it. “It can also protect the user from illusions created by dark spells, on occasion. Use it on anyone who gets dragged under, focusing on the guqin players first. Maybe elect a backup in case you get pulled in.”
From the way Jin Ling clutches the bell to his chest, Sizhui doubts he'll be letting anyone else touch it.
“A-yuan…”
A-niang hesitates, reaching out to brush against Sizhui’s cheek. “You have a blood tie to me. No matter how we do this, you’re going to see something. So… just be careful.”
He steps back, looking over the sect disciples, before turning to his own with a smirk. “A-qing, are you too busy flirting, or can I ask you to block my curse signature from A-yuan?”
“Fuck you.” Qing-guniang says easily, standing up. A-niang tilts his head to the side, a wry smile growing on his face. “Oh, don’t you even dare, Xiansheng.”
“Fine, fine, I won’t scar the children.” A-niang sighs, rolling his shoulders. “Speaking of, drag your boy behind the guqin players.”
“I’m better now! I can walk!” Ouyang Zizhen complains, and in his defense he actually does look much better, but Qing-guniang ignores him and drags him behind her anyways.
They prepare, setting up those who can help with Clarity in a line, the younger and more unsettled disciples behind them (also the donkey). Sizhui will be honest, he’s not sure if he has… well, the clarity to play clarity right now. His mind is racing with the implications.
Branded women and omegas, forced to obey. Heat inducer pills. The manacles on the cave walls. The lack of any corpses in wen robes, despite this being a wen camp.
Similar memories, A-niang had said. Similar experiences. Similar forms of resentment, of rage, of anger, strong enough to cultivate on.
His A-niang was…
A-niang isn’t paying attention to them. Chen Yangheng and Fu Xiaxu by his side, as the ones who will take the brunt of the technique, staring out through the illusion of a rock face. Head held high, he begins peeling off his layers, until the top half of his robes hangs loosely at his waist, revealing… scars. Dozens of scars.
Whip marks. Raised and cruel. The other end of the stab wound that had taken his life, dark and fresh looking. Thin, silvery lines, cuts across his shoulders and sides. And then he reaches for his neck, for the small, rectangular patch that Sizhui had noticed when they were fishing at the river.
He peels away the talisman, revealing a scar. A bite mark, right over his scent gland. One that is conspicuously missing on Hanguang-jun’s neck, which had led everyone to believe that Sizhui’s A-niang was perhaps a beta woman.
An Alpha and an Omega mating, that results in a child, almost always also results in a bond mark. Unless, of course, one is already marked.
By someone else.
Bared and vulnerable, his scars out for the world to see, A-niang lifts his dizi to his lips, and starts to play.
Notes:
Looked up how to say danger in chinese characters and google translate said “Weixian” (definitely different characters than wwx’s name, I just thought it was funny)
Guniang is a polite way to refer to a young woman, like calling someone miss. A-qing felt like it was too familiar for Sizhui to be calling her when he refers to everyone else as their titles, like “Lianfang-zun” and “Jiang-zongzhu.” So he's calling her "Miss Qing."
Me: makes sympathy the demonic technique, not realizing that empathy itself is the technique WWX made canonically
Eh, fuck it. Canon is nothing but instructions to my lego set.Okay! So! Warnings to the juniors from this chapter! Heed them going into the next one! I will not be explicit, but it will be implied! It will be there! They will be traumatized!
Chapter 12: The Beginnings of the Truth
Notes:
Welcome to one of the most fucked up chapters in this fic! If you want to skip the memories of the prisoners in this camp, skip to the double break line. There will still be conversations about the memories within the chapter, but nothing explicit.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The surge of resentment drags Sizhui under immediately.
Unnamed, blurry faces, split apart by leering grins.
“Hah! Look at the selection!” One coos, leaning closer into view. “Say, isn’t this one of the Jiang Omegas? From the tribute?”
“Sure is.” Another blurry figure cracks, uproarious laughter following the remark. “Apparently Zongzhu is putting the fight on hold while he plays with his new toy.”
Hands in hair, pulling, caressing, nauseating. “Long live Wei-furen, if we get to play with such lovely omegas…”
The sizzle and sickening scent of burning skin, screams of pain and curses, the feeling of something wrapping, trying, binding, settling around the body. Trapped, imprisoned, within oneself.
“Obey. Stand, Omega.”
The world shifts as the order is obeyed.
Burn, scream, order, repeat. Burn, scream, order, repeat. Over and over, the sky changes, the leaves change, the faces change, burn, scream, order, repeat.
“New omega’s from the front!”
“Oh, good. These ones were getting used up, ah?” hands brush at the sides of vision, blurry and disjointed. “We won't be deployed for a bit, let's help break them in!”
The memories that the technique gives to Sizhui are disjointed, confused. He comes to for a moment, catching sight of reality- Qing-guniang’s pale eyes, focused on him, dragging him out of the resentment.
The notes of clarity that he knows so well slip against his mind, trying to catch hold, but the shrill note of a Dizi that sounds like a squeal of pain drags him right back under.
A scene watched from several perspectives at once. An alpha in red and white robes drags an omega to the ground, smiling sweetly down at him.
“Call me mistress, omega.”
The grit of teeth, the sting of a brand. “...Mistress.”
“Tell me I’m pretty.”
“You’re pretty.”
The alpha growls, seizing the omega’s hair. “Who’s pretty?”
“You… are very pretty, mistress.”
Raucous laughter as the grip is loosened and the omega is pet in some semblance of kindness. “Aw, what a good boy, sweet boy…”
Quiet, clear. A group of omegas sit in a tent, some chained to a tent pole, and others even more cruelly unbound, staring at the entrance with longing even as their brands grow hot.
“What sect are you from?” One whispers, leaning on another for comfort.
“I’m… not from a sect.” another whispers back.
Shaky hands, wide eyes. “They’re taking non-combatants?”
“Filthy creatures.”
“I hate them.”
“I’d rather die than service them for another day.”
“...Shixiong?”
The scratch of claws, seep of blood. A shouted curse. A sword to the heart, payment for a superficial wound.
“Look at this one, how ugly! Maybe we should brand her face- it might make her look better!”
“No… Please!”
“Shixiong, is that you?”
Disgust. Pain. Humiliation, Misery.
“How beautiful you are, like this.”
Red bedclothes. Red bracelet, cool against the wrist. Another person's hand, with manicured fingernails that almost look like claws.
“The mark of my clan upon you, Furen…”
The nails trace a pale, shuddering chest, trace a burn that is fresh and smarting.
“And soon, my own mark, upon your throat, Omega.”
Skin against skin, unwanted hands trace flesh, feeling separated from reality and far too close at the same time, something roiling behind the Wen Brand, resentment, Yin energy, a curse, screaming to be released, to rip and tear, something Sizhui knows.
He feels it in his own chest.
This is their curse. This is A-niang’s memory. He’s watching, he’s feeling, his A-niang be…
Dark hair and a golden ornament swings into view, the heavy breath of an open mouth brushing against skin as the head of some faceless alpha buries itself into the crook of the neck. Pain erupts along the scent gland, as an unwanted claim sinks into A-niang’s throat.
Sizhui jolts back to reality with a gasp, rolling onto his side and dry heaving. He’s lying down. He wasn’t lying down before, he was playing his guqin, playing clarity…
His curse is alive.
It’s screaming, in his chest, a wild animal locked in a box, slamming against the walls trapping it in, his ribbons suddenly too tight, far too tight, cutting off his circulation, tying him down as someone, something, comes for him, uses him, he should kill them, tear them apart, show them just what he is. Show them he is a beast and they are nothing but prey. How dare they. How dare they.
“Sizhui!”
Jingyi. Jingyi is shaking his shoulders, not some faceless attacker. Someone is playing clarity, there's a bell ringing, there are pale eyes trying to get him to focus on them.
“Listen. Listen, you're in a cave, on a nighthunt. This is not your memory. You are not in any danger except from yourself. I need you to take a deep breath, alright? In…”
Sizhui obeys, trying to keep his breathing even. Qing-guniang. Demonic technique. He’ll do no one any favors if his curse snaps right now, while there's already too much going on.
“...out. Let go. This is not your rage.”
Not his rage? It is his rage. He wants to rip whoever that was off his A-niang, wants to make them regret ever touching him.
How dare they. His A-niang, his Muqin, his omegan parent, how dare they make him suffer?
“Alright, sorry about this.”
Something grabs hold of the rage inside his chest and yanks.
“FUCK!”
For a moment, Sizhui thinks he’s the one that swore, and has the irrational thought of “Shugong will have my hide,” before he remembers that 1: shugong isn’t here, and 2: that’s not even Sizhui’s voice.
“Mother fucking shit! Gui sunzi! Ow! Piyan!”
3: he actually feels a lot better?
Sizhui groans, struggling to sit up and see whoever is painting the air with their words. His vision goes fuzzy for a moment, before clearing to reveal… Qing-guniang, bent over on herself, cussing up a storm, resentful energy swirling around her cupped hands.
“Did you just pull that out of him?!” Jin Ling yelps, horrified. Out of him? Out of who? Sizhui? That had come out of Sizhui?!
“Sympathy connects resentment- shit!” Qing-guniang grunts, struggling to scoot away using only her feet, hands held far away from herself like the energy is a spitting pot of oil. “Managed to get around his bindings and pull a chunk out- oh, fuck, cao, ow, ow, ow, XIANSHENG!”
“Stupid girl!” A-niang hisses, still standing tall, hands locked into a seal around his flute. Chen Yangheng and Fu Xiaxu are on the ground next to him, both looking sick to their stomachs. “You’re going to get a Qi Deviation! Give it here, I can’t let go of this if I want these corpses to listen to me!”
Qing-guniang struggles to stand, cursing all the way, hands held out in front of her like she’s holding a spitting firework. She lobs the resentment at A-niang, the moment it leaves her hands dropping back to the floor with a pained grunt.
“How… are you two not dead.” Qing-guniang grumbles into the earth, Ouyang Zizhen scooting next to her to check her meridians.
“I exist solely out of spite.” A-niang says with great effort through gritted teeth as the resentment melts into the miasma that surrounds him. “You three, keep clarity up, I need to finish off the ritual. A-yuan, you alright? How’s the curse?”
Sizhui takes quick stock of himself. He feels off-kilter, unsettled, but he supposes that's normal, especially with A-niang still controlling what looks like a massive amount of resentment. But Jingyi is pushing Spiritual energy into his wrist ties, and Jin Ling and his Shidi’s are still playing their clarity instruments.
“I’m fine.” Sizhui rasps. His voice is hoarse. He must have been screaming.
“Great.” A-niang grunts. “Stay down for now, okay? The Gui and I are going to have a conversation.”
He unlocks the seal of his hands, twirling his Dizi, the black smoke and red energy intertwining as a set of talismans rise into the air. Infused with A-niang’s cultivation, they darken, then fly forwards, setting themselves in intervals around the crowd of corpses.
A-niang takes a deep breath. In… out.
“Jiemei, Xiongdi.” A-niang says, a tinge of power leaking into his tone, “I hear your rage.”
Something in Sizhui shudders and rises to attention. He shoves it down with a vengeance.
“You’ve been here for so long, haven’t you?” A-niang asks, slowly walking forwards, out of the cave, into the crowd of corpses. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you were forgotten.”
The corpses turn to watch him, parting like water as he walks to the center of the long abandoned camp.
“I understand you.” A-niang says quietly, eyes closed, tilting his head, baring his throat, the damning marking of an unwanted claim stark against pale skin. “I know your rage, for it is my own. I, too, hunted down those who hurt me. But look at those disciples- they are not those who hurt you. They are not monsters. They are nothing but children. Children of your own sects. They are the next generation, proof that the Wen are long gone, that your Sects have prevailed.”
The corpses turn with stiff necks, taking in not the banner that they had foolishly raised, with the colors of their abusers, but the colors of their robes. The symbols of the Jin, the Lan, the Yao, the Fu, the Ouyang.
“Your jailers are long gone. There is no revenge for you, not anymore.” A-niang tells the corpses, voice slowly rising. “I have taken it for you. I have hunted down the rapists, the pillagers, the torturers. I have danced on their graves, raised them up, and sent them to kill their own comrades!”
He’s shouting now, eyes red with rage, turning to gaze at every single corpse. Every single victim. Every single person who went through what he went through.
“I have heard their final screams, their final breath. You have been waiting for the news of the war's end to reach you, haven’t you?” A-niang asks. “Trapped by ghosts even more unreachable than you. Dead men do not deserve your fear, your pain. Jiemei, Xiongdi, listen to my call, answer my song, a final celebration for the war's end. Dance on the graves of those who thought themselves as long-lived as the sun!”
A-niang swipes his flute through the air, whipping the resentful energy he controls into a frenzy of winds, blowing at tattered robes and dead limbs as the shriek of the Dizi echoes through the cliffs once more. And, like leaves scattered by the winds…
The corpses dance.
It’s like no dance Sizhui has ever seen. Just as before, in the fight, the corpses are wild and strong, each movement powerful and jarring. They run and jump, twirling and bending like dancers in a red light district, and yet their hands are claws and their faces are twisted into cold, cruel smiles with tight lips and bared teeth.
A dance of death. Of rage. Of pain. A-niang’s dizi howls and shrieks, and the corpses' creaky voices join it in a cacophony straight out of a nightmare.
Is this… what the battlefields of the Sunshot campaign looked like? A swirling vortex of resentful energy and corpses? No, Sizhui assumes. Back then, it would have been more of a tidal wave. Back then, these creatures had a target. Now… now their resentment is simply expressed. Released.
It really is being released. Energy smokes off from each corpse, like they’ve been set aflame by A-niang’s song, winding into the threads of the spell that surround them, each one strengthening the miasma, each one feeding into A-niang.
“I don’t… understand.” Someone whispers. Sizhui doesn’t turn to see who, too entranced by what’s happening in front of him.
The resentment is leaving their bodies as they let go. The same way one cultivates by removing impurities in oneself, is happening right now visible in black miasma, in front of him.
Is a-niang really…
“He’s cultivating the corpses.” Sizhui says, watching the trails of energy. “Their resentment, their anger, he’s pulling it out, drawing it into himself. Sharing resentment and memories. That’s what Sympathy is. You used it to take mine, didn’t you?”
Qing-guniang, still leaning heavily on Ouyang Zizhen, grins. It’s almost as sharp as the corpses. “Congratulations, you’ve just figured out one of our most powerful techniques. Taking the resentment of spirits who cannot finish their business. Energy is energy, and it has to go somewhere. Some will be burnt off in the ritual, but some… well, memories like this don’t just go away.”
“So he takes them himself.” Sizhui finishes. “And these spirits go free.”
“We use the energy in similar cases, whenever we can.” Qing-guniang explains. “That way, part of them gets to protect others from the same fate.”
“But…” Sizhui starts, frowning at the mess. There's so much. So, so much. He had felt so out of control, even when his curse was bound, so A-niang… “Can he really control this much?”
Qing-guniang makes a face. “Eh, probably not. Without his anchor, he’s gonna tear himself apart.”
“What?!” Jingyi shrieks, discovering Sizhui’s headache with a well placed spike through the ear. “Why is he doing it then?”
“Because Xiansheng is the dumbest genius you’ll ever have the misfortune of witnessing?” Qing-guniang shrugs. With the disciples staring at her in horror, she gets to her feet, cursing again under her breath.
“Then what can we do?” one of the Hedong Fu disciples asks. “We can’t just let him…”
Die, goes unsaid.
“Again- you’re cultivators, aren’t you?” Qing-guniang asks, clear from her tone that she thinks they’re all idiots. “You have swords?”
One of the corpses shrieks in laughter. Sizhui isn’t sure if the other disciples flinch from that, or from the thought of killing the corpses.
“But… won’t that disrupt Qianbei?” Jingyi asks.
“Never mind that, after everything we saw we can’t just eliminate them!” Someone else complains.
Sizhui watches the dance carefully. It’s grown wilder, more crazed, like a last burst of energy. “...no, it won’t eliminate them. A-niang has their spirits. Their anger is leaking away. They’re already liberated, they just need… someone to cut the final tether.”
He can see it. This gleeful dance, mocking the deaths of their abusers, it’s setting them free, what little is left of their grudges being handed over, carried by someone else. Shaking their spirits free of their flesh. They don’t have to be here anymore, they don’t have to lie in wait to kill those who will never return.
They just need to let go.
“And… how do you know this?” Chen Yangheng says, still on the ground, but propped up on his arms now.
Sizhui doesn’t know. It’s coming to him in a haze, like a shadow at the corner of his eye, like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands, like the fish a-niang had tried to teach him how to catch. There one moment, gone the next. And yet… this singing in his blood, like iron to a lodestone. He knows these patterns.
He knows this dance.
Stepping forwards is probably a bad plan, but he does it anyway. He walks out, to the edge of the wildly dancing corpses.
“Uh…. Sizhui?” Jingyi calls from behind him.
“Relax, he’ll be fine.” Qing-guniang says quietly, as Sizhui ignores his friend. “I use demonic cultivation… But he was born in it.”
Sizhui walks into the dance.
Like in the Sympathy, he gets swept away, clawed hands catching at his robes, his wrists, taking his hands and dragging him along into the rhythm, passing him from corpse to corpse like a handkerchief being tossed from one performer to the next. A-niang’s dizi sweeping them along in an unyielding current. Sizhui can see him, in the center of the vortex, eyes glowing red and very clearly not expecting Sizhui to be there.
Well… he’s here now. Might as well do something.
Sizhui gets his feet under him, and draws his sword, trying to match the beat of the song to the sword forms he’s more used to. They’re often called a dance on their own, so maybe it will work here? Probably not. Lan sword forms are more restrained than this. But he’s seen sword dances, sometimes, so maybe…
His sword flashes in the air, darkened by resentful energy. None of the corpses seem to mind, simply moving around it, a few giving it curious glances as it passes by them. They keep catching at his arms, trying to make him dance with them. Like they don’t care about the sharp edge, how easy it would be to end them. Like they know it doesn’t matter anyways, whether they fade or are cut down.
Sizhui was right.
He still wants to be sure, so he shoots a questioning glance at A-niang. Should he do this? Every instinct says that this is fine, that these people are fading already. But A-niang is the professional.
From the epicenter of dancing resentment, eyes glowing red and lips pursed over his dizi, A-niang nods.
Sizhui twists to the side, taking the arm of the next corpse that reaches out, falling into her arms as his sword sinks into her chest.
Her eye locks onto him. Only one- the other has been burnt away even before she died, one of the rays of the Wen symbol dipping into her eye socket. The corpse’s face twists, not the cruel smiles of before, but a kind, relieved one. And, like that final bit of motion has dried her out, she begins to crumble.
It’s like the world has stopped- they’re outside the main dance, Sizhui realizes distantly. No need to dodge the flailing limbs of celebrating corpses. Just the final release of flesh and bone.
She’s not gone. Not yet. Still swept up in the frenzy of A-niang’s song, still a member of this final ritual. But her body has turned to dust, and now there is nothing but a transparent ghost. A normal young woman, with plump cheeks, dark eyes, and soft hair tied back sensibly.
The spirit shifts off his blade, smiling the whole way, and bows her head to Sizhui, before turning back to the dance and rejoining it.
The resentment lightens.
Sizhui helped! Yay! One down… and about forty more to go.
Truly, there are a disturbing amount of corpses here.
Trying very hard not to think about exactly how many atrocities happened right here, Sizhui turns to the other disciples, who are staring at him in shock. Or wonder. One of the two. Jingyi looks spooked.
“Well, go on then.” Qing-guniang nudges one of the Yao disciples. “Help him out. You’re gonna make the kid who was writhing in agony from a curse a few ke ago do all the work?”
“I’ll-”
“Your ankle is hurt, sit the fuck down.”
The disciples come to help Sizhui (except Ouyang Zizhen, who’s ankle IS hurt, so he has been sat the fuck down,) hesitant but willing. They know fighting, they know death. They’re all been on nighthunts before. They’ve all worked to appease spirits before. This is just more of the same.
Lan Shiling sets her guqin aside, joining a slower set of omegas who are dancing mainly with their hands. Jin Ling uses the flashier Jin sword forms to keep in step with a tall, willowy woman. Jingyi trembles, a little unsure, as two ghostly figures try to teach him how to sway.
He’d probably prefer the tangible corpses over the apparitions.
Chen Yangheng gets up from his shocked haze, gentle with the corpses whose memories he had witnessed. They smile and pat his head as he drives his sword through their long-dead hearts. Sizhui wonders if they could feel him, if they recognize him even now.
Each body crumbles and vanishes. One by one, they turn to ghostly forms, shedding rotting flesh for an afterimage of the spirits, until the area is so packed with translucent hazy figures that the whole area looks like it’s underwater.
Finally, after each spirit has been freed, A-niang shrieks through the flute, one final time, and falls silent.
The spirits stand around them, wavering slightly. Despite their dancing, none of them are breathing hard- why would they, Sizhui supposes? They’re dead.
A-niang brings his hands together and bows, low and respectful, to the dead. The disciples and ghosts follow- ghostly hands and hands holding swords folding into the same pattern, before, like blinking away an after image, the spirits vanish in a final breath of relief.
Only one of them is left.
Her face is oddly familiar, but Sizhui can’t place the memory he saw her in. Doesn’t want to, to be fully honest. She’s not looking at A-niang, or after the other spirits as they fade. Instead, she seems utterly fascinated by something on Jin Ling’s belt.
“Uh… demonic?” Jin Ling says, backing away as the spirit reaches for it. “What does it want?”
“The bell, Jin-gongzi.” A-niang says quietly. He has a… strange expression on his face, that Sizhui can’t fully read. “Ring it for her?”
He raises an eyebrow, but unhooks the Jiang Clarity bell from his belt, holding it up and lightly ringing it.
Sizhui thinks it’s quite pretty. He hadn’t really been able to focus on it while his curse was flaring up, but now he can hear it, the clear sound that seems a touch too loud and encompassing to be made by something so small.
The spirit seems to like it too, closing her eyes and taking in the sound with a peaceful smile on her face.
“Jiang…” she whispers as the sound fades, opening her eyes. “It’s been… so long. But… here. A child… a child with Shijie’s eyes.”
When she reaches out for Jin Ling again, she actually makes contact, the boy too shocked to move as the spirit caresses his cheek. “Shijie’s… boy… so… the sect. Shixiong… the sect survives?”
She turns back to look questioningly at A-niang, and Sizhui suddenly realizes how he knows her. This spirit is the one who was calling for “Shixiong.” She recognized A-niang, during the Sympathy, and reached out for him.
“The Sect thrives, Shimei.” A-niang replies. His smile is sadder than the spirit’s, eyes glimmering with tears as he walks forwards. He knows this spirit, doesn’t he?
“Shixiong… survives too.” The spirit continues. “But not thrives. Shixiong is… trapped. Like us.”
“Yes.” A-niang admits. “Will you help me?”
“Help… shixiong.” the spirit almost seems to mull it over, head tilting. For a few moments, she stills completely, not even shifting a breath. “...yes. I will… Help shixiong. Set him free. Attempt… Attempt the impossible.”
Qing-guniang passes by Sizhui, tugging a pouch out of her tunic as she goes, and holds it out. The spirit vanishes into it.
All fourty of the corpses are gone. It’s just the disciples, standing with their swords in hand, the wind blowing away the dust like it was never there in the first place.
“Well!” A-niang says, swaying slightly on his feet. “I… I think that's it, right A-qing? We have a spirit, we know where its brand is, and I… I’m…”
Whatever he is, he drops like a stone before he can say another word.
“A-niang!”
“Xiansheng!”
Qing-guniang is closer, but A-niang fell away from her, so Sizhui is the one to catch him.
“A-niang. A-niang, wake up.” Sizhui urges, gently shaking him. There's blood leaking from his nose, and he looks pale. Had he gone overboard? Is it the curse? Was Sizhui too late in releasing the spirits?
Both Qing-guniang and Jingyi scramble to them, Jingyi pressing his fingers to A-niang’s wrist while Qing-guniang simply hovers her hand over his chest. They share a confused glance.
“I… don’t know how much resentment is normal?” Jingyi winces. “Can I check yours to compare?”
“Won’t work, Xiansheng is way stronger, and I’ve got a core.” Qing-guniang sighs. “I think he’ll be fine. He runs on spite, remember? He’s literally got a fatal stab wound and he’s still walking. He’ll be fine, he just needs to rest. So long as he’s got his tethers, he won't die.”
Sizhui looks down at his A-niang, pale and still in his arms. His robes are still down around his waist, to show the corpses his brand, that he’s one of them.
“Back up! Give them space!” Chen Yangheng orders. “Show some respect. Our job isn’t over quite yet, we need to check for any lingering resentment!”
The other disciples disperse, obeying the Yao disciple, but Sizhui can’t look away from his A-niang.
He’s… thin. Very thin. Sizhui can see his ribs, he can clearly see the place where the sword pierced through his heart. Scars on his arms, the bite of some animal with sharp teeth. He can see old cuts and scratches that he must have gained after losing his core. He can see deliberate cuts. Torture. He can feel the raised lines of whip scars along his back.
He can see the pink skin of the wen brand, a mocking reminder that his A-niang is not yet free of his suffering. A small puncture wound on A-niang’s windpipe. He can see the cruel bite on A-niang’s neck, and shudders in the shared memory of sharp nails and a sickly sweet, mocking voice.
“Furen…”
Sizhui can’t stand to look anymore.
He reaches down to the robes, folded over a cinched belt, and pulls them back up, awkwardly stuffing A-niang’s arms back through the sleeves. It’s a bit loose and messy still, with the wrist guards that had held his sleeves closed discarded in the cave and the talisman that A-niang had covering up the claiming bite on his neck nowhere to be seen. But the tapestry of pain and vulnerability is covered up, so Sizhui will accept it for now.
“Shixiong?” Lan Shilling says, coming up beside him. “The other disciples are setting up a camp in the cave, If you want to take… Lan er-furen?”
Lan er-furen. Second Madam of the Lan clan. A-niang hadn’t liked that title before, but it shows that Lan Shiling believes Sizhui now, so he won't protest it.
“We’re going to do a proper cleansing for the spirits.” Lan Shiling continues. “Ouyang Fengqiu took a group to patrol. Anyone not doing that… well, I think they’re starting a fire out here.”
“I’m gonna burn these fucking tents.” Fu Xiaxu grumbles, yanking the old and tattered cloth out of the roots, no longer caring for evidence or clues. “And the banner. And the pills.”
There's a spray of dirt as the other disciple fights half-buried tarps, and Sizhui decides that yes, he wants to move A-niang out of the way of this. Carefully, he scoops an arm under A-niang’s knees and picks him up. He’s light. Too light.
When they reach the cave, it’s Chen Yangheng who guides Sizhui to a bedroll. It has the Yao clan symbol on it. Sizhui doesn’t really care about that, he just wants his A-niang warm and safe.
