Chapter Text
The last time Jiang Cheng came to find Xue Yang in the streets of Kuizhou, Xue Yang was pretty sure he was dying.
He should have known better than to trust Chang Ci’an. He did know better, really, but he’d been so hungry, and the man had promised him an entire plate of pastries if he’d only deliver one measly letter to the far side of town…
Xue Yang sneered at the memory, furious with himself. Why, why hadn’t he listened to his gut? One moment of misplaced confidence, and it was probably going to cost him his fucking life.
He’d run along like a dutiful little fool, delivered Chang Ci’an’s letter, and stood there, all puffed up and proud of himself, waiting to see if there was any answer.
Instead, the recipient had taken one look at the letter’s contents, bellowed with rage, and clouted Xue Yang over the head so hard that his ears buzzed and his vision swam for a moment. That had hurt. By the time he’d regained his composure, the man was already hauling him back across town by his hair, which had really hurt, all the while ranting and raving about the insults written down in Chang Ci’an’s letter. When Xue Yang pointed out that he was just Chang Ci’an’s messenger, couldn’t read the letter, had nothing to do with their feud, and didn’t give a fuck about it either way, the man stopped long enough to give him a good shaking and another solid slap, this time across the face, which had really, really hurt.
Anyway, by the time the man had dragged him back to the inn where Chang Ci’an was supposed to be waiting, he’d long since fucked off, Xue Yang’s plate of pastries had been thrown to the pigs, and somehow that hurt worse than anything else that had come before.
Xue Yang had torn himself loose, leaving a hefty fistful of his hair behind, and gone off to seek revenge.
Eventually, after a whole day of searching, he’d found Chang Ci’an. The older man was watching some of the market jiejies load baskets of fish and vegetables into his ox-cart, looking absentminded and jittery and irritable – until Xue Yang descended on him in a blind fury. All Xue Yang had was the little wooden sword that Jiang Cheng had left behind, but he’d gone after Chang Ci’an with the full force of his raging heart.
And Chang Ci’an hadn’t even had the decency to look frightened.
Well, perhaps he’d been momentarily shocked to be accosted by a red-faced prepubescent armed with a toy sword, but the look on his face had quickly given way to disgust. He’d lashed Xue Yang aside with his whip, clicked his tongue scornfully, turned his back, and climbed into the cart, leaving Xue Yang sprawled in the road.
Xue Yang, stunned with pain and numb with failure, didn’t realize that the cart had started moving until it was too late.
And after that nothing had mattered, nothing had even registered, nothing but the agony of Chang Ci’an’s ox cart rolling slowly over his left hand, its heavy wooden wheels inexorably grinding his fingers deep into the muck. His pinky finger had been severed entirely, leaving only a bloody stump, while his fourth and third fingers had been crushed to pulp, utterly beyond repair.
Xue Yang screamed his throat raw, but nobody stopped to help.
Somehow, Xue Yang had stumbled and sobbed all the way back to his alleyway. He’d snatched a semi-clean rag from his pile of trash pickings and clumsily tried to wrap it around the mangled mess of his left hand, but it was difficult – he’d been trembling something fierce, lightheaded and faint with blood loss and pain. He’d barely managed to crawl into his corner and curl up around the throbbing wreckage of his hand before he passed out.
By the time he dragged himself back to full consciousness the next morning, Xue Yang knew he was fucked. His hand was badly infected. It was red, tender, and fever-hot; his mangled fingers were so swollen that the skin looked tight and shiny. Xue Yang stared at it, nauseous, knowing what would happen next. The infection would creep up his arm in angry crimson streaks like claw marks, and when it reached his torso – when it reached his organs – they would fail, one by one, and he would die, slowly and painfully. It was how Uncle Pig had died.
Fuck that, Xue Yang decided. He uncurled one trembling, bloodied finger, and activated Jiang Cheng’s message talisman.
*
“Yang-ge? What the – Yang-ge!”