“He’ll be alright?” The Yao disciple checks.
“Qing-guniang thinks so.” Jingyi says, as they kneel by A-niang's side. “Qianbei is just… really weird. I know some healing, but the curse gets in the way. And his meridians have some kind of energy, but it doesn’t feel quite right, and he doesn’t have a core so I don’t know where it comes from. And even once you get through all that, his meridians are all over the place! It's like someone reached in and moved them around.”
Chen Yangheng visibly flinches.
It’s full body, so Jingyi and Sizhui both clearly see it, looking at each other while they both question what to do. If he knows something, it might be useful to help A-niang, but if he knows something then it’s almost certainly from the memories Sympathy revealed.
And Sizhui knows Chen Yangheng was one of the ones taking the full brunt of it.
“Chen-gongzi?” Jingyi’s voice is hesitant and unsure. Letting the other disciple back off if he needs to.
“I…” Chen Yangheng starts, eyes wide, before he shudders and refuses to meet their eyes. “How… much did you see. How many memories.”
So he does know something about A-niang’s meridians. “About eight.” Sizhui admits. “Only the last one was A-niang. There was… someone with sharp nails.”
Chen Yangheng shudders. “Yeah. That guy. I saw… it wasn’t as clear as the others, I think it wasn’t a shared memory, but I saw…”
Whatever it is, it seems too horrible for him to say, opening and closing his mouth as his face twists at the recollection.
“...when he said ‘Wen Experiments.’” he says finally, clearly giving up on the details. “It was that alpha. And… others, in wen robes. Taking notes. The brand was there, I saw it. Something about his ‘unique constitution.’”
The surgical scar on A-niang’s lower dantian burns in Sizhui’s mind. What was it Jingyi had said? Someone reached in and moved them around?
“They… must have found out about A-niang's curse.” Sizhui guesses, swallowing down his nausea. “A-niang said his blood was useful. The Wen were interested in Demonic Cultivation, and… we’re practically built for it.”
The curse. Their blood. A-niang’s way with demonic cultivation, the inventions, A-die's hints of A-niang's importance…
“I wonder if they knew.” Jin Ling grumbles. He’s been listening in on their conversation, slouched against the walls of the cave. “When they chose the Tribute Omegas.”
The glare Jingyi shoots him is truly impressive. “Jin-gongzi!”
“What? Lan Sizhui wanted to know more about his A-niang, didn’t he?” Jin Ling huffs, straightening up. “He was a Jiang Tribute omega. The spirit, too. She liked the bell, she said the Jiang Clan Motto, she called him Shixiong, he called her Shimei. They… they recognized me. By my mother’s eyes. Back at the abandoned settlement, too, he spoke like he knew my A-niang…”
Back at the abandoned settlement, that’s right. The very first time the seal had appeared, A-niang was trying to say something about Jiang Yanli, and the seal had stopped him.
Masks to hide their faces, seals to lock their voices, the Matriarch wipes away the past identity of all those who come under her power. Reborn as the Children of the Mother of Death, made anew in her shadows. A-niang hadn’t even been able to speak of his old Shijie like he knew her, detailing his grief and horror at her death like an outsider.
A-niang was a Jiang, once.
Sizhui wonders what it was like for him, growing up in Lotus Pier. Did Sizhui have Grandparents? Uncles, Aunts, Cousins? He wishes A-niang could tell him everything. He wishes that stupid seal was gone, off of A-niang's throat, so his voice would be free.
As if in response to Sizhui’s thoughts, A-niang grunts and mutters incoherently in his sleep, head turning restlessly.
“Mmn… no…”
“A-niang?” Sizhui asks, reaching out to touch his arm. With all those horrible memories brought to the surface, he might be having a nightmare-
Eyes shooting open, A-niang’s hand comes up to snatch Sizhui’s wrist in a mere blink. He barely even saw him move!
“A-yuan?” A-niang blinks at him, clearly disoriented. “Wha…”
“You were having a nightmare.” Sizhui says gently. “I’m sorry for startling you, A-niang.”
“A… nightmare.” The omega blinks, looking around, vice grip on Sizhui’s wrist loosening as he situates himself “Yes. A nightmare. It wasn’t… sorry. It’s just…”
“It’s understandable, Qianbei.” Jingyi says quickly. “Here, water.”
A-niang takes it gratefully, only drinking a few mouthfuls before passing it back. “Ah, how long was I out?”
“Not long.” Chen Yangheng tells him, shifting on his feet. “I’m… sorry I didn’t believe you, Qianbei.”
“Aiyah, don’t apologize. I definitely was playing it up a bit.” A-niang admits, smiling gently at him. “You made sure to not let me take advantage of you or the others. I can’t be angry at someone who did everything in his power to keep people safe. I know exactly the pain that thing can cause.”
Chen Yangheng swallows and nods. “You can… take the Wen Brand. You deserve to try and be free.”
“Oh, A-Qing probably already nicked it.”
“Guilty!” Qing-guniang sings, swinging a qiankun pouch on her fingers.
“Wait, how…” Chen Yangheng frowns, turning to look at the (empty) box. “Ouyang-gongzi has been staring at her this whole time, how did she…”
A-niang and Qing-guniang blink innocently at him, and he lets out a long sigh.
“Never trust a demonic. I should have known.”
Qing-guniang nods in agreement. A-niang just snickers at them.
It feels… nice. Easy and peaceful, A-niang teasing and smiling, seemingly fine, his hand still holding Sizhui’s a comfortable point of connection, of reassurance. He’s learned so much, but there's time to process it, so he can put it off for now. Sizhui idly watches as a small group of disciples flutter around, scooping up long-expired pills for their vengeful bonfire as he relaxes in the calm after the storm.
“Jin-gongzi, if you keep glaring at me like that you’re going to burn another hole right through me.” A-niang says dryly.
(Sizhui winces internally. Really? A stabbing joke? Please, A-niang, he’s trying to ignore the facts of a horrible reality here.)
Jin Ling scoffs and turns away, nose in the air. “You… you were Jiang.”
“...ah.” A-niang smiles sadly, looking down at his lap. “Shimei blew my cover, huh? She was right, you know. You do have Shijie’s eyes. The same exact shape, though the color is a touch darker…”
Jin Ling stares at him, mouth open in shock.
A-niang snorts, shaking his head. “Shijie’s eyes, but that annoying peacock’s attitude. Ooh, I wanted to punch him sometimes…”
“You knew them both?” Jin Ling asks, trying not to look enraptured and mostly failing. “I never… no one will tell me about them when they were younger, I know something happened.”
“Oh, well, allow me, I’ve never much cared for propriety.” A-niang snickers, leaning back with a sigh. Sizhui can’t help but listen in interest as well- these were people A-niang knew, people he interacted with. “Your A-die felt forced, I think. They were engaged very young, he never got a choice. So he never saw your A-niang as anything but a trap until the engagement was broken, and he realized what he was missing out on.”
A-niang snorts derisively. “He got his act together afterwards, good for him. But when they truly married… they had a choice, you know? They chose each other.”
The look on Jin Ling’s face is almost heartbreaking, hardly trying to disguise his eagerness anymore. “And… you knew Jiujiu?”
“Ah, yeah… that grump would let us needle him into all kinds of chaos, and then blamed all of us for it.” A-niang laughs at the memories, warm and full-bodied. “Hey, next time he’s scolding you for something, tell him you know what happened to Jia-ayi’s garden and look at him really judgmentally. It used to make him go as pale as a ghost, and start bribing us with food… it was incredible…”
Watching his A-niang laugh and reminisce, Sizhui can feel his hate for the Matriarch grow. She had taken A-niang from his home, locked him away from all these memories…
They’ve started to gather a crowd, as well, disciples who had been gathering boxes of pills and supplies, ripping the banners down to burn, setting their loads down and gathering around (less sneakily than they think they are) to listen to memories of times long past.
“And wei-dajiu?” Jin Ling asks next.
A-niang seems to almost pause. “What?”
“Wei-dajiu.” Jin Ling repeats. “When Jiujiu talks about his and A-niang’s childhood, Wei-dajiu is always there. You knew him too, right?”
There's something complicated on A-niang’s face, but he smiles after a moment, before Sizhui can figure out what it is. “Ah, yeah, I knew him. Wei Wuxian was… kind of dumb, to be perfectly honest. Thought he could save the whole world, all on his own. We all did, a little bit…”
“Did you see him? At Nightless City? You were there too, right?”
“Jin-Gongzi!”
Jin Ling might be rude, spoiled, and bratty, not to mention starved for a connection to his family, but even he seems to realize he’s gone too far.
“I’m sorry.” he says, physically backing away to give A-niang space. “I… got excited.”
A-niang shakes his head. “No, no. I understand. It’s… been a long time since I’ve gotten to talk to someone about them, you know? Someone connected to them. It’s… It’s nice.”
Jin Ling looks slightly mollified. “You… must miss it. Home.”
“Like a fish misses water.” A-niang admits with a sigh. “But, well… I still wanted to help, after I was freed. And I needed a way to survive once my core was gone. And then, the chaos with the refugee Wen… I knew some of them from my imprisonment. Wen Ning was kind to me. And Wen Qing… used to clean me up, after experiments. Sneak me herbs.”
Someone else close to his A-niang… Sizhui knows the name Wen Qing. Elder sister of the Ghost General. A favorite of both Wen Rouhan and the Matriarch, an incredibly skilled doctor, said to have prolonged the lives of Wen Rouhans torture victims, as well as pieced together the dissected bodies of the Burial Mounds in order to swell the ranks of the Matriarch’s corpse army.
If she was close to A-niang… Sizhui wonders if she cared for him, too. When he was young.
“Nowadays, Lotus Pier isn’t exactly welcoming to Demonic Cultivators.” A-niang muses sadly, fiddling with the edge of the bedroll. “And I can’t exactly give it up if I want to survive.”
“But… it’s for a curse!” Tang Zhanchi protests suddenly. A-niang jumps, clearly not having noticed the eavesdroppers. “Surely Jiang-zongzhu would understand!”
“I’ll explain it to him.” Jin Ling promises. “He’s not that cruel, he wouldn’t turn you away…”
“So I’m meant to ask him to turn a blind eye to my defection?” A-niang asks, shaking his head lightly, reminding them, “I still don’t know where my Wen brand is. I still have my vengeance, and I do not care what stands in the way of that. I am beholden to the Matriarch.”
He presses a hand to his heart, right over his Wen brand, and Sizhui’s head starts spinning. Does he mean the Matriarch…
“I will not ask him for an exception when there is a chance I must betray his trust.” A-niang says sadly.
Sizhui squeezes his A-niang’s hand in comfort, wishing he could take away everything that causes his A-niang pain. The surrounding disciples' faces easily reflect Sizhui’s feelings- pity, disappointment, sadness.
A-niang scoffs at them all.
“Aiyah, don’t look at me like that.” he demands. “Go back to being all mistrustful. It was a fair assessment, you know, I’m not a good person. I did horrible things. I’m friends with the Ghost General, you know. I’ve tortured people!”
“Terrifying, Qianbei.” Jingyi snarks. A-niang sticks his tongue out at him childishly.
“Thank you, though.” A-niang says to Jin Ling, who still looks despondent. “It’s very sweet of you to offer to face Sandu Shengshou’s wrath. Very brave.” he smirks, then, voice becoming far too innocent as he continues, “You’ll have to find some other way to repay me for that arrow to the shoulder, eh?”
Jin Ling’s despondent expression immediately sours. “You deserved that and you know you did.”
A-niang grins at him. “Yeah. I did. Ooh, I have an idea, you’ve got to call me Ayi!”
“What.”
“Come on, I was sect siblings with your A-niang, we’re practically sisters, you’ve got to call me Ayi now! This is the only thing I get of home!” A-niang cries dramatically, practically melting from his “misery.”
“I’m not calling you Ayi, you creepy old man!”
A-niang gasps, reaching out to tug on Sizhui’s sleeve. “Little radish, your A-niang is being insulted! Tell this rude child his ayi is eternally young and beautiful, ah?”
“A-niang is eternally young and beautiful.” Sizhui repeats dutifully, pretending he is merely humoring his A-niang and he takes exactly zero petty joy in the offended scoff Jin Ling makes.
He is a proper Lan, thank you.
“Ah… Lan er-furen?”
A-niang winces at Lan Shiling’s words. “I’m no furen, Lan-gongzi. Call me Qianbei, the others do.”
“Qianbei.” Lan Shiling nods, shifting on her feet. “It’s just… may I ask a potentially rude and difficult question?”
No. No, they just got off the difficult topics, Shimei, can they just relax for half a moment please? A-niang doesn’t need to keep dwelling on this! He shouldn’t be asked to pick apart his entire history in front of all these strangers!
“Of course you can.” A-niang says agreeably, nodding to the girl. Sizhui has to swallow a sigh.
Lan Shiling shoots a nervous glance at Sizhui. He hopes he’s not letting his annoyance show on his face (that's a lie, he wants her to see it and feel bad for bothering his A-niang.) “Well. The Jiang Omegas… were taken eighteen years ago. So you’ve been gone for that long?”
“Ah… yes?” A-niang looks a bit confused about this line of questioning.
“Kept in Nightless City, which wasn’t breached until the end of the war.” Lan Shiling continues, worrying at her sleeves with one hand. “So then… how did you and Hanguang-jun…”
She motions weakly at Sizhui, not finishing her sentence.
“Lan-guniang,” A-niang begins, voice steady even as his eyes begin to flick between faces, gauging reactions. “What exactly are you asking me?”
Lan Shiling straightens, taking a deep breath. “Shixiong is Sixteen. The war ended sixteen years ago. I know there was a breakout from Nightless City three months before the war ended, but… Shixiong would have been born just before the war ended, or just after. I don’t understand how you and Hanguang-jun…”
Someone inhales sharply, and Lan Shiling trails off, eyes widening as if she's only just now heard her own words. Sizhui’s ears are ringing, desperately trying to do the calculations in his head.
Eighteen years. Sixteen Years. Nine Months. Three Months.
A hand with sharply manicured nails and a sickly-sweet voice calling pet names to a trapped omega.
Every sickening thing that he’s learned in the past few days has all led up to this, hasn’t it? The way A-niang and A-die are hesitant with each other, unsure. A-die’s neck, with no mating bite. The way A-niang flinched when called “Lan er-furen.”
“...this little Lan is bold!” A-niang laughs, but his smile is strained. “Asking about my sex life? The scandals of my early years? Well, I personally, think you look up to your Hanguang-jun far too much to hear all the stuff we got up to-”
“I’m not a Lan.” Sizhui interrupts. It’s rude, but he can’t bear to watch, to hear, as A-niang lies through his teeth, carefully not looking at Sizhui, like he’ll break if he knows the truth.
“I’m a Wen.”
Notes:
guī sūnzi (龟孙子) means “Turtle grandson” literally and “Bastard” in cultural context. Which, when you consider Sizhui’s supposed birth out of wedlock by WWX+LWJ, AND the turtle killing days of the first date™… is funny to me.
pìyǎn (屁眼) means asshole, cào (肏/操) means fuck/to fuck. If i did not swear properly please inform me, the artistic integrity and accuracy of A-qings colorful language is very important to me.
Sizhui, A-qing, and WWX casually playing Hot Potato with a curse, don't mind them
Haha one of WWX’s Shimei’s. Isn’t that fun? Reunion time!
Wheeee they’re figuring stuff out!
Maybe pump the brakes there, kids.
Ah, too late we went over the cliff. Whoopsie!
Chapter 13: Wen, Lan, Wei. What’s in a name?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“I’m a Wen.”
The words are damning. The name has been used to sentence others to death. Death by the Wen, death to the Wen, it is damnation in what it signifies, what being Wen means in Sizhui’s own case.
“You are not.” A-niang growls, the fake smile falling from his face. “You are a Lan. You were raised as a Lan, by the best of them all. It’s quite rude to cast away all that, isn’t it?”
Sizhui feels like the entire world has suddenly gone sideways. Everything he thought he knew, lies. A-die had lied!
He wasn’t a child of a love match. He had always seen A-die… Hanguang-jun’s endless devotion to the memory of his A-niang, and known that he was made from love, if not marriage, a true and all encompassing love. But that’s a lie too, isn’t it?
Long, sharp, manicured nails. A voice crooning, “Furen.” The feeling of violation, the scars A-niang’s body bears…
That’s what he was born of.
“Sizhui, breathe.”
Jingyi. Jingyi is holding his shoulder, shaking him lightly. Sizhui is breathing, thank you Jingyi. He can hear it. It’s very loud, rasping in his chest, practically pounding in his ears.
There's a pained hiss, the red silence seal burning itself into reality on A-niang's throat. What had he been trying to say? Can Sizhui even hear over the sound of his thundering heartbeat?
“A-yuan…” A-niang gasps, choked and heartbroken. Sizhui wants to fight whoever made him sound like that. Then again, it’s him, isn’t it? He hurt A-niang.
“I'm a Wen.”
It hurts to say. It’s utter agony. He was a product of rape. Of the war. Of Alphas and men taking Omegas and women from conquered sects and using them as they saw fit. For pleasure, for experiments… Each scar that litters A-niang’s body like a madman's tapestry is born from it.
Just like him.
His existence is just another scar.
A-niang grabs his ear and yanks.
Sizhui yelps at the sudden pain, confused. What did he-
A-niang stares down at him, tears welling in his eyes but with a determined expression on his face.
“You have never once drawn breath as that man still lived.” A-niang hisses, releasing Sizhui’s ear only to grab his shoulder, shaking it roughly. “At the risk of being too metaphorical, I grew you my damned self, Little Radish, in a barren land that grew nothing else. I might have used horse shit for the fertilizer, but you came out perfect, you hear me? My perfect Little Radish.”
Sizhui chokes on his next inhale. Everything feels wet and blurry. He’s crying, has been for a while.
A-niang reaches out and drags Sizhui into his chest, in much the same way he had on their first meeting. Crushing them together, the scent of chili and ginger enveloping everything else in a blanket of familiar comfort.
“I love you.” A-niang whispers, like the scenting isn’t enough for him. “A-yuan. Baobei. Little Radish, Erzi.”
“But…” Sizhui whimpers, struggling to think. It’s too much. He feels like his head is going to explode and spill all the ugly thoughts onto the cave floor. He feels like a violation. He feels wrong, turning to A-niang for comfort, when he is the result of his agony. “But I was born of your suffering! I…”
A-niang squeezes him harder against his chest as Sizhui tries to pull away, to give A-niang the space he deserves. “Baobei, have you ever heard someone give birth? All children are born of suffering, and their A-niang’s love them anyways.”
A hand starts to card gently through Sizhui’s hair, A-niang rocking him back and forth. “No, I didn’t choose to have you. Yes, I was afraid. I’ll admit to that.”
Sizhui trembles, hand fisting into the back of A-niang’s robes.
“But you were born… after the war. What did you know of the pain?” A-niang asks, still rocking him and petting his hair. “Of the suffering? What did that man truly mean, to either of us? Nothing. He meant nothing, he means nothing. I mean, look at you!”
Finally, he pushes Sizhui away, like Sizhui thought he should have done right from the start of this conversation. How can A-niang even bear to look at him? Especially with an expression like that!
A-niang doesn’t look angry, or disgusted, or ashamed. He looks at Sizhui with a kind, sad smile, tears in his eyes, and yet he wipes Sizhui’s away first. Gently, so gently.
“You… are so good.” A-niang tells him, stroking his cheek. “So strong, so polite, so gentle. The kindest young man I have ever had the pleasure to meet. To see you grown, so untouched by the filth that created you… it is the greatest joy that this spiteful little demonic can imagine. My A-yuan. My Erzi. My Little Radish, now and forever.”
Sizhui breaks.
He falls forward, body shaking with sobs, against his A-niang, so that he doesn’t have to see the kind smile that he doesn’t deserve. A-niang wraps his arms around him tightly, like he’ll never let go, pulling him closer and whispering pet names into his hair.
“I love you.” A-niang tells him, over and over. “I love you, A-yuan.”
Sizhui believes him.
He believes him with every excited noise A-niang had made when he saw Sizhui, every “you’re alive” whispered in reverence, every gentle touch, every lesson he taught, despite only being reunited for a few days. He believes him in the flowers they drew, in the compass pressed to his heart, in the teasing and the tears. He believes A-niang, and his self-sacrificing nature, loves him.
And Sizhui will simply have to live up to it. To make sure A-niang never suffers, never, ever again.
“Everyone! Look who we… found…”
Someone’s at the cave entrance.
Sizhui straightens up, wiping uselessly at his face, to see Ouyang… Fengqiu, he believes Shimei called him, stopped short in the entrance, back from their hastily set up patrol.
Standing beside him, taking in A-niang’s disheveled appearance and Sizhui’s tears, is…
“Hanguang-jun!” The Lan disciples gasp, bowing in salute. He pays them no mind, striding past them to drop to his knees besides Sizhui and his A-niang, golden eyes and worried hands running over them both like he’s checking for injuries.
Sizhui wipes at his face again, trying to control his breathing, and A-niang catches Hanguang-jun’s hand.
“We’re fine, Lan Zhan.” He says gently. “These juniors are just a little too smart for their own good, sometimes.”
Hanguang-jun frowns, clearly not understanding. Sizhui doesn’t know how to explain. How to admit it, after he had just done it so many times.
“What happened?” Ouyang Fengqiu whispers to someone, clearly trying not to be heard and failing.
Fu Xiaxu winces, scratching at his neck. “Ah, well… We were right, he was a Jiang omega. And…” he glances at Sizhui, unsure, before turning back to the other disciple. “Well, the timeline doesn’t add up.”
Golden eyes, so unlike Sizhui’s own, turn to stare at him, a question burning within. Sizhui can see the thoughts forming, Hanguang-jun wondering- how much does Sizhui know?
“You’re not my fuqin.” Sizhui whispers. It feels like betrayal. The way Hanguang-jun flinches back feels like a knife to the chest.
But it’s true, isn’t it? Hanguang-jun had raised another Alpha’s child, for an Omega he loved beyond all reason. Was Sizhui, to him, another hurtful memory?
“Ow!” Sizhui yelps, flinching away from a vicious pinch to his ribs.
“Lan Zhan raised you, Little Radish.” A-niang scolds. “He’s more your fuqin than anyone else in the world, and I couldn’t choose a better one myself. You’re the one who picked him out, don’t you remember?”
“I- wait, what?” Sizhui asks, rubbing at his side. Picked Hanguang-jun out himself? What does that even mean?
A-niang nods, crossing his arms and huffing dramatically. “I took you with me to Yiling to go shopping, and you decided to run off, grab the leg of the first rich man you saw, and start bawling ‘Diedie!’ at the top of your little lungs!”
He… did? Sizhui’s not sure he heard A-niang right, because his head is still all fuzzy.
“That’s how we met again.” A-niang admits, smiling at A-die. “You picked him out in a crowd, and he bought you toys and sweets and spoiled you rotten, and every time he was gone you’d ask for ‘rich-gege,’ you money-sniffing little traitor.”
“I…” Sizhui mutters, not sure what to say. Had he really decided on Hanguang-jun? He doesn’t remember anything from his childhood, so he can’t know if A-niang is lying or not just to make him feel better.
Hanguang-jun nods when Sizhui looks at him.
Oh, ancestors, he did.
But… does that really count? He’s not… Hanguang-jun had lied for him. Had done everything in his power to keep him safe. Would the elders have allowed Sizhui to stay, if they knew he wasn’t truly a Lan? If they knew he was a cursed child, a product of the Wen?
Had he only lied to protect him for A-niang’s sake?
“...Sizhui.” Hanguang-jun says, voice quiet and serious.
Ah. He’s going to say something difficult. Sizhui closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and responds, “Hanguang-jun.”
The Alpha reaches out, hand brushing against Sizhui’s cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb. It feels like being a child again, confused and lost.
“Sizhui, I have raised you as my son.” Hanguang-jun says, quiet and sure. “I have thought of you as my son, from the very beginning. I have loved you as my son, and I will continue to do so, so long as you allow it.”
Sizhui can’t answer, struggling to breathe through his tears and snot. His son. His son, no matter what. Hanguang-jun doesn’t lie.
“If…” Hanguang-jun starts, seemingly unsure of Sizhui’s reaction. “If you would rather go by your A-niang’s name, once we find a way to tell it to you…”
Sizhui dives into his A-die’s arms, sobbing. It only seems to catch him off guard for a moment, before A-die’s arms wrap around him and hold him tight, his calm sandalwood scent enveloping Sizhui.
“A-die.” Sizhui whispers, and it feels like home. It feels right. “A-die.”
“A-yuan.” A-die hums in reply, tilting Sizhui’s head to press a kiss to the center of Sizhui’s forehead, right on his ribbon- the ribbon that marks his place as a member of the Gusu Lan Clan. Just as his wrist ribbons mark him as A-niang’s.
Sizhui suddenly needs A-niang in this hug, and he pulls away to reach for him, not really caring if he’s being childish. A-niang obeys easily anyways, scooting closer and wrapping his arms around them both.
There.
Now it’s perfect.
They stay like that until Sizhui has cried himself out.
There's tear stains on A-die’s white robes when he pulls away, which is embarrassing, but at least most of the disciples have been herded out by someone. Probably when they removed the remainder of the Wen banners and supply boxes.
Someone pokes their head back into the cave.
“Ah, are you… done?” Fu Xiaxu asks, already wincing at his own wording. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, Gongzi.” A-niang soothes. “Did you need something?”
“Right!” Fu Xiaxu snaps to attention, still a touch awkward but determined to barrel through it. “Um, we gathered the rest of the remains, and we were going to light it up, but we figured you might want to help with that, so…”
The fire. Burning the remnants of this godsforsaken camp. The banners, the pills, the chains that they ripped from the wall. The symbols of…
“Ah, yes, wanton destruction!” A-niang cheers gleefully, pushing himself up with one arm. “That sounds amazING-!”
“A-niang!”
Sizhui jumps to help as A-niang’s legs give out, but A-die is faster, arm wrapping around A-niang’s front and pulling him against Hanguang-jun’s chest so that he doesn’t topple over.
They both freeze, unsure what to do. Do they let go? Do they stay? Is this awkward? Sizhui can practically see the thoughts in both of his parent’s heads.
“Ah… haha.” A-niang squeaks, carefully removing himself from A-die’s grip. “Sorry, Lan Zhan, my leg must have fallen asleep there…”
“Mn.” A-die’s ears are bright red. He stands, offering a hand to A-niang, who hesitates for only a moment before taking it and allowing Hanguang-jun to lift him to his feet.
Hanguang-jun doesn’t let go of A-niang’s arm.
“I can walk now, Lan Zhan, thank you.” A-niang tries, trying to step away and immediately wobbling.
A-die makes a skeptical face at him, his next “Mn.” clearly disbelieving. He shoots a meaningful glance at Sizhui, and he quickly obeys the unspoken order, taking his A-niang’s other arm.
“I’m fine.” A-niang insists, leaning heavily on both of them. A-die simply huffs, the picture of a protective alpha.
Both Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen have stars in their eyes, though the latter is also glancing at Qing-guniang, so maybe that doesn’t count. Qing-guniang, for her part, looks like she’s watching two fools in a stage play.
Perhaps not inaccurate, Sizhui muses, helping a protesting A-niang out of the cave to go set things on fire.
The other disciples have done their job well, Sizhui thinks. The planks from the supply boxes separate layers of old, half rotten fabric, so that the air can get to it and it isn’t in a great wad. The pills are scattered over the top of the tents, oil and wine spilled about and already stinking up the area. Dry branches from scraggly trees and leaves fill out the rest of the bonfire.
It will burn fast.
The Wen Banner that had started this whole mess lies over the top, flagpole broken where it wasn’t before (Sizhui suspects someone snapped it over their knee) like a final marking.
“Quianbei, do you want to start it?” Chen Yangheng offers, noises of agreement coming from the group of disciples. A-niang does deserve to be the one to rid the world of this blight, Sizhui thinks.
“Aw, you children are so sweet to me!” A-niang coos. “Though, I think A-Qing might yell at me if I try any more cultivation today, so someone will have to lend me a torch.”
Qing-guniang nods in agreement.
There's a quick rush to give the Omega a torch, which almost ends with someone’s hair lit on fire before Lan Dongyun snatches the thing away and hands it to a cackling A-niang.
A-niang is still wobbly, so Sizhui and A-die stand to either side of him as he leans in and lights the bonfire. There's a quick spark- Sizhui notices some talisman paper that looks a touch moldy, someone must have written fire talismans- and the pile of fabric, oil, and heat-inducing pills catches flame, the disciples cheering as the Wen Symbol starts to smoke.
Sizhui watches it burn, feeling… like he should be feeling something. He feels empty. Not a thought to be had, watching the flames lick and devour red embroidery and white cloth, devour dry timber, pop along the powdered remains of pills.
“A-yuan.” A-niang calls, Sizhui jumping lightly. “Come sit with me, alright? You’re going to get hit by sparks if you stand that close.”
“Yes, A-niang.” Sizhui agrees dutifully, backing away from the flames. It really is going now, hot against the skin of his face. He had zoned out for a touch too long, and now Hanguang-jun has A-niang sitting at the trunk of a tree, leaning back against it for support as they watch the burning.
As he sits beside his A-niang, he reaches out to take Sizhui’s arm, squeezing it gently, reassuringly. A reminder.
It warms Sizhui from within.
They watch the fire burn down into nothing but ashes, the symbols of suffering being devoured before their eyes. It happens quickly- the other disciples had done their jobs well.
“We should be setting out.” Chen Yangheng decides. “We’ve finished our mission.”
A few disciples agree, clearly exhausted, setting about kicking dirt over the embers so that it won't light anything else up.
A-niang clears his throat.
“Ah… young masters, if I may ask a favor of you?”
Everyone in the camp snaps to attention. Sizhui fights down a smile- A-niang has earned their respect tenfold on this nighthunt. Good. A-niang deserves respect.
Seeing that he has the disciples' undivided attention, A-niang continues. “I know you will be asked to make a report of this nighthunt, and I know that a good number of you are not allowed to lie. But… Please, don’t mention me, or my connection to A-yuan or Lan Zhan.”
A few eager faces turn into frowns. It’s Tang Zhanchi that steps forward to ask, though.
“Why, Qianbei?”
“Well, for starters, the same reasons I won’t go back to the Jiang Sect apply to the Lan Sect.” A-niang explains, tapping at his chest where the Wen Brand scar is in reminder. “Not to mention the scandal I’d probably cause, can you imagine? Old Man Lan would have a Qi Deviation. Three, one for each shock.”
Sizhui counts them in his head. A-niang being a demonic, A-die having lied, and Sizhui being a Wen. Yep, checks out, Shugong would be spitting blood with each new revelation. But how is A-niang going to explain why their relationship needs to be kept secret? If they go into the whole murder plot, they’ll be here for ages.
“But also. You saw how our curse affects us.” A-niang explains, spreading his hands wide. “It’s in our blood. It makes us unstable, and yet extremely powerful. The things you can do with arrays written in our blood, the things you can create… Well. I was wanted for a reason.”
Chen Yangheng and Fu Xiaxu shudder, both clearly remembering the experimentation memories that leaked over into the Sympathy.
“These days, I know who I can and can’t trust.” A-niang sighs. “But, A-yuan… I worry. There are some people who would kill to get their hands on him, especially untapped as he is now. And some of them know more about it than I could ever hope to tell you, with this seal.”
“People like who?” Tang Zhanchi asks, tilting her head.
The killer, Sizhui thinks. A-niang had said he had a way to manipulate the curse.
“Xue Yang.”
Qing-guniang’s voice is quiet, but it still carries, dragging everyone’s attention to her. She scowls at the wall, like even speaking his name disgusts her. “He loves experimenting. Creepy fucker.”
Xue Yang…
Sizhui shares a quick glance with Jin Ling and Jingyi. They’re the only ones who know about Xue Yang having the Yin Tiger Seal, very recently, before Lianfang-zun had managed to steal it away. Should they tell A-niang? He might know more than them…
“He was in the experimentation memories.” Chen Yangheng says, looking to A-niang for confirmation. “The rumors that he was a direct disciple of Wen Rouhan, before the Jin took him in…”
A-niang winces, and it seems to be confirmation enough.
The killer of the Yueyang Chang clan… Sizhui wonders if he’s A-niang and Chifeng-zun’s killer, as well. He knows of A-niang’s curse, and his parentage was unknown. Jin Guangshan had pushed to defend him back then, against an angry Chifeng-zun, no less. So he’d have a motive to kill the Late Sect Leader Nie.
But, no. Jin Guangshan was hardly known for caring about his bastards, Jin Guangyao only having ascended to the role of Sect Leader because there was no one left. Mo Xuanyu was the only other child he acknowledged, and he was never granted much attention. Plus, he had no connection to the Nie clan.
Still, the mention of that man’s name has the Disciples immediately understanding the gravity of the situation.
“We won’t say a word, Qianbei.” Fu Xiaxu declares, bowing to him.
“We’d probably get into trouble for colluding with a demonic, anyways.” Chen Yangheng agrees with a grin.
“Ah, that's how it is?!” A-niang squawks, pointing an accusing finger at them. “None of my heartfelt pleas stir your conscience, it's only your own self interest that holds your tongue? Cultivators! Preaching of selflessness and righteousness, and then cruelly turning their backs upon suffering unless destroying it brings them fame and strokes their egos!”
Chen Yangheng seems to have a handle on dealing with A-niang, simply bobbing his head in agreement to the offended teasing as the other disciples coax Little Apple out for A-niang.
“Children are so rude to me.” A-niang sniffs, attempting to stand with the tree as his support. Sizhui quickly rushes to help him, A-die on his other side, but they’re both waved away.
“I can walk to my own damn donkey.” He insists, but from the way he’s still holding onto the tree, Sizhui doubts that. So does Hanguang-jun, if the flat stare he’s giving A-niang is any indication.
“Ah, Xiansheng?” Qing-guniang says suddenly, leaning into view. “Zizhen’s ankle is really badly hurt, I don’t think he can walk properly.”
“I feel a lot better actually, I- ow!” Ouyang Zizhen yelps as Qing-guniang kicks him, looking up at her with a hurt expression. She shoots him a meaningful look, and he switches up instantly. “Oh… Um, yeah, I really can’t walk…”
Qing-guniang nods, clasping her hands together and looking beseechingly at A-niang. “So, if he doesn’t want to aggravate it anymore, can he ride on Little Apple?”
“Uh… sure?” A-niang says, suspicious. “I can manage…”
A-niang can NOT manage, what is Qing-guniang doing-
“Oh, no, you definitely can't, Hanguang-jun will have to carry you.” Qing-guniang says quickly. “Thanks for agreeing, Xiansheng, you’re the best!”
Huh?
“Hey- wait a second, hold on, I didn’t say that!” A-niang yelps, but Qing-guniang is already helping a surprised Ouyang Zizhen onto Little Apple. “I’m not going to make Lan Zhan carry me!”
Privately, Sizhui thinks A-die really wouldn’t mind. He looks almost eager. However, before he can say anything, Qing-guniang is talking again.
“Well, you’re not going to make poor Lil’ Apple carry TWO people through these rocky ravines, are you?” She asks, as if horrified at the very thought of upsetting the donkey. “Poor thing will twist an ankle.”
“Hanguang-jun can’t-”
“Qianbei doesn’t think Hanguang-jun is strong enough?” Jingyi asks, arms crossed and chin raised. Sizhui recognizes that stance- it’s the same one Jingyi uses whenever there's a disciple from another sect doubting Hanguang-jun’s skills. “He could probably carry you and that fat donkey!”
“Little Apple is not fat!”
Sizhui and the other disciples watch this whole mess with amusement. How… exactly has this happened?
“Uh… Pingyang Yao is closer?” Chen Yangheng offers. “Ouyang-gongzi can come with us-”
“I have to return right home.” Ouyang Zizhen denies quickly, eyes wide and innocent. “That was the original plan, my parents will worry if I’m late!”
Sizhui takes in the wink he sends Qing-guniang and gets the slightest inkling that he might be lying through his teeth.
A-niang doesn’t notice it, however, too busy squeaking as A-die takes his arm and puts himself beneath it, smoothly lifting A-niang up.
“Lan Zhan, I can walk!” A-niang complains, wiggling in an attempt to… escape? Fall and break his neck?
“And I can carry you.” Hanguang-jun says simply, bouncing to fix his grip. “Baling and Gusu are to the east. We can find an inn for the night.”
He starts walking, a group of bemused disciples following behind. Qing-guniang, Ouyang Zizhen, and Jingyi all look incredibly smug.
They split up with the Hedong Fu and Pingyang Yao disciples once they leave the ravines, and from then on make a fair distance before darkness falls. They find a good-sized town that's bound to have an inn capable of fitting them all, and head for it.
A-niang forces Hanguang-jun to put him down before they enter the town, much to A-die’s obvious displeasure, but lets A-die hold his arm in case he trips.
The demonics tuck their masks out of sight and they cross the bridge, almost immediately finding an inn, to their relief. Hou Rouxin takes Little Apple into the small stable as the rest of them head inside.
The inn is small, but clean, with few other patrons.
“Ah, cultivators!” An old man greets, bustling forwards and bowing respectfully in greeting. “I assume your hunt went well?”
“Ended well.” Jingyi sighs. “The beginning was a mess.”
“I can tell, a few of you look a touch worse for wear.” The old man laughs, looking them over.
“Ah, just tired, Lao-yeye.” A-niang smiles, waving a hand. “All I need is a good rest in a fine establishment, and maybe some food?”
The old man inclines his head at the praise, a smile on his face. “You've come to the right place then, gongzi. Your dinner will be prepared, and I’ll have baths sent to your rooms, though I might have to ask a few of you to double up.”
“Not an issue.” Lan Shiling steps forwards. “I’ll handle it, Shixiong, I know you’re tired. Get Qianbei and Ouyang-gongzi off their feet.”
Ah, right. As the senior most Lan Disciple, it’s usually his job to sort out sleeping arrangements for his sect siblings.
But, also… he wants a nap. And a bath.
“Thank you, Shimei.” Sizhui sighs, following the old innkeeper's directions up the stairs to a room.
As always, it’s when Sizhui is winding down, relaxing after a long day's work, that the thoughts begin to creep in.
As he scrubs his skin raw, he wonders. He wonders if the Alpha he had seen in his memory is his Fuqin. He wonders what exactly he had done to A-niang, wonders why the “sharp nails” had made Chen Yangheng shudder in recognition. He wonders what happened to him.
He wonders why his tailbone, of all things, is tingling. Had he fallen on it when he collapsed or something?
He shakes his head, setting aside the small tub and quickly drying himself off. He shouldn’t be thinking about this. A-niang had already said that “that man” means nothing, hadn’t he?
And yet, Sizhui wonders. He wonders what that man was like, who he was, with a kind of morbid curiosity that feels like a betrayal.
The inn has a small bronze mirror, and Sizhui can’t help but to look into it, poking at his face, his cheeks. His nose. He was always told he had his A-die’s nose. Is that… just a coincidence? Wishful thinking? Or had the Alpha that sired Sizhui and A-die truly looked alike?
He aches with curiosity at the same time as he shudders at the mere idea of knowing.
Sizhui puts the mirror facedown and pulls on his robes.
“Furen,” that Alpha had said. Wife. Perhaps that means that A-niang had not suffered at multiple hands, if he was a bride then perhaps his entrapment was not so cruel.
Sizhui immediately swings himself into a handstand for punishment at the thought. He has no paper or brush to write the rules of filial piety or cruel thoughts, but he mimes the motions anyways. He had seen how A-niang had suffered, he himself is evidence, and even a hopeful wish undermines his A-niang’s strength in surviving his ordeals.
And, A-die… years of waiting, of loss, of grief. The way he had taken them both into his arms. Had cared for Sizhui. How long had he known A-niang? How long had he loved him, and been unable to have him? A-niang was a Jiang Disciple, so they might have met before the war, at an intersect hunt, or even at the Cloud Recesses during guest disciple lessons.
Had he recognized A-niang somehow, after the war, when he lived in the Burial Mounds? Had they begun to court, to heal each other, despite Sizhui being there? Had A-die been accepting his presence, loving him as his own even then? But how close had they been?
A-niang said A-die was always asking him to come to Gusu. Had they meant to marry, once the Wen brand had been found, and A-niang’s will was truly his own? To have that torn away…
And then to take Sizhui in, accepting the punishment for adultery that Sizhui knows must have happened, bear it silently. To insist Sizhui be treated the same as any other member of the clan.
After all their suffering, they deserve to be happy, Sizhui thinks, staring resolutely down at the floor, the hand he’s balanced on twitching. They should get to marry. A-niang shouldn’t have to be bound to a cruel voice forever.
The Elders might protest, but Sizhui will personally fight them. Bofu will help, as will all the other Lan disciples on this night hunt. Shugong might take some convincing, but Sizhui can probably manage it.
He tries to think of the arguments the elders would make, just to prepare his rebuttals ahead of time. It never hurts to be prepared. Demonic Cultivation will be a sticking point, of course, but it was a desperate attempt at life, and regular cleansing will certainly help with the curse. Would they really turn away someone who wants help?
An Omega of a high-ranking family would certainly be a first choice, of course, but the Jiang sect would likely be pleased to see one of their lost Omega’s happy and at peace. That will certainly be a political match, in a sense. Not to mention the fact that A-die will never deign to marry anyone else, so the elders can't exactly push him for a better one.
In addition, A-niang is currently working to solve a murder of a Sect Leader. The Nie clan will be in his debt, as well as Chifeng-zun’s sworn brothers, Lianfang-zun and Zewu-jun. The marriage will be a way of assuaging that debt for the Lan.
Sizhui knows politics.
Any complaints about personality and behavior can be redirected to A-die’s stony glare. A-niang technically not being “untouched” can be met with Sizhui’s sword. And A-die’s, probably. The fact that A-niang technically died once… Well, Ghost Marriages to appease spirits who had died too soon were hardly uncommon, so…
Wait. If it was a Ghost Marriage, would completing the ceremony mean A-niang would be appeased, and move on? Right when everything is settled and happy? No! He can’t let that happen!
He can’t let A-niang go, not…
Sizhui sighs, switching his hands to balance on the other. He’s being speculative, selfish, and unfilial. A-naing deserves rest, after all this time. If that is what he chooses, then he deserves… to leave a life of pain behind, and rejoin the natural cycle.
Something wet drips onto Sizhui’s hand. He hopes it's water from his washing, but the burning in his eyes tells him it's a tear.
The door opens.
“Hey, Sizhui, are you…” Jingyi trails off as he walks into the room, catching sight of Sizhui. “Ah.”
Sizhui doesn’t bother answering, simply balancing himself and keeping his position.
With a sigh, Sizhui’s friend drops into a seat by his head. “You know, you can’t beat yourself up about this. You weren’t even born yet, you know?”
Ah, Jingyi thinks Sizhui is punishing himself for that. It’s… half true, Sizhui supposes, though it’s more his unfilial thoughts. He won't voice them, though, for Jingyi to judge, so he stays silent and lets Jingyi think what he wants.
“You didn’t have any control.” Jingyi continues. “And both your A-niang and your A-die say that you're their baobei, no matter what, so you should listen to them.”
That wording was deliberate. Jingyi almost always calls A-die by his title. “I know.”
“Good.” Jingyi grins at him, then shoves him over, still grinning as Sizhui catches himself and turns to glare at his friend. “Come on, we’ve ordered food, and if you don’t show up when they’re already worried about you, they’ll just worry more. You don’t want to worry them, do you?”
Sizhui sighs, getting up to find the rest of his robes and putting his hair back in its proper style. “This is manipulation.”
“Just looking out for you, Sizhui.” Jingyi teases. “Come on, let's go.”
The main area of the inn is set up for dining, their group settled at the largest table. It’s already laden with food when Sizhui follows Jingyi down the stairs. He feels bad for whoever the cook is, having to feed so many hungry mouths, but then he notices there's no one other than their party here.
“A-yuan!” A-niang calls excitedly. His hair is damp and his face is clean. “Come, sit, the food is lovely. I’m sorry we didn’t wait for you.”
“No, you must have been hungry.” Sizhui says, settling down across from his A-niang and A-die. It's more common to get a private dining room for the seniors, but it seems the other disciples wanted to stay close.
A-die nods in greeting, then goes back to carefully eating his meal in silence, slipping bits of meat and chili pepper into A-niang’s bowl. It’s sweet.
Not the food, the action. The food is most definitely spicy, soaked in red, another small well of red sauce at A-niang’s elbow. Apparently, spicy food is to A-niang’s taste, if Sizhui also counts the Chili-oiled fish that Fairy had ended up getting a taste of. (That poor dogs’ stomach…)
Sizhui looks over the food, noting that there are some more tame-looking dishes. And then…
“A-niang, are you sure it’s alright to drink alcohol right now?” Sizhui asks, motioning to the jar that has “He Homebrew” written on the side. A-niang had hardly been able to stand straight after the sympathy ritual, not that they had let him try much.
A-niang laughs at him. “Ah, A-yuan, it’s fine. Honestly, I’m feeling much better, I could have walked!”
“You feel better because we wouldn’t let you walk.” Qing-guniang says waspishly, shoving a piece of chicken into her face.
A-niang just rolls his eyes and leans towards Sizhui conspiratorially. “It actually is a good idea, A-yuan. It’s good for the curse.”
Sizhui gives him a skeptical look. “Alcohol upsets the meridians and a person’s balance.”
“And it does that by making the blood and energy flow faster, through wider veins.” A-niang nods. “Meaning, the blood and energy in my body is less likely to build itself into a problem, understand? Both alcohol and spicy food have yang energy. That I had so much is probably one of the only reasons I survived childhood! It’s like medicine! Besides, I’ve always had a great tolerance.”
He punctuates this by knocking back his cup, grinning brightly at Sizhui, and pouring himself another one.
Alcohol is the reason he survived childhood? Sizhui knows other sects are more lax when it comes to indulging, but surely the Jiang wouldn’t have allowed a child to self-medicate with liquor. Sizhui has always used Ginger candies for a quick boost of yang energy.
“I’ll take your word for it, A-niang.” Sizhui decides, taking his first bite as A-niang laughs.
“Forget the alcohol, how are you eating this?” Ouyang Zizhen asks, looking dubiously at a luridly red piece of gong bao ji ding. “I can handle some heat, but you’re adding so much chili oil.”
“Come on, its good!” A-niang coaxes, drowning his next bite. “Spice up your life a little!”
“I’ll pass.” he says with a grin, continuing with his already-spiced chicken.
“Your loss.” A-niang shrugs. “Ah, A-yuan, have you ever even tried properly spiced food? I know the Cloud Recesses kitchens cry tears of blood at the mere sight of a peppercorn, but you need the yang energy. Come on, try this.”
He takes a piece of Ma po dou fu from his own bowl, reaching across the table to place it in Sizhui’s. He eyes it with caution- A-niang is right, he’s never tried something quite that red before.
“Go on!” A-niang goads, until Sizhui picks up the piece of tofu with his chopsticks, considering the spicy food. He wants to try it… to feel closer to his A-niang, at the very least.
“Why isn’t he talking?” Qing-guniang asks in a loud whisper.
“Gusu Lan doesn’t let their disciples talk during meals.” A-niang explains, waving a hand.
“Well, they’re not in Gusu right now, are they?” Qing-guniang points out. “Sitting at a quiet table is creepy. I’ve had rowdier meals when it’s just me and Daozhang.”
“Ah, but one of their most respected seniors is right there!” A-niang sighs, motioning to A-die. “They can’t be delinquents in front of him!”
It’s true, speaking during a meal in front of Hanguang-jun would probably have most of the Lan disciples shaking in their boots. But that doesn’t really matter right now- the issue is this piece of tofu, soaked in chili oil, that Sizhui is about to put into his mouth.
Well, it’s not getting any milder.
Taking a deep breath and praying that he has A-niang’s apparently iron mouth, Sizhui takes the bite.
It’s… not that bad.
No, wait, scratch that, there it is.
Sihui coughs and tucks his fist over his mouth, sure that his face is turning an interesting shade of sweaty red as A-niang laughs at him. It’s very spicy, for sure, much more than the Mianpi at the Unclean Realm had been, but it tastes fine enough? Just… unexpected. A little overwhelming.
“Not the best performance, A-yuan.” A-niang chuckles, “But at least you didn’t-”
Jingyi starts choking madly, dropping his chopsticks and bowl, though Sizhui quickly catches it before it spills.
“Why would anyone eat this? Food is meant to be relaxing and refreshing!” Jingyi complains loudly, scrabbling across the table for water. Sizhui hands it to him before he manages to make more of a mess.
“...at least you didn’t do that.” A-niang teases, shaking his head at Jingyi’s foolishness.
“I thought they weren’t allowed to talk.” Qing-guniang grumbles mulishly.
“When we’re eating, not when we’re being poisoned!” Jingyi shrieks. “Qianbei isn’t human!”
Jin Ling sniffs, though Sizhui isn’t sure if it’s disdain or a reaction from the spice. “You’re just weak. In Yunmeng food can be way spicier than this.”
“Ah, it really is…” A-niang hums dreamily. “You should have seen our spice tolerance competitions! Ha, I always won… you know, on Lotus Pier, if you couldn’t handle spice, no one would marry you! You could kiss your marriage prospects goodbye!”
Hanguang-jun twitches, turning to look at the food consideringly.
“I mean it, you know. I’ve seen an omega turn away a very wealthy alpha suitor because she couldn’t handle his Dandan Mian.” A-niang confides, grinning ear to ear. “And it’s a good thing she backed off; later, the spice challenge for his marriage door-games burnt itself through the bottom of the pot!”
A-die picks up a chili pepper, Sizhui watching in silent horror. He’s not really going to… A-die, don’t, don’t!
“Of course, that was because another jealous suitor added acid to it…” A-niang hums, tapping at his chin and completely oblivious to the disaster Sizhui is silently watching unfold, helpless to stop it as A-die lifts the chili pepper to his mouth. “But, well, it’s more fun to tell it that way.”
A-die eats the chili pepper.
Sizhui doesn’t even have the time to shake his head in disbelief before A-die starts coughing madly, covering his mouth with his sleeve like that will hide the stupidity.
“Lan Zhan!” A-niang squeaks, grabbing his shoulder in concern. “What did you- did you just eat a chili pepper? Coated in this sauce? What are you thinking, you know you can’t handle that!”
“Yeah…” Qing-guniang drawls, under her breath so A-niang can’t hear. “I wonder…”
Those that can hear the remark start to giggle, but A-niang doesn’t pay them any mind, scooping up one of the cups from the table and pressing it into A-die’s hands. He drinks desperately, trying to rid his mouth of the taste.
Wait.
“Ah… A-niang?” Sizhui asks, breaking his silence, but he has to be sure that he’s seeing this wrong. A-niang turns to look at him, and he motions to their dish settings. “Which cup… did you just give him?”
A-niang blinks, looking down at the table. “I just grabbed the clo- oh.”
The closest cup. A-niang’s cup. The one that had sat beside the jar labeled “He homebrew,” a place that is now starkly empty. The one that had been full of alcohol.
BANG!
“Lan Zhan!” A-niang yelps, reaching down to pick A-dies head off the table, the disciples nearly leaping out of their seats in shock.
“Oh ancestors we killed Hanguang-jun!” Hou Rouxing squeals, which Sizhui is pretty sure is the only thing they’ve said all day.
“He’s not dead!” Jingyi yelps, as Sizhui rushes around the table to help his A-die. “He’s just…”
“Drunk.” Sizhui whispers, shocked.
Lan aren’t allowed to drink alcohol, so Sizhui has never seen this from A-die, but it’s very clear. Aside from him collapsing (Sizhui has never once seen A-die keel over in his LIFE) his ears are bright red and flushed, his eyes are half-closed and blinking lazily, and his pupils, from what Sizhui can see, are dilated.
“Is everything alright over here?” a man asks, rushing to their table. He’s younger than the old man that had greeted them, but he looks quite similar. Perhaps his son? “What happened?”
“Silly alpha can’t handle one cup of alcohol.” A-niang huffs, hands on his hips. “Or spice. I think we overloaded him.”
“Ah.” The server looks quite amused, but schools his face into an appropriately contrite expression. “We’re terribly sorry, Gongzi, I assure you that we take full responsibility…”
“I’m the one who gave him a cup, Zhuchiren, not you.” A-niang sighs. “He must not have tasted it through the chili pepper…”
Sizhui privately thinks that this entire debacle is A-die’s fault, because he’s the one who ate an entire chili pepper to impress an omega who is already clearly besotted, but he digresses.
The host bows to them, eyeing A-die’s bulk with some trepidation. “Will Gongzi need assistance carrying him to his room?”
“We’ll do it.” Sizhui says quickly. A-die isn’t the smallest Alpha, and the server looks rather wiry and bendable. Between Sizhui and another Lan disciple, they should manage.
“Such a dependable son I have!” A-niang claps his hands happily. “A-yuan, here’s hoping you get my tolerance. Ah, speaking of...”
A-niang snatches the jar of alcohol off the table, downing what’s left of it in just a few gulps. “Ah, that is really good… Zhuchiren, don’t sell the children any more, I’m only dealing with one drunk tonight.”