Xue Yang managed a groggy, half-conscious grunt as he peeled his eyes open and beheld Jiang Cheng hanging over him as he lay stupefied on the ground, lightly dusted with snow, half-in and half-out of his ramshackle lean-to. The boy’s face was pale, and big tears were already starting to plop down his cheeks. You are the ugliest crier I have ever seen, Xue Yang thought muzzily to himself, as Jiang Cheng’s little face twisted with distress.
He assumed he must look like a fierce corpse already – stinking and dehydrated, with gray lips and sunken, red-rimmed eyes. He hadn’t eaten. He had only been able to lick up a few drops of water when a couple of flakes from the morning’s stingy little snowfall had landed and melted on his burning cheeks.
It was maybe two days since the message talisman had gone flapping bravely away, taking the form of a lovely golden butterfly, but Xue Yang couldn’t be entirely sure. Time passed oddly in his feverish delirium, and he was never quite clear on when he was dreaming or not.
“Yang-ge, what happened,” Jiang Cheng cried, staring down at him, aghast. “Who did this to you?”
“Some asshole – named Chang Ci’an,” said Xue Yang as Jiang Cheng began peeling away the crusty mess of rags wrapped around his hand. He made a valiant effort to sound normal, but couldn’t quite beat back the waves of pain that left him whining and panting, dry-mouthed. “I’m – I’m gonna come back as a – fierce ghost – and – and haunt his – sorry ass.”
“No,” said Jiang Cheng, and dug out a small medicine pack from somewhere within his nifty magical storage pouch. “Don’t say things like that.”
“You can exorcise me,” Xue Yang said, trying to smile. “Imagine the stories everyone will tell – about Jiang Cheng, the mighty cultivator – vanquishing fierce ghosts – even though he’s only five years old…”
“Shut up!” said Jiang Cheng, fumbling with the cork on a jar of ointment. After a moment, he just tore it off viciously with his teeth and globbed the entire contents onto Xue Yang’s swollen hand. It felt wonderfully cool and refreshing and smelt powerfully of angelica root.
“Now I’m gonna die – smelling like this shit,” Xue Yang said. “Gross.”
“Stop saying you’re going to die, you’re not allowed to die,” Jiang Cheng told him, sniffling, and bound up his hand in a fresh, clean bandage. “Take this pill or I’ll break your legs!”
But when Xue Yang tried to swallow the pill, his stomach revolted. When he had finished vomiting, he coughed and sagged back, closing his eyes. He was vaguely aware that Jiang Cheng was still cradling his hand and crying, sounding more distraught than ever.
“I waited for you,” he murmured, almost dreamily, over the sound of Jiang Cheng’s wracking sobs. “What took you so long, A-Cheng?”
“My father – he wouldn’t bring me,” the boy hiccupped. “His meeting with the Chang Sect isn’t until next week – and he said he was too busy to leave early – and he didn’t listen to me when I told him it was important!
Xue Yang made a great effort, and patted Jiang Cheng’s shaking shoulders with his uninjured arm.
“Yeah – it’s too bad – I never did find your dogs, did I?”
“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng said again. “You think I care about that now? I didn’t realize the reason you were calling was because you needed help, Yang-gege! I stole one of the boats and got here as fast as I could, but if I’d known you were so sick, I’d have come sooner!”
Oh.
He’s crying because of me, Xue Yang thought. I’m important to him. And as Jiang Cheng huddled next to him, and wept over him, Xue Yang finally admitted it to himself: Jiang Cheng is important to me too.
Of course, no sooner had this epiphany occurred to Xue Yang than everything went to shit.
A thin, high whine, the sound of a blade singing through the air, sounded in Xue Yang’s ears, and Jiang Cheng froze, going rigid in his embrace. Both boys turned their faces just in time to see a beautiful woman leap from her flying sword, pluck it from midair, and sheathe it at her side, all in one graceful motion. She landed in the mouth of the alleyway with the delicacy of a falling blossom – a lightness that was quite at odds with the absolutely murderous aura radiating off of her.