“Just because their tolerance is horrid doesn’t mean ours is!” Jin Ling huffs, crossing his arms as Sizhui and Jingyi get on either side of Hanguang-jun, lifting him off the table. “And it’s not like we need to be babied!”
“Gongzi, the wine is quite strong.” the host calms him, a proud smile on his face. “Actually, this Omega is quite impressive! I’ve always said I’d take the family name of whoever managed to hold their own after a full jar! So, gongzi, what shall my new name be?”
Sizhui pauses, A-die’s arm slung over his shoulder. He’s asking A-niang’s name… Sizhui wants to know too, but the seal has already stopped both of his parents! Should he simply say Jiang? That was his clan name once…
“My family name…” A-niang says slowly, glazing at the table of curious disciples, before turning back to the host with a smirk.
“My family name is Lan!”
Lan Shiling squeaks in shock, and Sizhui can feel Jingyi’s jerk through Hanguang-jun.
“Alright, from this day on, my name is Lan!” The newly-dubbed Lan announces happily, swinging his towel over his shoulder and leaving them to their surprise. A-niang rolls his eyes and beckons Sizhui forwards.
“Come on, poor Lan Zhan is dead on his feet.” A-niang goads. “His room is just at the top of the stairs.”
Sizhui has several questions, but he follows A-niang obediently and keeps them to himself. Are they already married? Is A-niang just playing? Is he trying to make Sizhui feel better about not technically being a Lan, or is Sizhui just reading far too much into it?
A-niang opens a door, leading the two (technically three, if they’re counting the drunken weight) Lan inside and setting bichen against a low table. “Here, set him on the bed.”
Sizhui and Jingyi obey, A-niang pulling the blanket back for them. The juniors back off once they have Hanguang-jun on the bed, letting A-niang remove A-die’s boots, pull the blanket up, and settle A-die’s hands in exactly the way he likes to sleep. Like he’s seen it before, like he’s helped him before. Sizhui feels like he’s intruding.
He especially feels like he’s intruding when A-niang reaches up and pulls off A-die’s forehead ribbon, making Jingyi nearly choke on his own tongue.
“Is something wrong?” A-niang asks, frowning at him, while also casually running Hanguang-jun’s forehead ribbon, that represents restraint and righteousness and is to never be touched by anyone other than a spouse or family, through his fingers. He’s getting rid of the wrinkles, Sizhui realizes, before folding it and setting it to the side of A-die’s pillow.
“You…”
“Nothing, A-niang!” Sizhui says quickly, grabbing Jingyi’s wrist and hoping his smile covers up his inner chaos. “Ah… are you still hungry?”
“Well, someone should stay, in case our drunkard here wakes up.” A-niang says fondly, patting Hanguang-jun’s hair. “You didn't get much time to eat, little radish, so if you-”
He pauses, eyes flicking to the window.
Sizhui didn’t sense anything, so he quickly checks what has A-niang’s attention. He can’t see anything but the trees.
Still, A-niang stands up, moving to look out into the darkness. “A-yuan… can you watch Lan Zhan for a bit? In case he wakes up?”
He wants Sizhui to babysit Hanguang-jun?! Even if he’s drunk, that’s a little… “Of course, A-niang. Is something wrong?”
“A messenger, that’s all.” A-niang sighs. “Mind your A-die, I’ll be right back.”
And with that, he leaps through the window and into the night.
“Does he mean a messenger fox?” Jingyi hisses into the silence, shocked. “Here? Why does he look so bothered about it? You don’t think…”
He turns to Sizhui, eyes wide. “You don’t think he went behind the matriarch’s back to do this, do you?”
“I… don’t know.” Sizhui admits, caught off guard. If A-niang did go behind the Matriarch’s back, will he get in trouble? He was shaky earlier, is he alright to be running around on his own, much less taking punishment!
A-die, why do you have to be drunk! Sizhui needs help!
Hanguang-jun starts shifting, and Sizhui gets a spike of relief before he realizes whats actually happening.
“No… no, stop…”
A-die is having a nightmare, and he’s drunk, and Sizhui doesn’t know what to do.
He abandons the window, rushing to Hanguang-jun’s bed, but hesitates before he touches him. A-niang had flinched away, when Sizhui randomly grabbed him! What if Sizhui only makes it worse? But A-die looks like he’s in pain…
“Why’d Qianbei have to leave now?” Jingyi whimpers. “How do we help?”
“I…”
“No… Wei-!”
Red light flares, and Hanguang-jun jolts awake, hands scrabbling for his throat and the thrice-cursed seal that sits on it.
“A-die!” Sizhui yelps, catching his shoulder, trying to shake him back to reality. “A-die, it’s alright, you’re safe, breathe.”
Well, he is breathing. Hanguang-jun is breathing very fast, in fact, eyes wild as he scans the room.
“Where…”
Ah. He’s looking for A-niang. Sizhui can’t help but wince; why did he have to leave right this moment? “A-niang had to step out for a bit, but he’ll be back soon, I promise. Come on, lay back down-”
“No.”
Sizhui is strong, but he isn’t strong enough to hold down the Second Jade of Lan. A-die ties his ribbon on with the speed of one who’s been doing it his whole life, and has his boots on in about the same time, and summons Bichen as he sweeps out of the room, leaving Sizhui and Jingyi dumbfounded in his wake.
“He’s…” Jingyi starts, shocked, the sound of a voice startling Sizhui out of his stupor. He scrambles to his feet, chasing after his A-die.
“Hey, wait!”
Sizhui can’t wait! He’s too busy chasing a clearly still drunk Hanguang-jun through the hallway, down the stairs, and into the main dining hall, where only Qing-guniang, Jin Ling, and Ouyang Zizhen still remain, watching bemusedly as Hanguang-jun marches past them.
“Uh… where’s he going?” Qing-guniang asks, leaning back to check the stairs. “And where’s Xiansheng?”
“Said he had a message, hopped out the window, Hanguang-jun woke up and he’s still drunk and he’s gone to find him and he wont listen to us!” Jingyi blurts, hands waving in the air. “Qing-guniang, what message is he getting this late at night?”
“How should I know? I haven’t received the message.” Qing-guniang says slowly, like she’s talking to a child.
“We should go after them.” Jin Ling declares, standing quickly. “What were you thinking, letting him go off alone? He was falling all over the place earlier!”
“Do you know how difficult it is to wrangle a drunk Hanguang-jun and a determined demonic?” Jingyi complains, as they rush out of the inn with three new juniors. “We thought the demonic was on our side!”
“Never trust a demonic!”
“Rude.” Qing-guniang huffs. “But fair when it comes to Xiansheng causing chaos. Never trust him to bring calm.”
Lesson well learned, Sizhui thinks as they chase a drunken Hanguang-jun into the woods.
How on earth had he ended up being the chaperone to his parents?!
Notes:
LWJ definitely had a heart attack when he saw WWX pale and prone and Sizhui crying his eyes out
A-qing is just doing her job, guys, no need for thanks ;)
Ya wow Sizhui I wonder why your TAILbone started to feel weird after your curse got compromised. Dang if only I knew of someone with a lot of tails who is constantly referred to as a Mother.
Lmao Angst
Jin Ling can handle NORMAL spice levels. Definitely would have been able to handle more had Jiang Yanli survived, but alas, his spice genes have not been trained to the forefront. Also, Baling is pretty close to Yunmeng so the Ouyang disciples are also handling it pretty well.
主持人 (Zhǔchí rén) means host! I think!
Anyways, tune in next monday for Drunk Shenanigans ft. Juniors.
Chapter 14: A Drunken Night Out
Notes:
I did, like, so much research for this and then promptly ignored it. Do I have the location of this inn literally pinned out on a map? Yes. Do I know if oranges grow there? No. Is this set in the right season for oranges? Honestly I doubt it. Am I going to change it? Lmao no.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The night is cool and pleasant, the gentle songs of bugs the only sound other than the slap of cloth soles on hard packed earth as the Juniors chase a drunken Hanguang-jun.
“A-die, please wait!”
Hanguang-jun is doing no such thing. He’s on a mission, and there’s nothing Sizhui, Jingyi, Jin Ling, Qing-guniang, or Ouyang Zizhen can do to stop him. Just follow behind and do damage control.
They only manage to catch up when A-die skids to a stop, drunken eyes latched onto two figures standing in the night. One is hidden in shadow, and the other, looking quite surprised to see them, is A-niang.
“Lan Zhan?” A-niang gasps, stepping in front of the shadowed messenger. “Have you already sobered up? What- hey!”
In a burst of motion, Hanguang-jun rushes past him, sleeves billowing, to strike out at the unknown person. Sizhui barely has the time to pray for their well-being when faced with Hanguang-jun’s strength before they stumble back into a patch of moonlight, revealing a pale face, dull eyes, and a body wrapped in chains.
Ah.
They’re dead.
“Lan Zhan!” A-niang scolds, hands on his hips. “What are you doing out? And why did you hit Wen Ning?”
Jin Ling stiffens, but Sizhui is already bowing. “I’m sorry, A-niang, he woke up and wanted to see you. We couldn’t stop him, he’s still drunk.”
“No.” Hanguang-jun denies, swaying on his feet and very clearly drunk.
“Ah, really?” A-niang asks, eyebrow raised. “So my A-yuan is lying to me then? Tell me, Lan Zhan, how many fingers am I holding up?”
He raised two fingers like a challenge. A-die regards him for a moment, golden eyes flicking from his hands to his face, and then back again.
Then, he steps forwards, dropping Bichen to the ground in favor of catching a-niang’s hand in both of his, clutching each of A-niangs fingers individually and staring into the Omega’s eyes with an expression of wonder.
“This is so romantic.” Ouyang Zizhen whispers, watching Sizhui’s parents like they’re a stage play. “Inhibitions fall away and he wishes to be close to his love…”
“He’s drunk.” Qing-guniang hisses, looking disbelievingly at Ouyang Zizhen.
She’s not the only one who doesn’t seem to understand what’s going on. The corpse tilts its head, the dull eyes looking at Sizhui. It seems almost intelligent.
“...A-yuan?”
It can speak- no, wait, it knows Sizhui’s name?
A-die’s wonderstruck expression shifts into a snarl, and he turns as if to attack the corpse once more.
“Ah- no!” A-niang yelps, grabbing at his arm and dragging him back. “Wen Ning, leave! Now!”
The corpse turns and flees, leaping over the treetops, chains and questions clattering behind it.
Sizhui knows the name Wen Ning. He hadn’t recognized it, at first, because the corpse had looked almost demure, but… Wen Ning. The base body behind the Matriarch’s greatest creation. Once a Wen Cultivator, taken and experimented on until he became a loyal dog. The Ghost General. Under her behest, he attacked alongside the Mother of Death at the Fox’s betrayal, gravely injuring Hanguang-jun and killing Jin Zixuan. The Jin Clan captured him, and claimed to have destroyed him, but it’s clear that was a lie.
He was the only known Sentient Corpse- until A-niang awoke Chifeng-zun. A-niang, who had mentioned seeing the Ghost General, who had said he would be happy to see Sizhui.
A-niang, who is now scolding Hanguang-jun.
“You know, I actually needed that information, Lan Zhan.” A-niang says, wagging a finger at him as he stares blankly back. “What do you have to say for yourself, hmm? Why are you even out here-”
A-niang gasps as Hangunag-jun grabs his wrist and tugs him closer, until their faces are mere cun apart. Ouyang Zizhen squeaks. Jingyi’s jaw drops. Hanguang-jun doesn’t even look at them.
“...you left.”
A-niang looks completely unprepared for this situation. “I… what?”
“You left.” Hanguang-jun repeats, grave and breathless. “You promised you would not, and then you did. You… you cannot leave again.”
He sounds almost desperate. Suddenly, Sizhui is reminded of something A-die said when he and A-niang first spoke… a broken promise, A-niang throwing himself away callously. The cave, that man, the curse, the raid. Four times A-niang had sacrificed himself.
The cave, the first time A-die had played A-niang the song. The curse, explains itself. The raid, obviously when A-niang had died. And now… “That man.”
Sizhui knows what that means now, doesn’t he?
It wasn’t just thirteen years that A-die was grieving, was it? It was eighteen years. Since the Jiang omegas were taken. Since A-niang sacrificed himself for the sects. Over and over, A-niang has been forced to leave, and A-die has been forced to watch.
In his drunkenness, A-die must have thought he had only dreamed A-niang returned.
“...Hanguang-jun.” A-niang says slowly, stepping out of A-die’s space. “Your boots are on the wrong foot, and your headband is all crooked. You’re still drunk. Drunk and fooling around with an Omega, in front of Junior Disciples! What would the Elders say?”
A-die screws his face up as much as he ever does, which is to say there is the slightest wrinkle between his eyebrows and a sneer on his lips, and says, quite moodily, “The Elders can stuff it.”
Jingyi gasps in utter dumbfounded glee.
The noise seems to catch Hanguang-jun’s attention, because he turns hazy golden eyes to look at them. Then, he starts stumbling forwards a few steps, raising his hand. For a moment, Sizhui (and Jingyi, if the way he shrinks back is any indication) thinks he’s going to punish Jingyi, but then Hanguang-jun’s hand comes down to…
lightly pat Jingyi’s head.
“...this is the greatest day of my life.” Jingyi whispers, amazed.
Hanguang-jun doesn’t stop there, however. He moves on down the line, patting an infinitely amused Ouyang Zizhen’s head, then a completely lost Qing-guniang’s, and tries to do the same to Jin Ling, but gets swatted away like Jin Ling is an angry cat.
Unoffended, Hanguang-jun turns to Sizhui, patting his head the same as all the others. Unlike how he had done with Jingyi, though, his hand strokes down to Sizhui’s temple, over the white band of his Lan forehead ribbon.
“Erzi.” He rumbles, a pleased upturn to his lips.
Son.
Sizhui ducks his head, taking a deep breath. Even like this, drunk and confused, A-die reaches out to him, reassures him. Makes sure Sizhui knows his place as a member of the Lan Clan, a member of his family.
“A-die.” Sizhui responds, to let him know he understands. He reaches up, carefully removing Hanguang-jun’s hand, and squeezes it between both of his. “Let’s go back, alright?”
Hanguang-jun hums and nods at Sizhui’s coaxing. “Back… back to Gusu.”
Ah, wait, some minor communication errors there.
“A-die, no-”
It’s too late, Hanguang-jun having already marched back to A-niang’s side. He grabs the omegas wrist, and starts dragging him down the path through the woods, Bichen flying back to his hands.
“Eh? Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, wrong way!” A-niang yelps, struggling against A-die’s hold, but he’s clearly getting nowhere as the juniors give chase.
Again.
“This is the weirdest night of my life.” Jin Ling grumbles, distortedly echoing Jingyi’s words from earlier. “What is even happening right now?”
“Bride kidnapping.” Qing-guniang says easily. “It’s an archaic practice, I had no idea Hanguang-jun would partake.”
“He is not kidnapping a bride!” Jingyi protests, offended on Hanguang-jun’s behalf.
“Well I’m certainly not being courted!” A-niang shouts back, finally managing to wiggle himself out of Hanguang-jun’s grip and backing out of reach warily. “Honestly! Lan Zhan, come on, you’re so unreasonable when you’re drunk! What- what is that?”
A-die blinks, holding out A-niang’s dizi. He reaches into his sleeve again, pulling out a rattle drum and a pressed peony, presenting them to A-niang.
“Eh…” A-niang syas slowly, looking between A-die’s hands in confusion. “Lan Zhan, you sure have interesting things in your sleeves…”
“Do you not like them?” A-die asks, sounding almost heartbroken. “I… will find better ones.”
He turns on his heel, walking down the path. He doesn’t try to drag A-niang, this time, but he’s still going the wrong direction, so they all still rush to follow the drunken Alpha anyways.
They’ve followed him to the very edge of this town, where there are small farms set up in the open area. In each one, cordoned off, there are fruit trees and mats of drying longans, jujubes, and some other nuts and herbs.
A-die slips into a random bamboo-stick gate without a care for whose property it is and heads straight for the fruit trees.
“Oh, ancestors.” Jingyi whispers, as they all pile through the gate. “What’s he doing…”
“Stealing fruit.” Qing-guniang states. “I thought I was the one who acted blind.”
“Lan Zhan, get out of there!” A-niang calls quietly, trying not to wake the owners. “Lan Zhan, come on, those aren’t yours! There's food at the inn if you’re hungry!”
“Not hungry.” A-die declares, returning to A-niang and dumping an armful of loquats and oranges into his arms. He scrambles to catch them all, but a good number of loquats go tumbling to the ground, leaving A-niang with a poorly balanced pile of fruit in his arms.
A-die regards the confused omega for a moment, seemingly looking for a reaction beyond befuddlement. When he doesn’t get one, he frowns and turns back to the farm.
“Need… more.”
“No you do not!” A-niang squeaks, pausing only to dump the fruit into Sizhui and Qing-guniang’s hands before trying to drag A-die out of a hedge of peppers, and then away from a tray of drying peanuts. “Come on, Lan Zhan, don’t… hey!”
They’ve all been calling in hushed tones, trying not to be caught by the owner of the farm, but it’s clear A-die doesn’t care about that one bit. He drops to his knees next to a cage with several chickens in it, reaching in to snatch one and causing an uproar of angry clucking.
“Lan Zhan!” A-niang cries, rushing to stop him. “Lan Zhan, don’t you know you’re stealing? What do you even need chickens for?”
“For you.” A-die says, holding the chicken out. Sizhui isn’t sure who’s more confused; A-niang, or the chicken.
“...why would I want a chicken?”
A-die looks at him, unblinkingly, before thrusting the squawking chicken into a-niang’s lap and reaching for another.
“Ah! No! That doesn’t mean I want another, Lan Zhan, no!”
Hanguang-jun doesn’t listen, pulling another chicken out of the cage and handing it to A-niang, who takes it just to keep the creature from escaping. Hanguang-jun looks at A-niang like he’s expecting judgment.
“Are they good?” he asks, almost begging. Sizhui has no idea what’s happening any more.
“I…”
A-niang slowly turns to look at Sizhui, as if to ask for a translation. He can only shake his head in confusion- how on earth can Sizhui decode a drunk Hanguang-jun? He’s never seen this before!
Apparently deciding that negative reactions haven’t gotten them anywhere, A-niang smiles awkwardly at A-die. “Uh… Yes, very good. You’ve done very good.”
Hanguang-jun looks pleased that A-niang likes his offerings, at the very least. “For you.” He nods, getting to his feet and holding out a hand to A-niang. The omega looks slightly confused as to how to take the hand while also holding two chickens, so Ouyang Zizhen runs over to take them.
“Wasn’t your foot hurt?” A-niang grumbles at him. Ouyang Zizhen blinks innocently, backing away with the chickens in hand as A-niang is dragged to the gate by a determined A-die.
A determined A-die who turns east again.
“Lan Zhan, wrong way!” A-niang complains, digging in his heels as the juniors hurry to catch up. (Ouyang Zizhen stuffs the chickens back into their cage first.)
“Back to Gusu.” A-die hums, clearly of a one track mind.
Sizhui wonders how they even got here. One second, there's a Ghost General, and the next, A-die was trying to drag A-niang to Gusu. They had joked about a stolen bride, and then he had offered… gifts.
Wait.
Sizhui quickly runs over what was given. A flute, a rattle drum, a pressed flower. When those didn’t get a proper reaction, two chickens, a hen and a rooster pair. Spices, nuts, fruits. Jingyi is still holding the oranges… Exactly eight. A-die had even gotten the number right!
Betrothal gifts.
A-die has been collecting betrothal gifts for A-niang, and then, now that he’s said he's happy with them, A-die is trying to bring him to Gusu.
“Oh, for the love of Dianxia- Lan Zhan, that’s it!” A-niang grumbles, twisting out of A-die’s grip. “You want me to come to Gusu so bad? You’re going to have to catch me first!”
With that, the omega turns on his heel and bolts back into town, leaping up onto the buildings with a taunting laugh as the alpha follows, leaving the juniors in the mess of a farm.
“Should… he be able to do that without a core?” Ouyang Zizhen asks, frowning after the two seniors.
“Don’t ask.” Qing-guniang says wisely, peeling a stolen loquat and popping it into her mouth. “It’s a long and complicated answer.”
Deciding to listen to her, Sizhui scoops up most of the fruit and stolen produce and piles it neatly beside the door to the home. He can clean up the mess, at the very least. Next, he pulls out a piece of paper from his sleeves, thanking himself for thinking of it, and writes a quick note to alleviate the confusion the owner of this farm will no doubt be feeling in the morning.
Apologies, fuqin was drunk and tried to collect betrothal gifts for muqin.
“Is that what was happening?” Jingyi gasps, reading over Sizhui’s shoulder as he places a couple of coins next to the note and stands to leave the farm. “That’s… that’s so romantic!”
“It really is…” Ouyang Zizhen whispers, looking after them with stars in his eyes. “They’re just… so devoted to each other. So in love, even after… everything. I can only dream about that.”
“All I know is that the foxes are getting such good gossip the next time I see one.” Qing-guniang announces, rolling her eyes and snagging another loquat before stepping through the gate and stomping back down the path to the inn. “I cannot believe this.”
“The shadow foxes?” Ouyang Zizhen checks, the only one who wasn’t there when A-niang had told the juniors about the differences. “They tell gossip?”
Qing-guniang nods, a devious grin on her face. “Oh yeah, all the time. We can’t exactly talk outside the seals, but within them? Every dirty secret, every scandal, every underhanded deal, one of us knows about it. We’re essentially an untapped well of knowledge. Information can get from Meishan to Pingzhou just like that.”
She snaps her fingers to emphasize her point, looking quite smug.
Jin Ling makes a face. “Well, since you know so much.” He sneers, stepping into Qing-guniang’s path and blocking her way, ignoring the offended look Ouyang Zizhen gives him. “What can you tell me about Qin Su?”
Oh, right. The Madam of the Jin sect is missing, taken by the Demonic sect, probably for ransom reasons after Lianfang-zun took the repaired Yin Iron Amulet.
Sizhui totally didn’t forget about that.
Qing-guniang tilts her head, face turning fully serious. “Not… a whole lot, I’ll be honest. Not just because of the seal, but because I don’t know everything. And what I do know, I doubt you’ll believe.”
That doesn’t make much sense. If it’s just a ransom, that's easy enough to explain, isn’t it? Why is it complicated then? Actually… if it is just a ransom, then why hasn’t there been any note?
The Matriarch… at that demonic shrine, the matriarch had said she needed her for something. Maybe there is more to it than just the Yin Iron Amulet, despite what Lianfang-zun believed.
Jin Ling’s face does something very complicated, fists clenching at his sides, before he closes his eyes and asks, “Is she alright?”
“Safe and of sound mind, as far as I know.” Qing-guniang tells him, something unidentifiable in her white eyes. “Tell her husband, okay?”
Jin Ling sets his jaw. “Shufu… will be happy to hear it.”
Qing-guniang smiles, stepping around Jin Ling and heading back towards the inn. “I wish I could tell you more. The things I could say… especially to you, of all people.”
The side eye she gives Jin Ling is clearly deliberate, goading. “You know. Motives for… things. That came out of nowhere.”
The air feels heavy.
Demonic disciple and Jin Sect Heir look at each other, a challenge and an offer. The history of their sects, so short and yet so bloody…
“You know something about my parent’s deaths.” Jin Ling guesses, voice laced with tightly controlled anger.
“I know more about that day than most people who were there.” Qing-guniang tells him. She’s speaking lightly, but there's a hardness to her gaze, and she’s tensed up in a way Sizhui recognizes. It’s the same way A-die holds himself when asked about A-niang, when the conversation leans too close to territory that the Demonic Seal has locked off.
“I know why it happened.” Qing-guniang continues. “I know that results speak for themselves.”
“The Matriarch earned nothing but death.” Jin Ling growls. “Jiujiu made sure of it.”
“And yet, even the actions of a madman have motives.”
They come to a stop beside the entrance of the inn, distant laughter catching Sizhui off guard. He turns to look, spotting two figures in swirling robes chasing each other across the rooftops, one in glimmering white and the other a dark shadow.
“When it comes to finding motives…” Qing-guniang hums, looking up to watch the dancing figures, white eyes catching the moonlight uncannily. “You can’t just ask who suffers. You also have to ask who benefits.”
She turns to look at them, a sad smile on her face as she traces a line across her throat. “And thirteen years ago, someone got exactly what they wanted.”
And, with that ominous statement, she climbs the steps to the inn and disappears inside.
Mind reeling, Sizhui tries to decode what she’s saying. She had said thirteen years ago so specifically. So much had happened thirteen years ago. A-niang’s death, the Matriarch’s death, Jin Ling’s parents death. Were they all connected? And what motive could she mean? Did it have something to do with Qin Su, the way Qing-guniang had moved the subject along?
Unknown motive, unknown motive… an unidentifiable someone. Mysteries are piling up faster than Sizhui can take them in.
Also, he’s hungry.
Ouyang Fengqiu is at their table, (Which still has food on it, though it’s probably cold) watching them walk inside with an obvious expression of relief.
“There you are, Shixiong!” He gasps, standing up as soon as he spots Ouyang Zizhen. “I left for two Ke and you vanished! What happened?”
“Hanguang-jun is still drunk, and he and Qianbei are flirting.” Jingyi answers in Ouyang Zizhen’s place, flopping down onto the bench with a sigh. “I didn’t sign up to be a chaperone.”
“I did.” Qing-guniang says conversationally, completely ignoring everything she had just dropped on them to shove a bite of rice into her mouth. “I’m ignoring my job though.”
Sizhui elects to ignore the implications of Qing-guniang being a chaperone sent by the demonic sect, and simply picks up a cooled bowl of rice and begins to eat. He takes some of the spicier food, because he’ll definitely be seeing more of it if A-niang sticks around.
When A-niang sticks around.
He sticks a piece of Ma po dou fu into his mouth to burn away the uncertainty. Trying to distract himself from his thoughts. It seems the others are trying to unravel Qing-guniang’s words, for even those not of the Lan clan eat in silence as they ponder them.
Or other pressing thoughts.
“You know, seeing Hanguang-jun like that has got me curious.” Jingyi hums, picking up one of the cups (of tea, thank ancestor Lan) and inspecting it. “Do you think it’s just because he’s never had alcohol before? Or is it because he just can’t handle it?”
“He just can’t handle it.” Jin Ling huffs. “I’ve had wine before, and I managed more than one measly cup.”
“Oh, I bet, young mistress.” Jingyi teases, ready to bully Jin Ling into normalcy as he sets the teacup down. “You probably fainted after two.”
“I did not!”
“Did too!”
“I did not!” Jin Ling insists, slamming a palm down on the table. “Your clan hasn’t had a whiff of alcohol in centuries, you’re probably just as terrible at it as he is!”
“Wanna bet? Come on, let’s go find that innkeeper-”
“Qianbei told him not to sell us alcohol.” Ouyang Zizhen reminds them, amused. “And besides, isn’t it against the rules for you, Lan Jingyi?”
“Rules schmules! Hanguang-jun is too drunk to see anything, anyways! I drink if I want, and even if he was standing right here, I’d still be saying that!”
Qing-guniang smirks. “Oh yeah? Go ahead, he’s right behind you.”
Jingyi almost falls off his seat from how fast he whips around to the entrance.
“Well, well, well.” A-niang singsongs, following A-die through the door, the moonlight slipping off their shoulders as they step under the roof. “Your poor seniors take a little break, and here you are, going against not only my instructions, but the tenants of your sect! For shame, Lan Jingyi, for shame.”
A-die’s forehead ribbon is gone.
“I mean, really.” A-niang smirks, leaning in. “When I snuck alcohol, I was subtle about it.”
No, not gone.
“Rule number one is don’t get caught- hey!”
The forehead ribbon is… it’s on A-niang.
It’s binding his wrists together, held up by Hanguang-jun like A-niang is a prized catch he had managed to snag on a hunt, and now he’s showing him off.
The Sacred Lan Forehead Ribbon. Which cannot be touched by anyone but family. Or removed in front of anyone but mates.
Is tied around a-niang’s wrists and used as a leash.
Sizhui might be joining Jingyi in drinking. A voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Shugong is screaming.
“So, uh.” A-niang laughs, tugging ineffectually at the ribbon. Oh, ancestors, how many knots did A-die put in that tie? “As you can see, I did not win our game of tag. I did get him back to the inn though! Yay me!”
Qing-guniang makes an affirmative noise, looking around at the shocked sect disciples. “Uh. Am I missing something?”
“His… his forehead ribbon.” Jingyi squeaks, eyes about to pop out of his head for how wide they are. “You can’t… our forehead ribbon is sacr- mmph!”
In a desperate attempt to save his parents some face, Sizhui shoves a piece of gong bao ji ding into Jingyi’s mouth. He’s probably only drawing more attention to… everything, but you know what, he can try!
Jingyi, stop looking so betrayed, die to spice in silence.
“You know, no matter how many times I ask, no one will ever tell me what the headband means.” A-niang comments over Jingyi’s hacking and coughing. “It’s always ‘you’ve been forced to rewrite rules and etiquette over a hundred times,’ and ‘how do you not know this by now,’ well, no one told me! Ow! Lan Zhan, that hurt!”
“Sorry.” A-die hums, apparently growing tired of showing A-niang off and is now dragging him to the stairs. A-niang follows behind, struggling against the knots for only a moment before sighing and giving up, needling the Alpha with questions instead.
“Do you still want your headband back?”
“Yes.”
“Then untie me!”
“No.”
They disappear up the steps as A-niang starts asking questions about A-die liking rabbits and breaking rules, and Sizhui drops his head to the table in much the same way A-die did earlier.
“They’re disgusting.” Jin Ling sneers. “Absolutely disgusting.”
A finger pokes Sizhui’s shoulder. “Do I even want to know what that headband means?” Qing-guniang asks. “Is it, like, your special capture rope that you use to drag unsuspecting omegas back to your sect, or…”
“No!” Sizhui yelps, sitting up in shock. That is so much worse than the truth! How could she think that? He has to fix this misconception immediately. “It… it represents restraint. No one but family can touch it, and you only take it off… with mates.”
Qing-guniang blinks at him. “It's a chastity device?”
“No.”
Sizhui is far too tired for this. After the day he’s had? He’s gone from being worried about his A-niang being in the matriarch’s clutches, to worried he’s going to be eaten by corpses, learned a bit more horrible information about his a-niang’s past, and his suffering, had at least two mental breakdowns, had to chase his drunk A-die through a farm, and now he’s being asked if a sacred item is a chastity device.
He really is going to join Jingyi in drinking.
“Well, either way.” Qing-guniang shrugs, “It looks like I’m getting my own room tonight. Good for them.”
Sizhui does NOT want to think about that, thank you very much.
“Um… Qianbei said he doesn’t know what the headband… means, right?” Ouyang Fengqiu asks quietly, staring up the steps to the second floor with a wince. “Should we… I mean, after… everything that we saw today, and how drunk Hanguang-jun is… Are we sure it’s okay to leave them alone?”
A pit opens in the bottom of Sizhui’s stomach, and he whips around to stare at the other disciple.
“Hanguang-jun would never!” Jingyi shouts, face red from a mixture of spice or anger. “How could you even-”
“I know that he wouldn’t!” Ouyang Fengqiu defends himself, hands raised in surrender. “But he’s clearly not in his right mind! And it’s not like Qianbei has a core, he can’t… defend himself. Not against Hanguang-jun. And so soon after revisiting those memories?”
“Hanguang-jun wasn’t exactly listening to that omega when he was trying to drag him to Gusu.” Jin Ling admits, also looking up the staircase warily.
This…
This is wrong.
A-die would never. He loves A-niang, had spoken of a time he pushed too hard with utmost shame, even now he hesitates when he’s unsure his touch would be welcome! Even with Sizhui, A-die had said he’d back away if Sizhui didn’t want him to be his A-die anymore. He knows and understands exactly what a-niang has gone through, seen the evidence of it in Sizhui himself and accepted it, A-die is too good to ever-
There's a loud crash and a yelp of pain from the room Hanguang-jun had dragged A-niang into.
Sizhui is on his feet and halfway up the stairs in barely a moment, and at the door in the next, pulling it open with the other juniors at his heels.
“A-niang?” He calls, unsure. “Are you all… right…”
The room is a mess.
Extra bedding, spare clothes and the bedroll from what must be both A-niang and A-die’s qiankun pouches are piled haphazardly on the bed. The drapes that once were used to partition the room have been pulled down, one of the poles used to support them lying suspiciously close to A-niang, who is rubbing at the top of his head in pain as A-die kneels before him, clearly having been trying to soothe him when Sizhui and the juniors barged in.
“A-yuan?” a-niang groans, clearly confused. “What… oh, I’m fine, Lan Zhan decided he needs the drapes too…”
A-die has collected every single soft item that could possibly be scrounged, Sizhui realizes.
“He’s nesting.” Sizhui says aloud, feeling very unfilial. A-die was trying to provide for his mate, even now. And sizhui had thought he was going to… to what, exactly?
“He’s an alpha.” Jin Ling states, but it sounds almost like a question.
“Omegas aren’t the only ones who nest!” Ouyang Zizhen tells him. “Alphas do it too, when they’re really stressed, or their mate is sick or gone, especially if they have kids!”
Sizhui does remember A-die making nests for him when he was very little. So, why now? A-niang is there…
Hanguang-jun gets to his feet, turning to face the juniors. Sizhui’s brain suddenly catches up to the situation.
A-die is clearly stressed and latching on to a long-lost mate. A-die is offering gifts and courting. A-die is nesting, being protective of his (now injured) mate, and Sizhui and the other juniors are just… here. Having a conversation. Intruding on a nesting pair. Trespassing on a confused and intoxicated Alphas territory.
What is wrong with them.
“Sorry for intruding!” Sizhui yelps, probably a touch too loud and high pitched. “We’ll just, um, go…”
He moves to close the door, but Hanguang-jun is there before he can shut it all the way, grabbing Sizhui’s arm.
Uh oh.
“Ah, Hanguang-jun?” Sizhui says, trying for a diplomatic smile and probably failing. “I was just leaving, I’m sorry for-”
“Stay.” A-die hums, pulling on Sizhui’s arm so hard he nearly topples over into the room.
What? No, intruding on a nest is completely inappropriate, rude, and against at least ten rules, Lan or otherwise! He’s not… he’s not a blood relative of the nester. He can’t just-
A foot plants itself in the small of Sizhui’s back and kicks him through the door, into A-die’s chest.
“Thank you for your sacrifice.” Qing-guniang says dryly, reaching out to close the door Sizhui hadn’t been able to. “You will not be forgotten.”
The door closes on the other Juniors shocked and amused faces, leaving Sizhui alone with a nesting pair consisting of a drunk Alpha and a bound Omega.
His parents.
A-die hums, pleased, picking Sizhui up first, then a laughing A-niang, and dumping them both on the inn’s bed. He glares at Sizhui’s shoes, and Sizhui, now resigned to his fate, takes them off.
Now that he’s here, he may as well do his best not to make his A-die more stressed.
“Trapped like a misbehaving child, eh, A-yuan?” A-niang teases, the both of them watching A-die move around the room, collecting the folding partitions as well as the drapes. “He could be doing worse things, honestly. I know I have. He hasn’t even set a fire yet.”
“Don’t give him ideas.” Sizhui says quickly. If A-die thinks A-niang is asking for a fire because he’s cold…
A-niang doesn’t seem to see the issue with potentially burning down an inn, just shaking his head in amusement as he watches A-die set up the partitions to completely block off the view of the bed. He moves as though to help set up the actual nest, but with his hands bound, really just ends up tipping over.
“Oh, for…” A-niang mutters, managing to right himself and biting at the knots in the headband around his wrists with his teeth.
Sizhui’s Inner Shugong starts screaming again.
“Here, A-niang.” He says quickly, taking the ends of the ribbon out of his mouth. “Let me, please.”
He starts to untie the knots, the longer he looks at it the more he can feel Inner Shugong’s blood pressure rising. How drunk is A-die?! Sizhui knows he’d never do this sober, but there are… so many knots. It’s almost impossible to undo. How had A-die even managed a tie of this quality? A-niang wouldn’t have just let him, would he?
…actually, Sizhui doesn’t want to know.
He’s down to the last knot when A-die starts growling, and he freezes.
“Oh, hush, you.” A-niang scolds, glaring down the bed at A-die. “If my hands are tied, how am I meant to hold you, hmm? I’m assuming that's what you want?”
“I will hold you.” A-die says petulantly. Like a child.
Sizhui isn’t sure if he should be untying the last knot or if he should still be here, hands in his lap, not moving. If A-die doesn’t want him touching it, he shouldn’t touch it, but if A-niang wants to be untied then it’s rude to just leave him like that!
“Yes, yes, Lan Zhan will cuddle me very well.” A-niang teases. “But you’d deny me holding my son? Hmm? Thirteen years, and he’s a grown boy, so far from the nest already. Can’t I hold him, Lan Zhan?”
“Mn.”
It’s not an answer, but A-die doesn’t give them another one, crawling over the sides of the sloppy, but still rather comfortable, nest. Then, still silent, he topples forwards, right on top of both Sizhui and A-niang, knocking them over backwards and pinning them to the nest with nothing but his weight.
“Lan Zhan!” A-niang complains, wiggling and getting pretty much nowhere.
“Hush.” A-die mumbles. “It is time to rest.”
And with that, he goes limp and loose with sleep, laying over Sizhui and A-niang like a very heavy drunk blanket. Or like a mama chicken on top of eggs, if the eggs are folded with their legs underneath them and elbows bent strangely.
Well, at least he’s not stealing anything anymore.
“...okay, this is sweet.” A-niang speaks after a moment of surprised silence. “But this ribbon is digging into my wrists. A-yaun, A-yuan, my circulation is being cut off-”
Sizhui gets his hands underneath A-die’s dead weight, managing to shift him just enough. It takes some shuffling, but they manage to extract themselves from beneath the alpha, who blessedly stays still and sleeping.
“Air!” A-niang exclaims (quietly) with glee, pulling the final knot apart with his teeth and smoothing some of the wrinkles out. He folds it, setting it aside before sliding back into the nest and gently stroking A-die’s hair away from his face. “Aiyah, poor Lan Zhan is down for the count. You can probably escape now, if…”
He looks at Sizhui, unsure. Not wanting to push too far, maybe- the same way he was with A-die when they first reunited. Sizhui finds that he hates it.
He wants A-niang to know that his affection is welcome, that he’d never deny it. But… Sizhui wonders if it will really be alright for him to stay. Both of them acknowledge him as their son, right?
A-die asked him to stay. A-niang wants him to stay. So Sizhui…
“I’ll stay.” Sizhui decides, immediately being rewarded by A-niang’s bright smile.
“Alright then, Little Radish.” lifting his hands and beckoning to Sizhui, A-niang offers, “Here, let me take your hair down. That can’t be comfortable to sleep in.”
It’s a simple ponytail, and honestly much neater than A-niang’s, but Sizhui turns his back and lets his A-niang scoot closer to take it down. His hands hesitate for a moment by Sizhui’s forehead ribbon, clearly not knowing the exact meaning, but that it is important.
Sizhui nods. Family can touch the ribbon. It’s carefully untied and set aside in the next moment, A-niang gently combing through Sizhui’s hair.
It feels… nice. The scent of spice from A-niang’s wrist glands, being combed into Sizhui’s hair so casually, a mark of belonging, acceptance, love and care. The simple act of grooming affects Sizhui so much… A-die is loving, and Sizhui has never held any complaints. He knows that affection is not as freely given in the Lan Sect as it is elsewhere. But, to have A-niang here, gentle and caring and present…
“When I was little, A-die would make me one.” Sizhui blurts. “A nest, I mean. He always said they never came out quite right.”
A-niang snorts, no longer pretending to sort out knots and simply running his fingers through Sizhui’s hair. “I don’t doubt it. My nests were… unique.”
Sizhui leans forwards, pulling himself free of a-niang’s hands, and turns around, lifting his own hands to A-niang’s head in a silent question. “How so?”
A-niang hums, turning to let Sizhui return the favor. “I was terrible at them.” he confesses as Sizhui unties his hair ribbon- blood red. “I was never the best omega- scatterbrained and messy. And, with the resources in the Burial Mounds… well, we might as well have made nests with branches like birds, rather than anything soft.”
His A-niang had suffered so much, raised him for three years in a place where he couldn’t even nest properly…
Sizhui carefully undoes a knot in A-niang’s hair. “I can’t imagine.”
They fall into comfortable silence, Sizhui trying to make his hair grooming as comforting as A-niang’s had been. He’s still unpresented, so he doesn’t yet have his own personal scent to comb in. Honestly, he can’t smell past the basics of the scents- some presented can have whole conversations with their eyes closed and not saying a single word, relying entirely on pheromones and context.
There’s more knots in A-niang’s hair than his own, so Sizhui takes a bit more time untangling it. In order to keep it tame, he braids it, then ties it with a-niang’s hair ribbon.
It's late, and no longer having an excuse to stay up, Sizhui moves to lay down beside A-die. A-niang does the same on the Alpha’s other side, the three of them curled together in a ramshackle nest that's a slight bit too small, but it’s warm, and comfortable, and full. No longer is there an obvious open space for someone they thought would never return. Sandalwood, chili spice, and ginger curl together into something whole.
Still, watching A-niang lazily twirl a lock of A-die’s hair around his fingers, sour fear grows in Sizhui’s chest. Even surrounded by the happy, peaceful scent of family…
He can’t help but wonder about his blood fuqin again.
What had his scent been? He’s heard stories of omegas being off put by things that remind them of cruel alphas. A type of incense, in one case, or fruit in another.
But… children take on the scents of their parents, sometimes. Would Sizhui, when he presented, smell like his blood parent? Would he one day lose control of his scent, turn to A-niang, and see a face of fear? Would this easy closeness become a trap of cruel memories and what was born of them?
Sizhui doesn’t think he’d be able to bear it. If he grew and changed and became more similar to the man who had done that to A-niang… especially if he presents Alpha…
“A-yuan.” A-niang’s voice comes softly, and Sizhui lifts his gaze to meet unreadable silver eyes across A-die’s torso.
“A-yuan is thinking bad thoughts.” A-niang accuses. “It’s rude to think bad thoughts in a cuddle pile.”
“Sorry, A-niang.” Sizhui whispers, not asking how he knows. “I was just… thinking. About the future.”
“What good is it to think right now, hmm? Tired minds are no good. You’ve thought all day, and now it needs a rest. Especially if you aren’t used to staying up late.” A-niang informs him cheekily. “Listen. Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. But today is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present.”
Sizhui takes a deep breath.
A-niang is right. Sizhui can’t change the memories he saw, what happened to his A-niang. He can’t see what's ahead until he’s there, and can’t torture himself with things that may or may not come to pass. Right here, right now… he has his family. An A-die who will hold Sizhui close and raise him, despite not being of his blood. An A-niang who takes joy in seeing him, and wants to teach him, despite how Sizhui was created. A family that is alive. A family that loves each other. A family that loves him.
“You liked that, huh?” A-niang chuckles, breaking Sizhui out of his introspection. “A lovely old turtle spirit told me that one. He grew peaches. Those were some tasty peaches.”
Sizhui can’t help but laugh. “I thought we were meant to be in the present, and not the past.”
Gasping in mock offense, A-niang reaches over to pinch Sizhui’s cheek. “Hush, you unfilial child, take my wisdom at face value and deal with deeper meanings at a more reasonable hour.”
“Yes, a-niang, this unfilial son understands.”
Notes:
Drunkji, seeing WWX with another man right after his son started questioning their family bond: “I need to make this relationship official, stat.”
There is a criminal lack of Wen Ning in this fic im sorry
Oranges were one of the only consistent things I found (that LWJ could conceivably get) that are obvious betrothal gifts. If anyone has suggestions for obvious things he might find on a farm in the Shaanxi/Hubei region i'm all ears.
Also you can bet that farmer had a good laugh when he found Sizhui’s note lmao can you imagine
WWX tapped into divine energy for the roof chase. It’s not a good idea bc he’s unstable, but how else do you control a drunk Hanguang-jun?
Please consider the implications behind A-qing making JL tell JGY that his wife is “Safe, and of sound mind.”
“My nests were unique” ya cause he's a fox and he dens.
Oogway is canon bc I said so. He and WWX are great friends.
(Also Sizhui’s scent ends up being ginger/iron, bc he ate a lot to help balance his yin/yang, and he takes after his momma who smells spicy. They both smell like their fave snack.)
Chapter 15: Who’s scarier, Bamboo, Butterfly, or assassins?
Notes:
This chapter contains random things i threw in there that I don’t want to remove. Cheese.
(Also to explain chapter title A-qing’s name means bamboo)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The roosters that A-die assaulted get their revenge by crowing an extremely loud wake up call.
Normally, Sizhui and Hanguang-jun, rule-abiding Lans, would be up much earlier. But, well, they both had a long day. All the revelations for Sizhui, and a first experience with alcohol for A-die. So Sizhui only feels a little guilty as he opens his eyes to a sun much higher in the sky than he usually wakes to.
Sizhui groans, sitting up and stretching his arms. The window lattice that A-niang had jumped through last night had never been closed, so the fresh morning air swirls unimpeded into the room, picking up the scents of chili oil, ginger, and sandalwood. Sizhui nearly melts right back down into the nest, closing his eyes and inhaling the foreign yet familiar scent of family.
A small shocked noise comes from behind him.
Sizhui quickly turns around, looking for the issue, only to smile to himself. A-die, newly awake but apparently still thinking he’s dreaming, is looking with wide eyes at the omega cuddled into his side, hair wild despite the braid Sizhui had done and face still soft with sleep.
“Good morning, A-die.” Sizhui greets, trying to cover up his amused snicker at how completely out of his depth Hanguang-jun looks. “Did you sleep well?”
A-die glances at him, then down at the hurriedly made nest, and then out at the mess the inn room has become.
“What… happened?” A-die asks slowly. Ah. Poor A-die must be completely lost. He’s simultaneously trying to press closer to A-niang and also peel him away so he can speak to Sizhui properly. It isn’t working.
“What do you remember?”
There's a moment of silence before Sizhui gets his answer, A-die racking his brain for the memories that alcohol has turned fuzzy and hard to catch. He presses a hand over his face, sighing.
“Being a fool.”
Sizhui can’t resist. “Ah. So the whole night then.”
A-die drops his hand and gives Sizhui a Look. He probably deserves it, so he takes pity on his A-die and tells him a summary.
“You drank wine from A-niang’s cup, and passed out immediately. We brought you upstairs. You… didn’t want to let A-niang out of your sight, made a nest, and in the end I got dragged in as well.” Sizhui explains, editing out… most of the night, in all honesty.
A-die doesn’t need to know about tying up A-niang with the forehead ribbon. Or the Ghost General. Or patting them all on the head. Or the betrothal gifts, stealing from a farm, terrorizing chickens, trying to drag A-niang to Gusu…
From the look on A-die’s face he knows that Sizhui is hiding something, but A-niang shifts in his sleep before he can call Sizhui out on it.
“Lan Zhan?” A-niang slurs, blearily looking up at him. He makes a face, spitting out a mouthful of flyaway hair. “Whass goin on- oh hello A-yuan, g’mornin…”
“Good morning A-niang.” Sizhui greets. “You know, I could have sworn we just combed your hair out.”
“‘S a free spirit.” A-niang grumbles, burying his face back into A-die’s chest. “Stop moving. Be comfy. Too early to be up.”
“It… it’s after five.” A-die says, clearly trying to regain control of the situation.
A-niang huffs, looking up at him and making his eyes go watery. “But Alpha, you kept me up soooo late last night…”
Pardon?
All the blood in A-die’s face rushes to his ears, paling and flushing at the same time as he pulls himself away from A-niang.
“Y-you… Shameless!”
Teasing A-die is apparently more enticing than sleeping, because A-niang just dials up the bullied and shocked omega eyes. “Shameless? Says the one who had us on a wild chase all across town all night! Lan Zhan, you went everywhere! Up on the roofs, into the woods, in that farm… You wouldn’t listen to this poor omega at all!”
“He doesn’t remember anything.” Sizhui informs A-niang quietly, as A-dies color comes back to his skin, though his ears are still as red as the chili pepper he had foolishly eaten last night. As Hanguang-jun closes his eyes to take a steadying breath, he misses the mischievous smirk on A-niang’s face.
“Oh? Lan Zhan, what did you think I meant?” A-niang asks, far too innocently. “Don’t tell me… Lan Zhan! Lan Er-gege, our son is right there! He was in the same bed!”
A-die doesn’t look at either of them, stiffly climbing out of the nest and fetching his forehead ribbon, looking strangely at the wrinkles that didn’t manage to be smoothed out.
“You really thought such dirty things? Why, I never!” A-niang continues, face alight with glee, completely ignoring the way he had set A-die up for the misconception. “Ah, to think, the Second Jade of Lan has such a filthy mind, you’d never guess from his noble face, or those pure white robes. A-yuan, can you believe it?”
“Please don’t bring me into this.”
“Of course, my darling radish is too young for these things, I apologize on behalf of your perverted A-die.” A-niang nods seriously.
“You-” Sizhui’s “Perverted A-die” looks like he’s about to die from embarrassment, fists clenched in his robes and ears almost as red as A-niang’s ribbon.
“...I apologize.” he says, haltingly. “For… whatever I did.”
A-niang seems to take some pity on him, shaking his head and smiling softly. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you didn’t do anything wrong. I can guarantee I've done worse on a drunken escapade. You’re just way too much fun to tease, Lan er-gege.”
Hanguang-jun’s tortured expression becomes softer, watching A-niang with… familiarity? Relief? Recognition? They gaze at each other with such fondness, choking and present, not seeming to communicate, but simply to look, to see the other. Lost in their own world, in each others eyes.
Warmth blooms in Sizhui’s chest. This is his family. Broken, and put together again, loving despite everything.
Even though he does kind of wish they’d get some privacy for this.
Actually… since they found A-niang, had they had any time alone? To talk?
When they had first reunited, Jingyi had suggested they take a moment to talk alone. But because their seals were split they hadn't done that. Sizhui had the compass, so they couldn’t speak through that. At the river, A-niang had focused on Sizhui. Then it was fighting Chifeng-zun, and carrying A-niang to the inn…
Were the few moments of tidying themselves up after a nighthunt, and the chase from last night the only times that Sizhui’s parents had had alone after thirteen years of missing each other?
Well. Sizhui couldn’t have that.
“A-die, A-niang, if I may excuse myself?” Sizhui asks, bowing politely. “The other disciples might need my help, and all of my things are in the other room.”
“Ah- right!” A-niang yelps, snapping out of his trance and immediately turning his teasing on Sizhui. “Aiyah, our little Radish is leaving the nest, leaving his poor parents behind…”
Sizhui smiles benevolently, bowing to his A-niang. “I merely thought you two would enjoy some time alone. Hanguang-jun, I’ll take my leave.”
And with that, Sizhui leaves the room before A-niang can do anything more than squawk in surprise.
Smiling to himself, Sizhui walks down the hallway, looking over the banister at the central eating area for a moment. It looks like the other disciples, including Jingyi and Qing-guniang, are already down there, ordering food.
Good.
Sizhui had been sharing a room with Jingyi, so he quickly goes in there to… try and smell less like a smothered pup.
“You smell like a smothered pup.” Jingyi greets him when he comes down to join the others.
“Really.” Sizhui says dryly. “I was unaware.”
Jingyi grins at him, making room on the bench and offering a set of dishes.
The innkeeper must have noticed their different tastes, because there are wontons in chili oil next to a much tamer batch of shaomei. There's also an array of fruit, of the same sort that A-die had tried to steal last night, and a few tea eggs. Ouyang Zizhen has one in his hands, carefully peeling away the shell and placing it in Qing-guniangs bowl.
“I see you survived after I sacrificed you to the restless spirits.” Qing-guniang observes, ignoring the bemused Ouyang disciples watching their besotted heir. “Good for you. How was getting cuddled to death?”
“Rather nice, actually.” Sizhui admits. “I’ve never… had that, before. They look really happy.”
“They love each other!” Ouyang Zizhen gushes, hand over his heart. “The way they looked at each other, the way Hanguang-jun carried him, the way Qianbei took care of Hanguang-jun when he was out of it… it's like a romance novel!”
“They’re so careful with each other, too…” Jingyi agrees. “And, I get why, I really do, but also kiss! Please? Hanguang-jun’s song- oh! Did you know he never even told Qianbei it was a love song?!”
Tang Zhanchi fumbles a wonton. “Really? But… that's such a famous story! Everyone knows that! Why wouldn’t Hanguang-jun tell him?”
“Because they’re oblivious?” Jingyi suggests, leaning on the table with his chin in his hand. “I mean… I know Hanguang-jun wants to be careful, after everything that happened to Qianbei…”
The table falls silent, thinking over what they had seen. Both in and outside of memories. How Hanguang-jun was so hesitant and yet caring, only doing what A-niang accepted or what was needed.
“To think… A Jiang Tribute omega, who then ended up with the Matriarch.” Lan Shiling shakes her head in disbelief, looking first at Sizhui and then at Jingyi, when she notices the former is eating. “Where did you even find him?”
“The nighthunt.” Jingyi answers her. “The one we got sent out for in the first place. Qianbei was trying to help a dismembered fierce corpse piece itself back together and find its killer-”
Sizhui coughs lightly, shooting Jingyi a look.