The woman’s rage manifested itself in a gauntlet of purple lightning, sparking from the jewel on her hand and arcing around her clenched fist. It flickered ominously over the dingy little alleyway, and Jiang Cheng shrank back from her, pressing into Xue Yang as he did.
In a moment of icy lucidity, Xue Yang’s mind flashed back to Jiang Cheng’s swollen face, mottled green and yellow, bruised from a powerful blow. My mother was upset that I messed up my sword forms, Jiang Cheng had said…
Xue Yang would be thrice damned if he knew where he found the strength to do it, but in the blink of an eye he was up on his feet – and okay, maybe he was swaying a bit and not entirely steady, but he still managed to put himself between Jiang Cheng and the Violet Spider. He spread out his black sleeves to form a ragged barricade, bared his teeth at the woman, and snarled; adrenaline was roaring through his brain and he felt like a mad, feral thing.
The Violet Spider raised one perfectly arched eyebrow and looked him over from head to toe, a single, penetrating glance that made Xue Yang feel about two inches tall.
“Well,” she said, disdainfully. “The disciples told me that A-Cheng was sneaking off to feed a stray animal, and it seems they were at least partially correct.”
Xue Yang hissed. The woman narrowed her eyes at him, and the silver ring on her finger unfurled into a whip, twice as long as Xue Yang was tall and crackling with purple lightning.
“Impertinent brat. If you do not step away from my son this instant, I will flay the skin from your bones.”
Xue Yang didn’t budge. But as he stood there, dizzily expecting to be rent in twain or set on fire, or both, he felt Jiang Cheng’s little arms go around him in a fierce hug instead.
“Mother, stop! Don’t hurt Yang-gege! Please, Mother, don’t hurt him,” Jiang Cheng wailed, sticking to Xue Yang like a barnacle. “He’s been helping me! He’s my friend!”
“A-Cheng, don’t be absurd,” said Yu Ziyuan coldly. “You are the Sect Heir of Yunmeng Jiang, start acting like it. Let go of that filthy brat and come here at once.”
“I can’t, mother, I can’t! Yang-gege is sick, look at him, he needs a healer!”
As if the emphasize this point, Xue Yang’s vision abruptly tunneled and he found that he could not stay on his feet for a moment longer. He slumped bonelessly forward, then screamed with pain as the motion jostled his injured hand. Jiang Cheng began to scream too, his little face red and blotchy with distress as he clung to Xue Yang and struggled to hold him up. Crisp steps approached, and Xue Yang tried to flail away from the blur of aquamarine and purple that suddenly loomed in front of him, but firm hands took hold of him and laid him down with the detached, impersonal competence of someone preparing to butcher a pig. Slender fingers encircled his swollen wrist, not gently, and he flinched.
“Hold still, brat,” said Madam Yu impatiently.
And without any further ado, she sent a stinging surge of energy – colder than the iciest winter gale, keen as a weapon fresh from the swordsmiths – sweeping through his body; Xue Yang arched his back and howled. Prickly heat followed immediately afterward, a burning, sparking sensation that concentrated in his infected hand and arm. As it faded, his head felt numb and empty, ringingly clear like the inside of a bell. He gasped for breath and lay there panting, staring up at the woman who was now kneeling beside him. She scowled down at him intently, as if she was trying to bore straight into his skull with her eyes.
Well, I can see where A-Cheng gets it from, he thought woozily. If he was indeed glimpsing Jiang Cheng’s future, the prospect was undoubtedly a fine one.
Beneath his lingering baby fat, Jiang Cheng had clearly inherited his mother’s sharp, feline features – high, delicate cheekbones, strong black brows, those luminous and expressive gray eyes; the finely honed beauty of a gem or a blade. To watch her move was to understand how Jiang Cheng had learned to carry himself, poised and prideful; the way he put up his stubborn, pointed cat’s chin whenever he felt the need to assert himself; his watchfulness; the way he wore his gentry status like a brittle carapace; the sudden flashes of intense feeling that peeked through anyway.