“Uh… I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to tell you.” Jingyi admits, quieter now. “Zewu-jun kicked us off the case and sent us to help you, said he and Lianfang-zun were more suited.”
The Lan disciples glance at each other, duly impressed. For a case to have caught the Chief Cultivator and Zewu-jun’s attention, it must be extraordinarily important, especially with the Matriarch being back. Sizhui wonders if those faces would turn to horror if they learn it’s about Chifeng-zun.
“Where’s the corpse?” Ouyang Fengqiu asks, looking between the three juniors who were there.
“Da-ge is back with Shixiong and Daozhang and Daozhang’s mate.” Qing-guniang answers. “They’re watching him. He’s a big, massive Alpha, and that wasn’t going to go over well where Xiansheng needed to be, so he asked me to help stabilize his curse instead.”
Shixiong and Daozhang? Qing-guniang had mentioned a Daozhang before. Shixiong must mean Mo Xuanyu, then.
Shixiong, Daozhang, Mu’ou dashi, Xiansheng- so far, A-niang seems to be the only one who uses real names in the demonic sect. It’s all nicknames and terms of respect.
“There's no need to push yourself if you can’t answer…” Lan Shiling says slowly, watching Qing-guniang warily. “But… what is it like being in the demonic sect?”
Qing-guniang blinks at her, then shrugs. “I don’t really know the difference from your sects. I’ve never been in any other. But… hide the seal and mask, and I’m just another Rogue Cultivator.”
“But you cultivate demonically.” one of the Ouyang Disciples points out.
“Eh, not really.” Qing-guniang shrugs again, reaching up to rub at her neck. “Not everyone uses it, even within the sect. Very few of us are pure demonic cultivators. I’m learning both Spiritual and Demonic Cultivation. And I’m not really very good at either.”
Sizhui blinks. Isn’t demonic cultivation the reason why people join the sect? The lure of power and mystery? Why would people be in the Demonic Sect and then not learn their cultivation? Perhaps… it’s too difficult, and they gave up, but couldn’t leave?
“It must be difficult to learn such different tracks at once.” Lan Shiling muses, eyes sharp. She’s gathering information, isn’t she?
“You’d actually be surprised at how much they overlap.” Qing-guniang corrects, reaching out to nab a wonton. “Energy is energy. Demonic cultivation is just… a team effort.”
A team of ghosts? The spirits that they use?
Sizhui thinks back to the Wen Camp. A-niang hadn’t absorbed the spirits- he had absorbed the energy. Using their rage to connect to his, letting them go free and carrying their burdens. Is that really how Demonic Cultivators gain all their power? Sizhui wonders how they keep themselves sane, with all that resentment boiling inside.
Of course, the Matriarch must have a trick. A way to control it. That’s why she has succeeded where everyone else has failed.
“So… why did you join?” Ouyang Zizhen asks, watching Qing-quniang for her response. “You… aren’t what I’d expect from a Demonic Cultivator.”
“And how many of us have you had a full conversation with?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him, then sweeping her gaze judgmentally over the entire table. No one answers, just shifting uncomfortably in their seats.
With a snort, Qing-guniang answers. “I was about to die. I prayed to the gods. Muqin answered.”
That’s not exactly a very detailed response, but Sizhui supposes that with the Seal, they wont be getting much else.
“You really call her Muqin?” one of the Ouyang Disciples whose name Sizhui doesn’t know asks. “Does she make you?”
Qing-guniang shrugs again. “It’s her title. Besides, only Muqin I’ve ever known. Mine chucked me out when she saw my eyes.”
“Your eyes are nice!” Ouyang Zizhen protests, face flushing red when Qing-guniang blinks at him. “I… I mean…”
“Wait, how can you know her as a parent?” Jingyi asks, bringing the attention back to the conversation, to Ouyang Zizhen’s obvious relief. “She only just came back, didn’t she?”
“Oh, she comes to us in dreams.” Qing-guniang tells him. “She is a God, after all.”
“Like… you can see her? And talk to her? All of you?” Jingyi checks, eyes wide. “Dreams sent by the Gods are rare…”
“Not from Muqin. All of us have them, at least once.” Qing-guniang tells them. “I’ve seen her… four times? In a dream?”
“Have you ever seen the Matriarch’s face?” Jingyi asks Qing-guniang excitedly. She raises her eyebrows at him, slurping a wonton into her mouth.
“MmYeah.”
It’s almost funny how a single word, spoken muffled through a Wonton-filled mouth, can freeze an entire table of disciples.
“Wait, really?!” Jingyi yelps, leaning over the table with wide eyes. “I was just joking! What does she look like? Is she an ugly monster? Or… or have a scar?”
“Or have slit eyes like a snake?” Tang Zhanchi asks, equally fascinated.
“Why would a Huli Jing have slit eyes like a snake?” Lan Shiling asks, clearly judging her.
“Foxes have slit eyes!”
“Then say slit eyes like a fox!”
A tall white figure appears at the corner of Sizhui’s vision, and he leans back slightly to watch his A-die walk down the stairs towards them, looking entirely put together and not at all like he was being ruthlessly bullied by an Omega only a bit prior.
“Muqin looks pretty normal, actually.” Qing-guniang muses, tapping at her chin. “Pretty. Her eyes are a little too bright, but other than that she could be anyone.”
Jingyi and the others look incredibly disappointed by this information. “Ah… I thought it would be something scary.” Jingyi sighs, leaning back on his hands. “Why hide your face if there's nothing to hide?”
“Isn’t this worse, though?” Qing-guniang muses. “You know…. She can hide her ears and tail. She can take off the mask, and disappear.”
Hou Rouxing’s eyes go wide.
Qing-guniang leans in, smirking at the pale faces of the disciples who understand the implications as she whispers, “She could be anyone, anywhere… and besides her Disciples? No one would ever even know a thing.”
Qing-guniang looks up, nodding to A-die as he approaches the table. “Oh, good morning Hanguang-jun!”
The others jump in surprise, quickly turning to bow their heads and greet A-die, “Good Morning, Hanguang-jun.”
He nods in reply.
“I was just telling them about how they might have spoken to the Matriarch, and thought she was just some random person because she can hide her tails!” Qing-guniang explains, an odd twinkle of mirth in her eyes. “Isn’t that scary?”
A-die blinks at her, something Sizhui can’t interpret in his gaze. “...mn. Terrifying.”
Qing-guniang nods at him as though they are wise masters trading secret wisdoms in turns of phrase that no one else can understand. “Well. How was your night? Mine was VERY entertaining. I really do hope you won't forget about that proposal and dishonor Xiansheng.”
A-die freezes.
The disciples that weren’t there for the farm adventure look between them in confusion, trying to decipher what has Hanguang-jun so frozen up from his unmoving body language alone. It wont work, because even A-die doesn’t know.
“Qing-guniang.” Sizhui says carefully, glancing up at A-die before going back to the Demonic. “Ah… A-die doesn’t remember last night.”
“At all?” Qing-guniang gasps dramatically, and Sizhui gets the distinct impression that he’s just given the girl exactly what she wanted. “Well, then, I’d be ever so happy to remind him! You see, last night, Xiansheng had to take a message, and Hanguang-jun simply couldn’t wait for him, so he went after Xiansheng into the woods.”
“It was romantic!” Ouyang Zizhen interjects, starry-eyed. “He started bringing Qianbei gifts!”
“He started stealing gifts.” Qing-gunaing corrects, trying to sound stern and ending up gleeful. “But not just any gifts, oh no… betrothal gifts. Spices, fruits, nuts, some very confused chickens…”
A-die pales further with each item Qing-guniang lists, eyes wide and honestly looking like he’s being driven to drink again.
Sizhui strongly recommends against it.
“Also, there was this thing with the rib-”
“Qing-guniang!” Sizhui yelps, setting his bowl down with a clunk before she can say something heavily incriminating. The other Lan Disciples weren’t there! They don’t need to know about that! “Is there a need to do this?”
“A need?” Qing-guniang hums, apparently very amused. Is it a demonic thing to laugh at others' humiliation? “Well, beyond it being hilarious, and the fact that he really should know how he acts in case this happens again… Simply put, I don’t think it was a very good proposal.”
Her expression, full of mirth not even a moment ago, turns as sharp as an overprotective mother bargaining for her child’s bride price.
“Hanguang-jun, I’m sure you understand better than anyone just how important Xiansheng is, to a good many people.” Qing-guniang folds her hands together primly, taking charge of the entire table of dumbstruck disciples with ease. Is she really… giving Hanguang-jun a Talking-To!?
Hanguang-jun, again, looks like he’s completely lost hold of the situation, and Sizhui really can’t blame him. Still, he responds to Qing-guniang evenly. “I am aware.”
“Good.” Qing-guniang smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, which she keeps locked on A-die as her pale white gaze bleeds into blood red. “Then you understand that if you do propose, you’ll do it properly? Xiansheng might not have noticed exactly what was going on, but I did. Do better next time. I may not be a match for Hanguang-jun, but if you hurt him, you will not be the scariest Alpha I’ve kicked in the balls.”
Hou Rouxing drops a bowl of rice. The other disciples drop their jaws. Ouyang Zizhen looks positively enchanted.
“Do I want to know who is?” A-die asks, like he’s searching desperately for any frame of reference in this scenario.
Qing-guniang’s grin turns almost predatory. “Xue Yang, while he tried to carve my eyes out.”
What.
What is happening right now.
Sizhui is all for A-niang being protected, but… but he never thought he’d see this, ever, in his life. Qing-guniang can’t be much older than Sizhui or the others- she’s also unpresented, so she’s probably not past eighteen, and shorter than almost the entire group. And yet, she’s staring up at Hanguang-jun, bold as anything! Threatening to- to kick him…
A-die bows, small but respectful. “Understood, Disciple of the Shaded Path. I apologize for my actions last night and for the insult I paid to your Seniors honor. I swear to do better by him in the future.”
Oh, and A-die is just accepting this. Okay. Go with the flow. Sizhui can do that.
“Um… where is A-niang?” He asks, because with him here this might die down a little. A few disciples shoot him grateful looks.
“I… tidied the room, and left him to change.” A-die says, glancing back at the stairs. “He should be down shortly.”
“Isn’t that him?” Ouyang Fengqiu asks, pointing at one of the tables in the corner.
Sizhui shifts in his seat to see. Had they been distracted by Qing-guniangs… conversation with Hanguang-jun? They must have been, because that is A-niang, red ribbon tied into his ponytail, sitting in a hidden corner of the inn with… someone?
A few of the disciples stand up to get a better look at the person, including Jingyi and Qing-guniang. The person isn’t someone Sizhui recognizes. They’re older and taller than all of the disciples, and wearing red, unlike the yellows, whites, blues, and greens of the disciples in their current group. Silver glints at their wrists, ears, and neck as they lounge across from A-niang.
Qing-guniang chokes on her own breath, stumbling backwards. Ouyang Zizhen is at her side in a heartbeat, one hand supporting her elbow and the other on his sword.
“Are you alright?” He asks, carefully putting himself between her and the stranger. “Who is that?”
Jin Ling scoffs, sneering at the demonic disciple. “Weren’t you just talking big?”
“Against a human.” Qing-guniang hisses, eyes wide and almost endlessly white. “I don’t know what the fuck that thing is- but it’s anything but human.”
Thing?
Sizhui looks back at the person. They… look human enough. He can’t quite tell their gender from here, slight and nice looking, though their presence is sharp. Dangerous.
Anything inhuman that can cultivate a human form so well, is dangerous. Extraordinarily so. Tricksters, demons, ancient ghosts that have separated from their bodies and formed new ones.
So, why in the Heavens is A-niang speaking to one? If he has Qing-guniang’s abilities, he must also be able to see whatever this person is!
Seemingly of the same mind, A-die frowns and begins to approach the duo, Sizhui, Jingyi, and the other disciples scrambling to follow. The others might not have Sizhui’s relationship, but they like their new Qianbei!
As they get closer, the person leans back, smiling dangerously at the approaching group. “Ah, here they come.” they say, in a deep, smooth voice. A man, then.
“A-yuan! Lan Zhan! Assorted ducklings.” A-niang greets, looking a bit sheepish. “Ah… sorry about this, he just kind of showed up…”
The man wiggles his fingers in some approximation of a wave, looking the group over and pausing on A-die, looking him up and down in poorly disguised contempt. “I assume the tall one is the reason you look so… refreshed, Xiao Huli?”
A-niang throws a chopstick at him.
The man just chuckles, catching the chopstick in his hand before leaning back and doing… something. Sizhui may not be presented, his nose not quite strong enough to sense the full effects of what must be happening, but he can smell stone dust and something flowery past A-die’s sandalwood.
Ah. An Alpha. An Alpha that has decided to mess with A-die. Sizhui bristles, already on edge. Who is this man, to act possessive over A-niang? He’s acting like a family member warning off suitors!
A-niang throws another chopstick at the stranger. “Quit messing around. Take a look at it, would you?”
Humming in acquiescence, the strange Alpha turns his back on A-die without a care in the world, and reaches for the pouches A-niang has set on the table. One of them, Sizhui recognizes- that’s the Spirit-trapping bag that A-niang’s Shimei’s spirit is in, isn’t it? Why is he giving it to this person?
Who are they?
The stranger picks up the second pouch, pulling out the Wen brand. It’s in its “Command” state- separated from the branding handle that made it hot, now acting as a generals tally. Whoever holds it, gives the orders.
He brandishes it at A-niang and says, “Be silent.”
Hanguang-jun has the man’s wrist in his grip in the next moment, growling his rage. All the disciples, including Sizhui, have their hands on their swords, ready to tear the stranger to shreds, but A-niang just laughs.
“Not my brand, Hudie-ge, and even the bastards that did have it never managed to shut me up completely.”
“Ah, yes. Your talk may be useless now, but you do still talk.” the man (Hudie-ge? That doesn’t sound like a proper name. Who would name their child butterfly?) sighs, longsuffering. “And here I thought I’d finally get some peace and quiet…”
He moves as though to pick up the pouches, but with A-die still holding his wrist, he doesn’t get far. The man looks up at him, smiling tightly. “Kindly get your hands off of me?”
“Who are you.” A-die growls, sounding almost more like a threat than a question.
“He’s an ass.” A-niang says helpfully. “An ass who has what he came for, so he can leave now, alright Lan Zhan?”
“Ah- not all that I came for.” The Alpha huffs, twisting his wrist and pulling it out of A-die’s grip. A-die looks surprised- had he been using his full strength? How had… “Xiao Huli, you think I didn’t notice your little… ah, expenditure, last night?”
Expenditure?
Sizhui quickly racks his brain, trying to figure out exactly what this man is talking about. Payment? A-niang hadn’t exactly paid for anything.
A-niang puts on his most innocent expression. “Hudie-ge, I have no idea what you mean.”
“Oh, truly?” The alpha mocks, turning to scan through the crowd of disciples. “You. Girl with the Gods-Granted core. Tell me he didn’t use that form of energy.”
Gods-Granted core?
Qing-guaning, who had crept up behind them, takes a startled step back. “How… how did you know about that?” She whispers, a few of the disciples turning to stare at her. Gods-Granted cores… people who had begun cultivating late, but were granted a core by the Gods because they had pleased them, often through an act of bravery.
Did she really have one?
“Human cultivated and god cultivated have a different feel.” the strange alpha informs them. “Also, it’s rare to see one of you. Rumors have spread among our kind like wildfire. So, God's favored, did this idiot use up part of the power that keeps him alive, when he doesn’t have any to spare with that OTHER idiot running around and destroying things?”
The power that keeps him ALIVE?
It's true that Sizhui doesn’t truly understand how his A-niang is the way that he is. A fatal wound through a still-beating heart, demonic cultivation binding his resentment to others who have suffered by the same hands, the curse that seems to bind and free him in equal measure. A living being who died thirteen years before.
But… What is this extra power? Is that what Qing-guniang had mentioned when A-niang led A-die on a chase? Is that why A-niang is so different?
“Fine, I did it.” A-niang sighs, tugging at his wrist guards. “There’s no need to bully my student. It was just a bit of fun.”
The strange Alpha scoffs, unhooking his own silver metal wrist guards. “Gege was worried sick, you brat.” He hisses, pressing the scent glands of their wrists together. “I ought to drag you back to the manor myself.”
Are they… sharing Spiritual Energy? This…
Qing-guaning had said that it was a long and complicated answer. She had also said this man wasn’t human. So then… the “Power” isn’t fully human. Something that this Alpha and whoever “gege” is have been helping A-niang with.
“Excuse me.” Sizhui greets, finally getting his bearings and stepping forwards to introduce himself. “This one is Lan Sizhui of Gusu Lan. My A-niang is sitting across from you, and this is my A-die, Hanguang-jun. May I ask who you are?”
He was hoping for any context to whoever this person is, but the Alpha just looks him up and down with a judging expression.
“...huh. You actually aren’t dead.” the Alpha sounds almost like he’s congratulating Sizhui on surpassing expectations. “That complicates things.”
Sizhui blinks. Him?
“Hudie-ge.” A-niang says sharply, tugging his wrist away.
The Alpha rolls his eyes, standing up and fixing his bracer. “I’m just saying you’re on a time limit, Xiao Huli. Those ribbons won't last forever.”
A-niang glares at him, rolling his wrist as though to regain feeling. “I am aware of the limits.”
“Then stop testing them.” The strange alpha growls, before scooping up the spirit trapping pouch and the wen brand. He leaves behind a third pouch, this one embroidered with what looks like a bipedal turtle beneath a peach tree. “You know what this is, eat it later. You’re of no use to anyone dead.”
And with that, he throws a few coins on the table, turns on his heel, and walks right through the crowd of disciples, who part for him like a school of fish around a shark.
The moment the tail of his red robes vanishes around the inn door, A-die has A-niang’s arm in his hand, inspecting it for injury.
“I’m fine, Lan Zhan.” A-niang promises. “Hudie-ge is just being a bastard. I… actually did need the energy, too.”
A-die sets his jaw, clearly unhappy. “I can give you mine.”
“You can’t…” A-niang starts then stops just as quickly, rubbing at his throat with the hand not caught in A-die’s grip. “It’s not the type you can give me.”
Resentment, then. Or something more.
“Could Qing-guniang?” Sizhui checks, coming to his A-niang’s other side. “If you need more?”
“Like hell.” Qing-guniang hisses. “I’m nowhere near that level. Xiansheng, what the fuck, what are your friends, where did you even find him?”
A-niang shrugs, reaching for the pouch the man left behind. “He found me. He likes collecting curiosities, and, as previously noted, I am very strange. And, A-yuan, don’t worry, this,” he holds up the pouch, “will help too. I’ll be fine!”
Sizhui can see the tension in A-die’s stance building. He understands why. The scent of stone dust and flowers is still lingering on A-niang’s wrist, an obvious claim of a close relationship. While transferring spiritual energy is always easier and quicker through intimacy, the way this stranger had done it so easily, like it was his right, and then barely acknowledged anyone else in the room, be it Sizhui or Hanguang-jun…
Well, it rubs at Sizhui the wrong way.
He appreciates the stranger looking after his A-niang. He would like the stranger to look after him from a distance.
And then what he said about Sizhui complicating things… Was it the same reason A-niang had for keeping his relationship with Sizhui and A-die secret? Because the killer knew… the killer could use the curse-
Wait. Had the stranger said that A-niang spoke, but what he said was useless, because of the Wen Brand?
Wasn’t that because of the demonic seal?
“You two look like you want to murder something.” A-niang sighs, shoving the pouch into his sleeves and reaching up to pat Sizhui and Hanguang-jun’s cheeks. “There's no need to be so worked up, don’t let him get to you. Come on, I’m starving.”
“Mn.”
Given a job, (feed the Omega) Hanguang-jun takes A-niang’s arm, pulling him away from the lingering scent of stone dust and flowers and brings him back to the original table. Sizhui and Hanguang-jun put A-niang between them, the gentle scent of sandalwood seeping into the air and wrapping around them like a blanket as A-niang eats and the other disciples politely ignore the display of protectiveness.
Well, mostly. Lan Shiling keeps glancing up at them, and one of the older Ouyang disciples has his sleeve over his nose, face flushed. He’s probably presenting soon, the scents more obvious to his nose.
After a bit of eating in silence, A-niang sighs and puts down his bowl.
“I feel like a delicate young maiden with two overprotective bodyguards in a rowdy part of town.” He confides to the table at large, side-eying A-die. “Lan Zhan, A-yuan, I’m fine. What’s got you so worked up?”
Sizhui ducks his head, avoiding eye contact. He… knows exactly what the answer is, honestly. Seeing someone so close to A-niang, when he’s only just learned that A-die wasn’t his fuqin by blood, that their relationship might not be what he thought… It's unsettling.
But saying that out loud? Admitting that he thinks that of A-niang, that he’d fool around with anyone randomly, especially when it’s clear that it ISN’T random, that this Alpha is helping A-niang keep himself alive? Isn’t that rude?
And A-die. Sizhui knows he doesn’t want to trap A-niang, knows he doesn’t want to be controlling, but still…
“Oh for fucks sake.” Qing-guniang says into their silence. “Gee, Xiansheng, I wonder why the Alpha that did everything in his power to court you while he was drunk off his ass might be a little overprotective after watching you get scented by some random stranger, who was clearly powerful and dangerous. Ooh, did I mention you told him the stranger has something he can’t give you?”
Sizhui keeps his eyes down, both wincing and cheering internally at the girl's shocking perceptiveness and brutal honesty.
“Should I also point out that all of this happened after your son got his entire worldview shattered, or…”
Scratch the cheering, Sizhui did not want to be perceived.
Having said her piece, Qing-guniang leans back, arms crossed and waiting for her Xainsheng’s response, the disciples all doing the same in shocked silence.
“Is… is that true?” A-niang asks, turning to look at A-die. “Lan Zhan, you’re not really jealous, are you?”
A-die sets his jaw and turns away in embarrassment, which is an answer in itself. A-niang looks completely baffled.
“I… for starters, Hudie-ge is way too old for me.” A-niang says incredulously. “I know he looks young, but that bastard is ancient.”
Immortal masters take younger lovers sometimes, Sizhui thinks mulishly, then immediately pinches himself.
“And he’d never go for me anyways, because he has a mate.” A-niang stresses. “A mate he’s absolutely besotted with, one who is far prettier and stronger and more noble than I could ever hope to be.”
A-die turns back, frowning. “...you are perfect as you are.”
Almost immediately he seems to regret it, ears turning red, but A-niang’s face is the same color, flushed in embarrassment at the compliment.
“I…” A-niang spluttters, “Well, why would I pick Hudie-ge! I have a ma- a, um.”
Sizhui’s heart skips a beat. Did A-niang almost call A-die his mate?
“I… Have someone who is much less annoying than that stupid Hudie-ge.” A-niang recovers, crossing his arms and closing his eyes in a haughty expression to cover up his slip. “Someone more noble, and more handsome than all of that two-faced Hudie-ge’s masks. So why would I choose him?”
Ouyang Zizhen and Jingyi are watching with open mouths, clearly massively entertained by this entire conversation and the awkward flirting that is Sizhui’s parents. They aren’t a novel, you two! These are living, breathing, idiots!
“Besides,” A-niang has a very concerningly mischievous look on his face, holding his wrist out to A-die, “if you dislike it that much, you should just fix it.”
Tang Zhanzhi gasps under her breath, eyes wide. The other Alpha had done it for medical purposes, and even then that’s toeing the line, but for A-die to do that in front of a whole group of disciples?
A-niang clearly didn’t think he’d do it, if the way he jumps when A-die takes his wrist is any indication. “Ah… you don’t have to, I was just teasing! Lan Zhan…”
A-die presses their wrists together, a burst of sandalwood overtaking the offensive scent of stone dust and flowers, both presented adults flushed in embarrassment, but also unwilling to let go.
Lan Shiling slams her hands on the table and stands up.
“Han… Hanguang-jun! We’ll go and pay the innkeeper!” she announces, face burning. “And… prepare to leave!”
She nearly trips over the bench as she tries to get up, dragging the other disciples behind her. Sizhui isn’t actually sure how she manages it, (Qing-guniang helps a bit) but Lan Shiling drags all twelve juniors away to give A-niang and A-die privacy.
Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen have the decency to wait until they’re out of sight to start complaining.
“Shimei, it was just getting good!” Jingyi groans, twisting himself out of her grip.
“They’re adorable.” Ouyang Zizhen gushes, starry-eyed.
“They’re disgusting.” Jin Ling corrects. “I can’t believe they just did that in front of everyone! Get a room!”
Lan Shiling makes a weak noise of agreement, motioning to Jin Ling.
“Honestly, I kind of agree.” Qing-guniang sighs, leaning on her bamboo stick like she’s been exhausted by the whole conversation. “I want them to be together, but watching it is… painful.”
Sizhui wonders how they would react if they had been the one in the nest that morning, while A-niang was teasing A-die. Probably with scandalized gasps and red faces. And leaving to give A-niang and A-Die some privacy.
Like right now!
“Anyways.” Qing-guniang sighs, straightening out and stretching. “You said you’re paying, right?”
“The Gusu Lan Sect will take care of it.” Lan Dongyun confirms with a bow.
“Great. I’m gonna go feed that stupid donkey.”
“I- I’ll help!” Ouyang Zizhen says quickly, rushing to follow Qing-guniang as she turns towards the stable. “I, uh… owe the donkey for… carrying me yesterday?”
He trails off, visibly shrinking under Qing-guniang’s baffled and judging expression. She shrugs it off though, motioning for him to follow her.
“Sure. I won’t say no to help.”
They vanish out a side door, where the stable that Little Apple has been housed in is.
“Speaking of watching in secondhand embarrassment as two people flirt…” Ouyang Fengqiu says slowly, a wry smile on his lips.
Jingyi cranes his neck to check that they’re gone, before looking back at Ouyang Fengqiu. “Has he ever acted like this before?”
“No.” Ouyang Fengqiu admits. “He’s always been a romantic, but it’s always been… the idea of a relationship, rather than a specific person. It’s almost cute.”
“She did save his life.” another Ouyang disciple points out. “Imagine what that looked like from his perspective. Pretty girl digs him out of a corpse pile and then drags him to safety, tenderly caring for his wounds?”
Jingyi pretends to swoon in dramatics, Hou Rouxing giggling at his antics. Tang Zhanchi looks incredibly confused with everything that is happening.
“What are we talking about?” She asks, leaning in to be let in on the secret.
“Ouyang-gongzi.” Lan Dongyun tells her quietly. “He’s… well, Hanguang-jun and Qianbei aren’t the only lovebirds, don’t you think?”
Tang Zhanchi blinks, slowly, before she makes the connection and lights up in glee. “Oh! Oh he’s in love!”
“Don’t go shouting that!” Lan Shiling scolds, not quite as red as before but still flushed.
“But that’s so sweet!”
“It’s just going to end in heartbreak.”
The excited tittering of the disciples grinds to a halt.
“Why do you say that?” Ouyang Fengqiu asks, turning to Jin Ling.
Jin Ling, who had been the one to speak, just rolls his eyes as if the answer is obvious. “She’s a demonic.”
Sizhui blinks. Jin Ling dislikes the demonic sect, for good reason, but after everything he can’t truly believe so badly of all of its individuals, can he?
“What does that matter?” Jingyi demands, glaring at Jin Ling. “Qing-guniang saved all of our lives! Her sect doesn’t mean anything!”
“Not to us.” Jin Ling shrugs. “But people talk. A Sect Heir, with a Demonic Cultivator? It won't matter what kind of person she is. Ouyang-zongzhu would sooner kill her for seducing his heir then let her anywhere near the household. We can’t change that.”
The Ouyang disciples shift on their feet uneasily, looking after where their heir had disappeared.
“Qing-guniang has a Gods-Granted core.” Jingyi protests. “She can’t be a bad person. There isn’t a sect that would turn her away, they always bring good fortune…”
“She’ll always be a demonic first, in the eyes of the Jianghu.” Jin Ling says bluntly, turning to walk away from them. “The Matriarch does not let go of her children. Once you have a seal, you’re hers.”
It’s a saddening reality check.
Sizhui looks over his shoulder, at where his A-die and A-niang are very carefully not making eye contact as they finish their meal. The table has emptied, but they are still pressed close together, as though it is crowded and they’re forced into such proximity.
They… deserve to be happy.
All of them do.
“Alright, alright, alright. So you’re telling me that this utter idiot used a fire talisman against a ghost in a room full of wine jars? How is he even a cultivator?!”
“Exactly! It’s basic logic! He deserved to lose his eyebrows!”
Sizhui walks beside his A-niang, watching in amusement as he trades stories and jokes with the other disciples, putting them all at ease with a smile and a kind word. Even the Lan Disciples, who are usually too awed to even speak in Hanguang-jun’s presence, are joining in. Ouyang Zizhen is deep in a retelling of a nighthunt, gesturing with his hands and making the bracelet he’s wearing, that Sizhui is almost positive he saw on Qing-guniang’s wrist that morning, rattle madly.
“Did you give him one of your bracelets?” Jingyi asks, sidling up beside her, nodding at her wrists. She covers it with her other hand, refusing to make eye contact as Ouyang Fengqiu raises an eyebrow at her.
“A protection charm. He seemed to need it more than me.” Qing-guniang mutters.
How sweet.
A-die watches it all with a soft expression on his face, holding Little Apple’s reins as A-niang starts up a competition with Lan Shiling to see who can recite the most idioms.
Sizhui wants this.
It was nice to imagine A-niang teasing the other disciples, lightening the atmosphere, but just imagining doesn’t do it justice. A-niang fits in so easily, like he’s always been here, and Sizhui wants him to stay. To keep that soft, happy look on A-die’s face. For A-niang to be protected and adored by all the other disciples.
“A wide sea lets fish jump; a high sky lets birds fly.” A-niang says, smiling down at Lan Shiling. They’ve been going on for an impressive amount of time.
“Distance tests a horse's strength; time reveals a person's heart.” Lan Shiling replies, focused beyond anything. She has always loved poetry.
“A mountain of books has a way and diligence is the path; the sea of learning has no end and hard work is the boat.” A-niang fires back.
Lan Shiling opens her mouth to continue, but then pauses, looking surprised.
“I… I can’t remember any more.” She whispers. Hou Rouxing whips around to stare at her, eyes wide. Lan Shiling has never lost an idiom contest, especially with couplets! She’s beaten the elders in this game!
A-niang doesn’t seem to realize the magnitude of his victory, simply leaning in and winking at her. “Aiyah, that’s when you start making stuff up. What’s your opponent going to do, call you out on it? Usually it jogs your memory, too!”
Lan Shiling looks scandalized. “But… that's cheating!”
“Is it?” A-niang taps at his chin. “How? The rules are just to recite until you can’t, right? Who says you can’t use your own?”
Lan Shiling doesn’t seem to have an answer to that, falling silent with grudging respect. Sizhui is just wondering how on earth A-niang would make up poetry as he goes. Without stuttering? Or making a mistake?
Suddenly, Hanguang-jun’s soft face hardens, and he stops in the middle of the road.
The disciples stop as well, shooting confused glances at each other. There’s nothing changed about the path they’re on- it seems the same as it has since they left the town. Why are they stopping?
“Hanguang-jun?” Tang Zhanzhi asks quietly. “What’s- eep!”
Men emerge from behind the trees, each with a cloth mask covering their faces and simple tunics and pants rather than robes.
They’re carrying weapons.
Sizhui steps back, hand on the hilt of his sword. Bandits? They’d have to be either bold or stupid, to attack a group of cultivators, especially one as famed as Hanguang-jun. The way they hold those knives doesn’t look like the unsteady stance of an amateur, though.
“Ah, there you are!” A-niang greets, sliding off Little Apple’s back. “I was wondering when you’d show up!”
“Qianbei, are these your friends?” Jingyi asks, barely tilting his head to look at A-niang, keeping the men in his view.
“Hmm? Oh, no they’re here to kill me.” A-niang says casually.
“They’re what?!” Tang Zhanzhi yelps, as the first knives are thrown, dappled light from the tree cover making them flash dizzily.
Hanguang-jun leaps in front of A-niang, Bichen in hand, and deflects them all, as A-niang turns his back to explain to them.
“See, that’s what the message from last night was about.” he tells them, not even looking as one of the sharp objects being flung at his head is blocked. “They were sent by that Bastard. A-yuan, Jin Ling, Lan Jingyi, you know the one.”
A-niang and Chifeng-zun’s killer.
“He’s not very pleased that I’m back, and less pleased that I put Da-ge back together! So now he wants to kill me before I can cause more trouble. And, at the moment, I’m rather drained, and I can’t use some of my strongest techniques with all you uninitiated here. I’m rather helpless!”
And with that, he turns to face the attackers, twirls his flute, and leaps into the fray.
A-ninag has impressive timing, Sizhui thinks hysterically as he follows behind. How had he managed to end his explanation just as the attackers got to them?
The group of… bandits? Assassins? Mercenaries, Sizhui decides as he blocks flying caltrops, are well trained. Strong enough to be just below average cultivators. They’re careful not to let any of the swords get near enough to injure them, focusing instead on throwing knives and caltrops, only getting close to the younger disciples, and the Demonic Cultivators who are weaker physically and only have bamboo weapons.
Well… A-niang will probably be fine, Sizhui thinks, watching as he cheerfully smacks an assassin across the face with his flute, throwing glowing talismans with the other hand, and then shoves him into a displeased donkey’s kicking range.
The man goes flying into a tree, and doesn’t get up.
Ouyang Zizhen drags Qing-guniang behind him, shielding her from a throwing knife that would have cut through her bamboo stick. The girl just rolls her eyes and proceeds to beat the man sneaking up behind them within an inch of his life as a shadowy figure of a child grabs at his legs so he can’t escape.
Yeah… Sizhui thinks she’ll also be fine.
Lan Shiling and Tang Zhanchi team up to take a group of three down, Jin Ling fires arrows at the ones hiding in the trees, and Hanguang-jun is as unstoppable as always. There are just… so many!
Suddenly, a sword flies into the fray, teal light edging the blade. It’s one Sizhui recognizes- Shuoyue, his Bofu’s blade.
“Zewu-jun!” The Lan disciples greet excitedly, as swirling white and blue robes drop from the sky. Tang Zhanchi gets so distracted at their Sect Leader’s arrival Sizhui has to block the caltrop flying at her eyes.
The mercenaries, faced with not one but two Jades of Lan, throw a final few weapons before turning tail and fleeing, leaving their dead and injured comrades on the forest floor.
“Xiongzhang.” A-die says, bowing his head.
Zewu-jun smiles, before walking up to one of the men, injured on the ground. He leans down, roughly pulling them upright.
“Who is your employer?” he asks, voice more serious than Sizhui has ever heard it. “Why did they send you after this target?”
The assassin doesn’t say a word, glaring up at Zewu-jun and biting down. Something crunches between his teeth, and before they can do more than widen their eyes in shock, he slumps over dead.
Zewu-jun’s face twitches in annoyance, and he drops the man, standing back up.
“Too late. I suppose they’ve all taken the poison, if their wounds didn’t kill them.” He sighs, looking over the ground at the bodies.
“Zewu-jun, what’s going on?” Jingyi asks, putting his sword away and rushing over to them. “Do you know who these people are? Is it… part of the investigation?”
A-niang had said that they were sent by his killer, Sizhui remembers. The Ghost General had told him, last night, before Hanguang-jun had interrupted in a drunken whirlwind.
“It is.” Zewu-jun confirms to Jingyi. “Lianfang-zun and I followed the tip of the Stone Castles. Trapped inside we found several fierce corpses, some in plain clothes and weapons like these. One of them also had a map, which led me to a place where they traded information. I was able to use Inquiry on a member who had died there, and he confirmed that… that they had been the ones to scatter the, ah, pieces.”
Zewu-jun pauses, looking slightly sick, before he swallows and continues. “It was still in use. The most recent message was for them to attempt to kill a silver-eyed omega, riding on a donkey.”
A-niang.
Sizhui turns, trying to catch sight of A-niang. He hadn’t wanted to speak to Zewu-jun before, but perhaps now…
Six Lan Disciples, including him and Jingyi. Four Ouyang. One Jin Ling. Hanguang-jun, Zewu-jun…
And no A-niang, or donkey.
Just a very lost looking Qing-guniang.
“He’s gone, isn’t he.” She asks, incredibly dully. “He left me.”
No one answers, Zewu-jun due to polite confusion, everyone else in surprise. How on earth had A-niang managed that? He had a donkey! Little Apple is not the quietest or the most obedient of creatures! And yet, they’ve vanished into thin air!
“Xiansheng just up and left me?!” Qing-guaning repeats, voice climbing higher in offense. She’s looking about… oddly. Almost like she can’t see where she’s looking. “That bastard! I’ll kill him!”
She taps angrily at the ground with her bamboo stick, Zewu-jun watching in confusion.
“Ah… Guniang, you seem close to the person I’m looking for. May I ask…”
“Me?” Qing-guaning squeaks, turning to face Zewu-jun’s approximate direction. “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t know anything, really. I’m blind, see, my chaperone is a scatterbrained coward who ran off. I’ll be fine though, thanking the young masters for their assistance this far!”
As she speaks, she turns away again, tapping at the ground until she runs into a fallen mercenary, then using the bamboo stick to guide herself over him. Does she think Zewu-jun will ignore her if he thinks she’s blind? Why would they let a young blind girl go off on her own?
“...Guniang?” Zewu-jun says slowly, watching as she walks away.
“Terribly sorry not to be of help, good day, Daozhang!”
“Guniang, there's a demonic mask hanging from your belt.”
Qing-guniang pauses.
“...ah, fuck, I forgot about that thing.”
Qing-guniang turns back around, crossing her arms with a huff and dropping her blind act. “Before you stab me, I saved all these disciples' lives, and I'm pretty sure at least a couple of them are yours, so… sect honor?”
Smile twitching in amusement, Zewu-jun shakes his head and lifts his hands away from his sheathed sword. “I will not harm you, Guniang. You have my word. I simply wish to ask you a few questions.”
Qing-guniang raises a skeptical eyebrow, but she doesn’t flee as Zewu-jun begins to explain.
“It seems that whoever was just here is connected to the case I’m working on. It’s incredibly important to me-”
“I know about that.” Qing-guniang interrupts.
Zewu-jun bows his head. “Right. Is there anything you can tell me? These men attacked your Xiansheng, I can only assume we have a common enemy. I wish to understand the motives behind it.”
Shifting on her feet uncomfortably, Qing-guniang shoots the disciples a helpless look. “I… can’t tell you much. I’ve only been in the sect for two years. I’ve heard the story, but the seal…”
She shakes her head, sighing to herself. “Xiansheng is working on it. I can tell you this- the demonic sect aren’t the only ones keeping their mouths shut. People around you know more than they say. Some of them have good reasons, and they’ll tell you in good time. Others are looking out for themselves.”
“I see.” Zewu-jun says quietly. His eyes flick to Sizhui, who tries to look innocent.
They’re the people with good reasons, aren’t they?
Sizhui glances at A-die, wondering not for the first time if telling Zewu-jun will help. If A-die can brainstorm alongside Bofu and the other Sect Leaders, letting them ask questions and find connections, won't things go easier? Especially with the compass, sitting safely in Sizhui’s robes.
And yet, A-niang had asked them not to. In order to keep Sizhui safe. In order to protect A-die. To keep the killer off their trail, Sizhui must keep quiet about what he knows.
“Can you tell me anything else?”
“Fuck Xue Yang.” Qing-guniang says promptly. “That's all. Goodbye, Daozhang. Young Masters.”
Qing-guniang bows to them, then turns and takes off, disappearing into the woods. They watch as she vanishes in silence, each of them silent and thoughtful in different ways.
“Wangji, Sizhui.” Zewu-jun says finally once Qing-guniang has disappeared. “What can you tell me?”
Why were you traveling with a pair of demonics, goes unsaid.
Sizhui panics slightly- he had told Bofu that A-niang was an Auxiliary Spirit, but Chifeng-zun’s corpse wasn’t here. Would he accept the change, or be questioned further?
“The… demonic was trying to help the Auxiliary Spirit I told you about before.” Sizhui explains. Technically, not a lie, though A-niang is both of the people in the situation. “Remember how we said it had a Wen Brand?”
Zewu-jun nods in confirmation, so Sizhui continues.
“We found an… old prison camp. Wen. Sunshot Campaign.” Sizhui doesn’t want to go over the details, so this will suffice. “That was what was causing the resentful energy to build up. The Demonic was there, trying to find a way around the Brand without destroying them, because they aren’t sure where theirs is.”
He pauses, unsure if he should say the next bit. But… A-niang had said, thirteen years ago was when he last saw the brand. Thirteen years ago- when A-niang had died. The way the brand had limited him using his powers. A-niang said the killer had ways to manipulate the curse.
“I… have my suspicions.” Sizhui finally admits, speaking much quieter than before.
Zewu-jun sighs, looking around at the group of curious disciples. “I see. We shouldn’t talk about this here- we can return to Lotus Pier. Sandou Shengshou should be back from his own investigation, although A-yao is still busy in Koi Tower… checking to see if he can unearth any possible leads.”
Right. The killer is Jin Guangshan’s Bastard. Imagine if Lianfang-zun managed to unearth a handy little list of all his siblings- wouldn’t that make things simple?
Unfortunately, Sizhui is starting to understand that this web of murders and lies is anything but simple.
Notes:
In WWX’s defense, he’s very tired when he makes the sex jokes in front of the Babie.
A-qing, you are so much fun to write… YES she kicked Xue Yang in the balls, Matriarch is a God and she granted her the Badassery. Badassery SQUARED.
…I needed characters to fill my Godly Cohorts and I was gonna use the sect ancestors but TGCF is just funnier. (Sect Ancestors show up later) Yes, that is Hua Cheng. Húdié (蝴蝶)means butterfly, so Hudie-ge is “Butterfly Bro.” Also he dies before he would have presented, and I have decided this just makes him Gender-Fluid as an Immortal Being. He’s an Alpha right now to be a Dick. (XL is Genderfluid too, but only his secondary)
“Uh, didn't you say the only sentient dead were WN and NMJ, so how does Ghost City work-“ Stfu I said corpses. We’re rolling with the idea that powerful spirits who have left their old dead body behind are capable of thought beyond rage. The flesh rots. The soul is a stubborn bitch.
More worldbuilding the Gods can give cores to mortals who please them bc I wanted A-qing to have a core and she deserves one. I am God and she pleases me.
“Why doesn’t Hua Cheng tell-” Sometimes Gods Must Obey Higher Will Of Universe. It’s ME. I’m Higher Will.
(If anyone knows of an actual fitting couplet for WWX to say once he spots the enemies to finish his and LSL’s poetry game, PLEASE tell me I will put it in so fast.)
WWX when he sees someone who will recognize him: “I ain’t prepared for this drama right now, I’m out.”
Are my end notes too long? Probably
Chapter 16: Wei Wuxian Returns
Notes:
Happy late birthday A-yuan! Did you enjoy your weird inn stay? Good! Back to the grinder<3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sizhui has been to Lotus Pier before.
He had accompanied Bofu, for an Annual Discussion Conference. Though Sizhui… hadn’t been the biggest fan of the boats, he had been struck by its beauty.
It reminded Sizhui a little of Caiyi town, with the same white walls and dark roofs, though it’s far more extravagant. Higher walls, more complicated eaves, and draped in the purple colors of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, nine petaled lotus decals pressed into the walls. A work of art, set upon the endless sea of broad green leaves, dotted with white and pink lotus flowers and heavy seed pods, crisscrossed by shining silver paths for boats to pass through.
It’s beautiful.
And yet… as Sizhui walks through the Pier now, he can’t help but to view it differently. This was his A-niang’s home, once, as the Cloud Recesses is to Sizhui. He can almost imagine it, from what little information he has. Had A-niang run down that boardwalk, laughing merrily with the other disciples? Teased Sect Leader Jiang, then only Sect Heir? Gone fishing with his bare hands, as he had taught Sizhui how to do? Shot kites to train his aim, like those disciples are doing?
Where had he slept? Trained, ate? Were there still family members here, ones who didn’t even know Sizhui existed? If A-niang came here, with his head held high and unmasked, how many people would recognize him?
How many had survived?
Yunmeng Jiang were the first victims of the Yin Iron Amulet. Wen Rouhan had personally appeared here.
Sizhui knows that the place his A-niang grew up has been torn down and rebuilt, families and friends killed. While the sacrifice of the Jiang Omegas had granted the Sects time to plan, in the end, hundreds of cultivators had met their demise when the Wen Clan attacked.
Jiang-zongzhu has rebuilt his sect from next to nothing. Rebuilding Lotus Pier. Retraining disciples. Regaining glory. The same, and yet, nothing is made exactly the same way twice. Some of the memories have burned down along with the old walls. Sizhui can’t help but grieve for something he never had- for something he never knew he even had a connection to.
He can’t imagine what it must have been like to be right in the midst of it.
“Lan Sizhui?”
Quickly dragging himself out of his thoughts, Sizhui turns to Jin Ling. The younger boy looks uncomfortable, shifting his eyes as they walk.
“Yes, Jin-gongzi?”
“It’s just…” Jin Ling starts, reaching up to scratch at his neck. “There's a memorial. For the tribute omegas. All of their names. So… he’ll be on there, if you want to look.”
Sizhui takes a deep breath. A-niang’s name… even if they can’t figure out exactly which one it is, they’ll have names. People he could be.
Sizhui will know his A-niang’s name.
“I… I would like to see it.” He confirms, breathless. “If you could show me. Thank you for telling me.”
“Don’t thank me yet, this is just something to look forward to.” Jin Ling tells him with a wince. “Zewu-jun saw us traveling with a Demonic. We’ve got to survive explaining ourselves to Jiujiu before we can go see it.”
That brings Sizhui down to earth hard. Explaining himself to Sandu Shengshou, when the Alpha has a grudge and Sizhui can’t explain himself properly…
This definitely won't be fun.
“We’re here.” Zewu-jun tells them. Ah, so it’s too late to run.
Hanguang-jun, Sizhui, Jingyi, and Jin Ling follow Zewu-jun into the meeting space, where Jiang-zongzhu is pouring over a map, looking incredibly aggravated.
“Jiang-zongzhu.” Zewu-jun greets, bowing politely. “How has your investigation gone?”
“Poorly, if we’re considering anything new.” Jiang-zongzhu scoffs. “Yours?”
“I was able to track the mercenaries to their new target, but it would seem our juniors found them first.” Bofu says, motioning to Sizhui and the others. Because he’s a traitor and wants Sizhui to suffer.
Jiang-zongzhu raises an eyebrow. “What target?”
“A silver-eyed Demonic Cultivator, riding on a donkey. When I found them, the fight was underway and the demonic fled before I could question him.”
The Jiang Alphas eyes slowly move over to the Juniors, narrowed in anger. “And why, exactly,” he seethes. “Were you with a Demonic Cultivator again, A-ling?”
Jin Ling looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Sizhui can relate, and he isn’t the one who got named!
“The Demonic recognized them as the ones who tried to help Chifeng-zun and the Auxiliary Spirit.” Hanguang-jun says, Sizhui internally crying in relief. “I was following the Spirits communication when I found them again. The Demonic was trying to help.”
Jiang-zongzhu sneers at Hanguang-jun. “Is that so? And how, exactly, were they trying to help? I was told it was a simple cleansing mission.”
“The report was a bit off.” Sizhui explains, stepping forwards. Alright, he has a baseline to go off of. Technically, A-die wasn’t lying- A-niang had recognized them from earlier. “There was a pocket of resentment, but it was coming from an old, well hidden war camp. A Wen Prisoner camp. We were… caught off guard by the spirits there.”
Both Sect Leaders tense with discomfort. A camp from that time, left to stew for so long… Sizhui knows they were incredibly lucky.
“As Hanguang-jun said, the demonic recognized us, and saved the whole group.” Sizhui still isn’t lying. “Remember how the Auxiliary Spirit had a Wen Brand? The demonic was trying to find a way around it without destroying the brand. Apparently, they don’t know where it is.”
“You said you had suspicions?” Zewu-jun prompts, nodding to Sizhui. “We were unable to speak of them in the open.”
“Something they said.” When asked about his Wen brand, A-niang had said, “he hasn’t seen it in thirteen years. That's outside of wartime, and it lines up with the Spirit's death. I think either the killer has it, or it was in the Burial Mounds.”
“It stopped his power!” Jingyi blurts suddenly, everyone turning to him. “When he went to put the mask on, back in Qinghe, to get… stronger? It stopped him.”
“Either the killer wanted him suppressed or the Demonic Sect is hiding things.” Jin Ling finishes. “No matter which it is, they need another way around it.”
Jiang-zongzhu sighs, rubbing at his forehead. “There is no way around a Wen Brand. It’s been tried before. And this also isn’t the question. Why, afterwards, were you traveling with a Demonic Cultivator? It sounds to me like they used you as a distraction while they escaped their hunters!”
Privately, Sizhui thinks A-niang was escaping Zewu-jun rather than the mercenaries. He was having a grand time dancing around the people out for his blood.
“We weren’t… really thinking.” Jingyi admits, shifting uncomfortably. “But… but he talked a lot! We got information! Like the Shadow foxes, he told us about how different numbers of tails mean different things. Five-tailed foxes are shrine guardians! So we can use that to locate shrines! And… and three tailed foxes are messengers sent by human cultivators!”
Jiang-zongzhu sneers and opens his mouth, but a quiet voice stops him.
“He told us Shenmu is okay.” Jin Ling says quietly.
Sect Leader Jiang softens. It’s slight, but it’s there, the Alphas anger being quieted by the hesitant, lost voice of his nephew. Sizhui knows that Jin Ling is the youngest of them, but right now, he sounds it.
“A-Yao will be relieved to hear it.” Zewu-jun says gently. “It’s understandable that Jin Ling would try to gather more information. Wangji was there, he wouldn’t have allowed any harm to come to him.”
A-die gives a “mn” of agreement. It seems to have the opposite effect in Sect Leader Jiang, who makes a face again.
“That doesn’t change the fact that you put yourself into a foolish amount of danger. You can never trust a Demonic, they’re unpredictable at the best of times. And now…” Jiang-zongzhu sighs, looking down at the maps he was inspecting earlier. “Right now, they’re up to something.”
Sizhui looks at the maps. They’ve been marked, circles and X’s placed around what looks like the waterways surrounding Lotus Pier. Small purple and black stones are set across it as well.
“Did you find anything in your investigation?” Zewu-jun asks, also inspecting the maps.
Sandu Shengshou sighs, tapping at one of the black X’s. “Another shrine, close enough to see the lights of Lotus Pier. They’re still putting Wei Wuxian’s name in the cursed things. I destroyed it. There’s reports of movement, lots of it, headed south from Qinghe and Lanling. Sightings, everywhere. I have groups of cultivators out searching, but as of now…”
The Sect Leaders inspect the maps in silent contemplation, the issue of Sizhui and the others traveling with a demonic seemingly forgotten. Forgiven?
Are they… allowed to leave? Sizhui isn’t sure. Zewu-jun has’t said they could leave, but he also isn’t requiring anything from Sizhui. Jiang-zongzhu is the master of the household, and as this is his territory they should wait for his dismissal…
Jin Ling hasn’t moved either, as unsure as Jingyi and Sizhui are. He’s the one to step forwards and ask, though.
“Jiujiu, do you still need us?” He asks, somehow a mix between petulant and hesitant. “I… wanted to show the Lan Disciples something.”
Jiang-zonghzhu looks up from the maps, looking almost surprised. Had he forgotten they were there? Sizhui doesn’t think Jin Ling's request was so strange…
“You… fine. Go.” He says finally, throwing a hand up in dismissal. “But I don’t want to see you doing something so stupid again.”
“Understood, Jiujiu.” Jin Ling says quickly, turning on his heel and fleeing the room. Sizhui only pauses to give a polite bow to the Sect Leaders and his A-die, before following him out, Jingyi right behind him.
“I can’t believe he let me off that easy.” Jin Ling gasps, still running in a way that would have Lan Elders scandalized if they dared to do it in Cloud Recesses.
“Maybe he’s just shocked you have friends.” Jingyi says wisely, as they slow down. (far enough away from the Jiang Sect Leader)
Jin Ling glares at him. “We are not friends.”
“Whatever do you mean, young mistress?” Jingyi goads, trying to hide a smirk under wide-eyed hurt at Jin Ling doubting their closeness. “We’ve suffered life and death situations together! Tackled mysteries together! Learned together!”
“I’ve been forced to tolerate you by circumstance, Lan-gongzi.” Jin Ling corrects with a sneer.
“Well, now you’re helping Sizhui, so…”
“I’m being a decent person.” Jin Ling’s eye rolls are truly impressive, Sizhui thinks. “I don’t need to be your friend to do that. And even if that were true, I’d be his friend, not yours.”
“Any friend of Sizhui’s is a friend of mine!”
“I will throw you off this pier, so help me.”
“Please don’t.” Sizhui sighs, thrown back to these two arguing over the map from the nighthunt that started this whole mess. He does not doubt it will come to physical fighting if he lets it get that far. “It would be disrespectful to enter a place of mourning in disarray.”
Jingyi nods wisely at Jin Ling, like he hasn’t been the one goading the other boy on this whole time. Jin Ling makes a rude gesture at him. Sizhui sighs in exhaustion.
Thankfully, they make it to where Jin Ling was leading them without anyone being introduced face-first to the beauty of Lotus Pier’s waters.
“Here it is.” Jin Ling says quietly, stopping beside a stele pavilion.
Sizhui looks up at the structure. It’s a nice building, open to see the expanse of water and lotuses, and yet closed enough to protect the contents- a small table of offerings, and a memorial tablet in dark stone.
Covered in names.
Stepping into the shade of the roof feels colder than it should.
Carefully settling his robes, Sizhui kneels before the tablet, wishing he had brought… something. Incense. Food. Joss Paper. Even if A-niang might not need it anymore, the spirit that they had seen at the Wen Camp might. The others that have died might appreciate it as well.
There are ten names on the tablet. Sizhui reads them silently, wondering which one is his A-niang’s. Maybe one will jump out at him? He must have gone by A-niang’s name when he was a child, before he was Lan. And yet… his memory fails him.
The only one he recognizes is Wei Wuxian. The only Omega demanded by name. The one with the cruelest fate.
“There were ten tribute Omegas.” Jin Ling says quietly after some time goes by in silence. “Some as maids to the others, but once they got there it didn’t end up mattering. Only two ever returned alive, and one has passed in the years after the war's end.”
Sizhui doesn’t turn to look at him, too focused on the names. Engraved in neat calligraphy, painted within the grooves to make them stand out.
“Two bodies were recovered, and everyone knows Wei-dajiu’s story.” Jin Ling continues. “So… five unknown fates. Two male, three female. The spirit we saw at the camp must be one of those. Your A-niang is one of… these two.”
Jin Ling motions to two names. Zheng Zhengsong, Lin Liangchun. Two Male Omegas with unknown fates. Two Male Omegas who could be his A-niang.
“Zheng Sizhui.” Sizhui says aloud, testing. No, that’s not right, he was named Sizhui after he was a Lan. He has to use his birth name. “Zheng Yuan. Lin Yuan.”
Wen Yuan, his traitor brain hisses. Wen, like the ones who had tortured and raped and killed all of these names.
None of them sound right.
“Could be Wei.” Jingyi says suddenly. “His body was never found.”
Sizhui might not be facing them, but he can feel the heat of the glare that Jin Ling shoots at Jingyi. “Wei-dajiu was thrown into the Burial Mounds by Wen Chao. Shufu Yao saw it happen, and the Matriarch confirmed his death.”
“I thought you never believe demonics?” Jingyi fires back. “It makes sense. He fell into the Matriarch’s territory, the Mother of Death saw he had interesting blood and decided to keep him.”
“Wei-dajiu wasn’t cursed!”
“Were the other two? I’m just saying-”
“Jingyi, do not speculate.” Sizhui says sharply.
The bickering disciples go quiet, Jingyi muttering an apology that Sizhui doesn’t fully hear. He’s busy, trying to formulate his thoughts. He wants… to do something.
Sizhui straightens his posture, reaching out to neaten the offerings below the tablet, then folds his hands and bows.
“Jiang-Zuxian.” Sizhui whispers, too low for the others to hear him. He’s prayed to the ancestors before, but it was only ever Lan An, and someone unknown. Now, he prays to another Sect’s founder. “Please, protect A-niang and his Sect Sibling’s spirits, wherever they may be. May they rest well and travel smoothly to the next life, and may it be kinder than this one. And please…”
Sizhui takes a deep breath, unsure if he should voice this last request. It feels too fragile to speak aloud, like releasing a butterfly in a windstorm.
“Please let A-niang stay with me. With A-die.” Sizhui finishes, hardly doing more than mouthing the words at this point.
He bows his head in silent vigil. Ten names. Ten Omegas. Ten people.
Three survivors.
(Well, if you count A-niang dying and then coming back to life as survival, but Sizhui digresses.)
There's a tap on his shoulder.
Sizhui looks up, to see Jin Ling holding out a lotus flower, the stem torn off. Sizhui had heard the small popping noise, but hadn’t given it much thought.
An offering.
Sizhui takes it with a grateful smile, cupping the flower with both hands as he sets it down on the offering table, between the sticks of incense and a small dish of Lotus Paste buns. Sizhui’s flower isn’t the only one there, either, though it's the freshest. Lotus flower… it’s the motif of the Jiang Sect, but also a symbol of rebirth. A pure flower that grows from the mud.
How fitting for a-niang, Sizhui thinks to himself.
“The Tribute Omegas might not have stopped the war.” Jin Ling says quietly, settling back down into a kneel. “The attack on Lotus Pier still took Laoye and Laolao, and many cultivators. But… But according to Jiujiu, the tributes were the ones that made it possible for everyone to plan, to survive. Not just the Jiang, but the other clans as well. Some think Wen Rouhans sudden obsession with Wei-dajiu after he killed the Xuanwu was the only reason we won the war at all.”
Sizhui looks down at the offerings, left by others who had knelt before him.
“...is that why some of these offerings are smashed turtle shells?”
“Yeah, probably.”
Sizhui shakes his head in amusement. The Xuanwu… A-die had helped Wei Wuxian to kill it. Apparently they had both given the credit to each other.
But only one had to pay the price for it.
No. Wei Wuxian, A-niang, and the other tributes didn’t do it because of an overgrown turtle, or even for a cruel man who believed everything in the world was his to take. They did it for their home, their families. For even the slightest chance that they might live in peace. They did it to protect people.
They did it so that this place would be safe.
The sudden peal of a bell echoes through the air, startling Sizhui out of his vigil.
Again, the bell tolls. Seemingly out of nowhere.
“What’s going on?” Jingyi asks, getting to his feet. Sizhui follows him up, looking back to the Pier. The sky has darkened as they knelt, and a fog has rolled over the lake, hiding some of the buildings and making the light from their lanterns and windows look far away and disconnected.
“That’s…” Jin Ling starts, eyes wide. “That’s the warning bell.”
Sizhui locks eyes with Jingyi. The warning bell? Does that mean…
Jin Ling takes off running down the board path, footsteps echoing over the water. Without a second thought, Sizhui and Jingyi follow him. A warning bell? In the seat of a Great Sect? Accidental fires are unheard of, in a cultivators home. Cloud Recesses sometimes has rockfalls, but that’s no issue here. Floods might be an issue, considering the location, but Sizhui can’t see any evidence of that right now, so…
An attack.
A Demonic Sect attack, Sizhui corrects in his mind, as they watch the first cackling figure wearing a silver fox mask dart past them.
And then another.
And another.
The Demonic Sect is attacking Lotus Pier.
Jiang Cultivators meet them with shouts of rage and flashing swords, servants and shopkeepers fleeing in terror. Crows perch on awnings, watching the chaos below them with beady eyes. Disjointed chanting rises with heavy fog, indistinct and overwhelming, seeming to come from right next to them and far away all at once. Shadow foxes growl and yip and cackle, darting underfoot and snapping at ankles. Whistles scrape the air, grating discordantly against each other one moment and fusing into one shrill, unending note the next.
It’s like they’re trying to be as unsettling as possible.
It’s working.
“Come, come, fight, fight! Retake what is ours by right! Flute plays, the spell slays, tonight regain our Muqin’s might!”
Water ghouls answer the call, scrabbling at the bottoms of the pathways like they’re trying to burrow through, heaving their sopping, rotten bodies up onto the pier like the world's nastiest fish.
Jin Ling lops the head off of one as he goes, before attacking a demonic cultivator with an animalistic scream. Sizhui and Jingyi quickly fall in behind him, swords unsheathed and ready. They tear through a whole group of corpses with the ease of a sickle through grain.
The demonic cultivators don’t seem to care. They cackle and jeer, dancing as they whistle, sing, chant like spirits out of a nightmare, wrapped in fog and shadow. “Come, come, fight, fight! Retake what is ours by right!”
Sizhui grits his teeth. Jiang-zongzhu had said there were sightings, had said the Demonic Sect was moving south. To Yunmeng. He had sent out parties to hunt them down, but it seems all that that’s done has left the pier unguarded.
The Demonics planned this! They’re smug because they have reason to be!
They aren’t letting anyone get close to them, either, hiding behind corpses and ghouls and shadows as they chant.
“Come, come, fight, fight! Retake what is ours by right! Flute plays, the spell slays, tonight regain our Muqin’s might!”
Sizhui pauses.
Muqin’s might?
He looks over the battlefield again. The Water Ghouls, scrabbling against docks and shores but making more noise than actual damage. The corpses that wander the boardwalks seem more lively than usual, but they aren’t fierce corpses. They’re walking corpses. Just… standing there. Stinklily.
The Demonic Cultivators are mocking and jeering, baiting the Jiang Cultivators rage, not taking this seriously. Because this isn’t serious.
This isn’t the main show.
“Jin Ling!” Sizhui shouts, kicking one of the beached water ghouls out of his path as he chases after the golden robes of the Jin. “Wait!”
Jin Ling, scowling as he battles with a demonic cultivator holding a staff, doesn’t respond.
Sizhu shoves the demonic cultivator into the water.
“Hey! I had him-”
“Where does Jiang-zongzhu keep Chenqing.” Sizhui interrupts, grabbing Jin Ling’s shoulders.
“What?”
Sizhui takes a deep breath, organizing his thoughts. “Look around. The corpses aren’t doing much but making noise. The Cultivators are just playing. And listen to the chanting- ‘reclaim Muqin’s might?’ This is just a distraction, they’re after the Ghost Flute!”
The Ghost Flute that Sandu Shengshou had taken as a trophy after killing the Matriarch.
Jin Ling stops fighting, realizing what Szihui has. “It’s… it’s in the hall of dangerous artifacts.”
Turning on his heel, Jin Ling takes off, Sizhui and Jingyi right behind him.
“It’s on display, behind a bunch of sealing arrays. Jiujiu uses it to lure cocky demonics in, but there’s never been an attack of this scale before!” Jin Ling explains breathlessly.
“The Matriarch wasn’t alive before.” Jingyi points out. “It was just a trophy. But in her hands, it's a weapon.”
A weapon capable of doing all of this and more, Sizhui thinks grimly as they skid around a corner. With the Yin Tiger Amulet and her flute, the Matriarch had been unstoppable. Only once she was performing a ritual of never before seen strength was Sandu Shengshou able to catch her off guard and pierce her through the heart.
With Chenqing alone, the Mother of Death had torn through armies. With Chenqing alone, the Matriarch had ripped Wen Rouhan’s head from his shoulders, performed unheard of feats of cultivation, tortured Wen Chao.
When she was still unascended as a god.
What will she be capable of now?
“There!” Jin Ling shouts, pointing at a small building with arrays carved into the sides. Two purple robed figures lay prone beside the door, and red light shines from within.
Someone's already in there.
Sizhui and the others tear up the short steps, leaping over the threshold with their swords drawn to face…
“A-niang?!”
A-niang startles, turning around to face them. Red, floating writing curls under his fingertips, slowly overtaking the light purple of the glowing arrays surrounding a jet-black flute. A corpse wrapped in chains stands at his side.
The Ghost General.
“Oh, hello A-yuan! Other children!” A-niang greets cheerfully, like he’s not slowly unraveling suppressive arrays around an incredibly dangerous artifact known to have killed over ten thousand cultivators. “How have you been? Haven’t seen you since those mercenaries showed up out of nowhere. Everyone got out safe? No injuries?”
Sizhui looks between A-niang and the Ghost Flute, which has started to float ominously. “Um, A-niang… what are you doing?”
A-niang blinks at him. “Stealing… Chenqing? I’d say it’s pretty obvious?”
Sizhui checks the other disciples' faces, just to make sure that they’re also seeing this.
“...stop?”
Smiling dryly, A-niang shakes his head. “Sorry, kiddos. I’m on the Matriarch's payroll right now.”
A cold, clawed hand grips Sizhui’s heart.
The Matriarch?
A-niang said he served the Matriarch. He had apologized for not being able to stop, like he’s doing it against his will.
Does that mean… his brand is with the fox?
Jin Ling, having evidently decided that there is too much talking and staring in shock going on, and not enough stabbing, lunges towards the Ghost General with a scream of rage.
The corpse immediately leaps into action, putting itself between Jin Ling and A-niang and catching Jin Ling by the scruff of his neck like a disobedient kitten.
“Oh, don’t be stupid.” A-niang hums. “You’re no match for him. Put your swords down.”
“I won’t!” Jin Ling shouts, kicking ineffectually at the Ghost General's chest. “This is my A-die’s sword! I won’t put it down, not while that thing is here! He killed him! I’ll…”
Sizhui doesn’t know what to do.
Stop this? He can’t. A-niang is right, the three of them together won't be able to take on the Ghost General. He can’t even count on A-niang to help them- who’s to say if the Corpse is under A-niang’s control, or the Matriarch’s?
“If you’re going to fight, do it outside.” A-niang orders. “That teapot over there has a nasty little curse in it. It’ll probably explode if you touch it.”
Is A-niang even under his own control? How much is the Wen Brand influencing him? He’s got his back turned to them again. Sizhui can’t see his face, just the steady motions of his fingers taking apart the arrays.
“Aha!” A-niang cheers, turning his fingers like a key in a lock. “Never mind! Wen Ning, I’ve got it, don’t fight the child.”
“...I wasn’t going to.” The Ghost General says quietly, watching the struggling Jin Ling with a strange expression on his face. Corpses are always stiff, but he almost looks…
Regretful.
Sizhui doesn’t have much time to think about it, because the Ghost General throws Jin Ling at him like a sack of potatoes.
To be fair, it is quite effective at getting them out of the doorway so that the corpse and A-niang can escape, Chenqing clutched in A-niang’s hand.
“Hey!” Jingyi shouts from under Jin Ling’s legs, followed quickly by a pained exhale as Jin Ling knees him in the stomach in an effort to get up.
“Get back here!” Jin Ling shouts, rolling off of the pile and taking off after the thieves. “Give it back! The Fox can’t get her hands on it!”
“What if he can’t!” Sizhui gasps, chasing after them. “Jin Ling, the Wen Brand, the Ghost General? What happens to A-niang if he fails this?”
If the Matriarch has A-niang’s Wen Brand, and knew that A-niang had tried to find a way around it… was that why A-niang had given “Hudie-ge” the spirit? To hide it?
What if A-niang was already in trouble, and then failed to retrieve the Matriarch’s spiritual weapon?
“What happens if the Fox gets her hands on that flute?” Jin Ling fires back, not slowing in their pursuit.
Sizhui doesn’t know.
He doesn’t want to find out what happens either way.
“Wen Ning! The others!” A-niang gasps, skidding around a corner. The corpse nods, leaping up and over a roof with a rattle of chains.
Probably to tell the other demonics they have what they came for, Sizhui figures. Which means, if he can get it back from A-niang, the Demonics might retreat empty handed.
Now alone, A-niang rushes by a gate, clearly drawing the attention of someone inside, because Sandu Shengshou comes through it not even a moment later, trying to figure out what’s happening. Sizhui almost runs into him.
Jingyi does run into him.
“Jin Ling! What’s going on?” Jiang-zongzhu barks, steadying Jingyi with a rough hand.
“He took Chenqing!” Jin Ling shouts back, ignoring Sizhui’s pleading look.
“They fucking WHAT!?”
“We tried to stop him!” Jingyi explains, trying to avoid a crackling Zidian, but Sizhui isn’t sure Jiang-zongzhu heard him over the Alpha’s scream of fury as he gives chase, two other Jiang Cultivators at his side.
A-niang, RUN.
They round another corner, A-niang leaping through a gate and taking off down a dock, feet pounding like drums as he goes. The sounds of groaning water ghouls and whooping demonics echo over churning waters, dark with resentment.
“Xiansheng!” a masked demonic greets, the grin on his face faltering as he sees exactly who is chasing his senior. “Oh, shit.”
He turns and flees, screaming bloody murder.
“Damned DEMONIC!” Sandu Shengshou roars, cracking Zidian behind A-niang’s heels, just out of reach.
“Jiang-zongzhu, wait!” Sizhui gasps. He knows the whip causes an immense amount of pain, he can’t let A-niang get hurt! “I think that demonic has a Wen Brand, he doesn’t have a choice!”
“At the moment, I don’t care!”
Sandu Shengshou flicks his whip forwards, the very end of it landing a blow across A-niang’s back and sending him flying.
“Xiansheng!” The other demonic gasps, nearly overbalancing as he turns to help.
Grunting in pain, A-niang tosses Chenqing to the other demonic. “Go.” he orders through gritted teeth. “Now!”
“But-”
A-niang places his fingers to his lips and lets out a piercing whistle. Like a breaching whale, a water ghoul leaps from the waves, catching the unnamed demonic around the waist and dragging him into murky, impenetrable waters.
The Ghost Flute is gone.
The Demonics have it.
A-niang gets up to try and escape, but Zidian wraps around his ankle, tripping him up so that he slams down on the planks of the pathway.
Hard.
“You,” Sandu Shengshou seethes, yanking on the lightning whip and dragging A-niang closer, reeling him in across the planks, “are going to regret that.”
Sizhui doesn’t know what to DO.
Sandu Shengshou, an Alpha famous for his temper and hatred for demonic cultivators, has his A-niang, who just helped to steal the Ghost Flute. He doesn’t understand why A-niang tried so hard to get it out.
He doesn’t understand, he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t know what to do as Sandu Shenghsou stalks closer to A-niang’s prone body, whip coiled like a snake ready to strike, and grabs A-niang by the back of the robes.
“Jiujiu, wait.” Jin Ling says quickly, rushing up to his uncle. “That’s-”
Sandou Shengshou heaves A-niang up, turning him over to look him in the eye and… freezes still. Staring, uncomprehending, his grip going slack.
“Wei… Wuxian?”
The horrified whisper travels like he had shouted it.
Wei Wuxian.
Sizhui knew that Jiang-zongzhu would recognize his A-niang. The stories A-niang had told, the familiar way he had spoken of the Jiang Clan… he knew Jiang Wanyin. So, obviously, Jiang-zongzhu would recognize him. Better than Sizhui would.
But… there's no way.
Wei Wuxian. War hero. Tragic sacrifice. Killed. Dead. Dead, before Sizhui was born.
So then how…
“No.” Jiang-zongzhu hisses, his grip on Zidian’s hilt tightening. “No, he’s dead, he’s- is this some kind of sick JOKE?”
He throws A-niang aside, ignoring the pained puff of air he lets out as he slams into one of the supports holding up the dock. “The Matriarch means to mock me, does she? Torture me with an illusion? How dare you wear his face! I’ll tear you limb from limb, you bastard, I’ll-”
“Jasmine. Princess. Love.”
Jiang-zongzhu stops in his tracks.
A-niang slowly, gingerly, pushes himself onto his knees, one arm around his ribs. “Those were the names of your puppies that Jiang-shufu sent away when he took me in. You were so mad about it that you threatened to send dogs after me, and I ran away.”
The two Jiang cultivators that had followed their sect leader look at each other, eyes wide.
“You went to find me. But I ended up hurting my leg, and Shijie had to carry me back.” A-niang continues with a sad smile. “I promised not to tell Jiang-shufu. You promised to chase dogs away for me.”
Jiang-zonghu stumbles back in shock. He recognizes this, Sizhui realizes. He recognizes A-niang, he recognizes this story.
“You have a mole on your right shoulder blade, and another on your calf. When you were fourteen, you got a bite on your left arm. You told the seniors it came from a mountain demon, but it wasn’t. It was from a donkey that hated you.” A-niang continues.
Jiang-zongzhu’s hand goes to his arm almost unconsciously. A-niang smiles up at him, eyes glinting in the light of the moon.
“When I presented as an Omega, I thought you were angry with me.” he confides, slowly getting to his feet. “But eventually, Shijie made us talk to each other like adults, and you admitted you were scared Jiang-shufu was going to make us marry. Which is stupid, because Yu-furen would have never allowed my filthy blood to taint her family line.”
“Impossible.” Jiang-zongzhu insists, in a voice that asks desperately to be proved wrong. “You… Wen Chao killed you.”
A-niang drops his smile for the first time since he started talking. “Okay, first of all, how dare you believe Wen Chao was capable of killing me.” A-niang huffs, the hand not clutching at his ribs propping itself angrily on his hip. “That’s just rude. I’m more angry about that than my actual death, to be honest. Wen Chao. Wen Chao? Oh, he did his best! Beat me black and blue and then chucked me off a cliff!”
Wei Wuxian, killed when Wen Chao threw him off a cliff into the Burial Mounds.
“But left for dead doesn’t mean dead.” A-niang finishes with a smirk.
Wei Wuxian.
Sizhui’s A-niang is Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian, the sacrifice. Wei Wuxian, the hero. Wei Wuxian, who’s name Shugong still sighs in tired fury. Wei Wuxian, ward of the Jiangs, and Sandu Shengshou’s brother in all but blood.
“Why…” Jiang-zongzhu asks, voice broken. “Why didn’t you come back?”
A-niang- Wei Wuxian- winces. “Well. The same reason you kept Chenqing, I suppose. I was a weapon. I couldn’t just… I didn’t want the Wen…”
He shudders. “It was safer behind the mask of the Matriarch. And then things just…happened. And kept happening.”
“She killed Jie!” Jaing-zongzhu shouts, swiping a hand through the air. “The very weapon that you just tried so hard to return to it’s beast of an owner-”
“Can you really blame a weapon, for the actions of the one who wields it?”
A-niang’s voice is carefully steady. He looks at Jiang-zongzhu with pleading eyes, as if asking him to see the double meaning behind his words.
“You’re branded.” Jiang-zongzhu says shortly. “The Juniors said… you were branded. The Matriarch has your brand.”
A-niang opens his mouth to answer, but a ring of red light flares to life around his throat, choking his response before he can even try to voice it.
Jiang-zongzhu clenches his jaw, clearly taking that as confirmation. With a flick of his wrist, Zidian shrinks back into a ring, and he holds his hand out to A-niang.
“Come back.” He says, voice gentler than Sizhui has ever heard it. “I can protect you.”
A-niang laughs, short and humorless. “Chengcheng, I quite literally just robbed Lotus Pier. The Matriarch’s will is mine.”
“We’ve held people with a brand before.” Jiang-zongzhu all but begs. “Please, let me… let me help you. Don’t just disappear again and try to tackle this alone.”
Self-sacrificing. That’s what A-die had said.
“Listen to him.” Sizhui begs, stepping forwards. The reason A-niang didn’t want to come back to the Jaing was because he thought he might betray them, because of the Wen brand. Because he didn’t want to force Jiang-zongzhu to make exceptions. But Jiang-zongzhu clearly cares about A-niang! “A-niang, please.”
Jiang-zongzhu slowly turns to look at Sizhui.
“…what did you just call him?”
Oh.
Oh Sizhui wasn’t supposed to do that.
“I…um.” Sizhui stutters, trying to think of a way to explain himself. A-niang hadn’t wanted him to tell anyone, but Jiang-zongzhu is his brother, right?
“A-yuan, now is… not a good time to introduce yourself.” A-niang sighs, looking almost amused. “A-cheng, meet one of the things that happened.”
“Lan Wangji…” Jiang-zongzhu whispers, voice shaky as he looks between A-niang and Sizhui. “He-”
“He found me, after the war. I asked him not to tell anyone.” A-niang explains, raising his hands in surrender. “A-cheng, I-”
A roar echoes across the lake, interrupting a-niang. He looks over his shoulder, biting at his lip, before turning back to them. “A-yuan, I’m sorry, I’m running out of energy.”
Right.
A-niang doesn’t have his mask, or Chifeng-zun, or Mo Xuanyu. His situation is unstable.
He can’t stay.
“No, hold on, he’s your WHAT?” Jiang-zongzhu says, holding a hand out like he’s trying to catch his balance, or stop them from continuing.
“A-cheng, I’m sorry.” A-niang says, backing away. “A-yuan, explain to him what you can, but don’t tell anyone else, okay?”
“Hey, I’m talking to you- Wei Wuxian, don’t!”
Jiang-zongzhu lunges forward, arm outstretched, trying desperately to catch A-niang before he escapes. It’s futile, though- tendrils of resentment rise into the air behind A-niang, cradling him as he tips backwards over the water's rushing surface.
There's a splash, and Jiang-zongzhu falls to his knees, watching the water go still like nothing was ever there.
Sizhui stares helplessly at the back of Jiang-zongzhu’s purple robes as the Alpha trembles in confusion and rage.
He… definitely shouldn’t have done that. Should have kept quiet. He knows Jiang-zongzhu cares for a-niang, but there are the two random Jiang Cultivators that have followed their sect leader out here, both of whom are staring with wide eyes at Sizhui. The one thing A-niang asked of him! And he’s messed it up, twice!
“...Jiujiu?” Jin Ling whispers, like he’s afraid to break the silence.
Jiang-zongzhu twitches, snapping out of his trance to look back at the juniors. He gets to his feet without a word, and slowly walks towards Sizhui.
He can’t be mad, right? Sizhui didn’t know that A-niang was Wei Wuxian! He only just learned that he was Jiang! Actually, he only just learned he was ALIVE!
Jiang-zongzhu comes to a stop right before Sizhui, looking down at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Is he angry? Confused? Searching for something?
“Right.” Sandu Shengshou huffs, turning back to the lights of Lotus Pier, apparently having found what he was looking for. “I am going to kill Hanguang-jun.”
Oh, thank the ancestors, he’s not yelling at- wait.
“Jiang-zongzhu, no!” Sizhui gasps, rushing after him.
Notes:
JL: hey can I go show my friends something?
JWY: since when do you have friends what the fuck
Jingyi totally called it btw. Pour one out for Jingyi, a genius unrecognized in his time.郑(Zheng) - straight / upright / principle,松 (sōng) - pine
林 (Lin) 亮 (liàng)- bright / shine 春 (chūn) - springJingyi called it part 2
Sizhui: Ancestor Jiang, please keep my A-niang safe
Ancestor Jiang: I may be a god but even I do not have the power祖先 (Zǔxiān) means ancestor, 祖 (zu) is the same character from Laozu, founder of an idea kind of thing.
QUESTION: Should it be Jiang-zuxian (to my white ear it sounds like a given name and :/) or Jiang Laozu for continuity? Yunmeng Laozu? Founder Jiang? Ancestor Jiang? There will be more sect founders later btw but only for a bit. All of the Main Five have at least 1 speaking line. Is it funnier for WWX to call them grandpa or ge/jie.I think the Demonic Cultivators would fight by sending their corpses out and hiding/causing chaos. They aren’t really trying to hurt anyone (much) and they haven’t been trained in the same way as the other sects. How do you handle a highly skilled enemy that wants you dead but you need to leave alive? Hide. Be a frustrating little rat. Smoke bombs babey.
WWX isn’t wearing a mask bc A: it would turn him into the Matriarch and that's more drama than we need right now, and B: the protective enchantments of Lotus Pier still recognize him when his identity isn’t being sealed away.
…dang I write a lot of chase scenes don’t I? I hate them. Why do I do this to myself.