The Violet Spider sat back on her heels, still holding Xue Yang by the wrist, and transferred her thoughtful frown to her son. Jiang Cheng peered back at her, warily, and snuffled. She tsked and dabbed at his face briskly with a corner of her sleeve.
“Stop that blubbering, A-Cheng,” she said. “It’s unbecoming. Take a deep breath, pull yourself together, and tell me everything you know about this boy.”
Jiang Cheng’s eyes welled up again as he gulped out his explanation – how he’d gone searching for his lost dogs months ago, and how he’d enlisted “Yang-gege” to carry out his “secret mission” (Xue Yang cringed inwardly, it was too embarrassing), in exchange for food, talismans, and instruction in the Jiang sword style – the sudden arrival of the butterfly-shaped message talisman – how he’d sneaked off and traveled to Kuizhou, only to discover Xue Yang dying of the injury he received from Chang Ci’an…
Madame Yu listened to it all with her eyebrows nearly elevated to her hairline, but she did not interrupt, and she no longer seemed angry. Nevertheless, Xue Yang tried to sit up discreetly and get his feet under him, in case he needed to make a run for it.
Gingerly, he looked down at his injured hand, fearful at first – but then in growing awe. The swelling and infection had all but vanished; the pain was greatly lessened.
“What the fuck,” he said, astonished enough to interrupt. “How’d you do that?”
“Watch your language, brat,” said the Violet Spider briskly, as Jiang Cheng made frantic shushing motions at him. “I used a qi-sharing technique to boost your strength and rid your body of infection and inflammation. It also works on most poisons. You’ll learn it in your third year as a Jiang disciple.”
Jiang Cheng’s mouth dropped open, making a perfectly round “o” of astonishment. Xue Yang was pretty sure his face was making the same expression. Madame Yu tsked again, removed a small paper cylinder from her sleeve, and lit it up with a purple spark that leapt from the tip of her finger. The paper made a fizzing noise, shot into the air, and exploded above them in a swirl of purple light. It gradually resolved into a glowing flower, one that Xue Yang now recognized as a lotus.
Pretty, thought Xue Yang to himself. Like the fireworks at New Year’s.
“There,” Madame Yu said. “The disciples will be here soon. You, brat, are coming with us, and I hope for your own sake that you don’t get motion-sickness.”
Xue Yang blinked at her.
“Mother?” Jiang Cheng croaked. “What – what’s going on? Is Yang-gege really coming home with us?”
“Of course he is, A-Cheng,” she replied, with perfect composure. “The brat has an extraordinary level of cultivation potential, and I am certainly not fool enough to leave him here, wasting away in this dismal little backwater. Give him some proper food, a bath, a bit of training… he’ll become a powerful cultivator someday, I have no doubt.”
And with that, the Violet Spider reached over and cupped Jiang Cheng’s soft little cheek in the palm of her hand. Jiang Cheng stared back at her, wide-eyed as a baby rabbit.
“You did the right thing, A-Cheng, standing up for this boy,” she said, in the gentlest voice Xue Yang had yet heard from her. “In this world, there are as many potential disciples as there are leaves on a vine – but not many of them would have the guts to stand up for you, unarmed, against a cultivator thrice their age.”
She sighed.
“I only regret that he felt it was necessary to protect you from me.”
As she spoke, Madam Yu stared at her son, almost hungrily, as if she was searching for something in his gray eyes that so resembled her own. Jiang Cheng’s gaze flicked over to Xue Yang for a moment, looking panicked, and Xue Yang shrugged back at him helplessly, having no reassurance to give.
Madame Yu stroked over Jiang Cheng’s cheek with the pad of her thumb, and added, “You’ve made me very proud today.”
Xue Yang watched Jiang Cheng absolutely melt into her touch with these words. The bright smile that spread hesitantly across his face was reflected in her own, and for a moment mother and son simply beamed at each other while Xue Yang looked on, rather bemused at the sudden turn his day had taken.
Then he heard feet pounding along the street nearby, and a dozen cultivators in purple uniforms came streaming hurriedly into the alleyway.
“She’s found Jiang-gongzi!” exclaimed one of the disciples. “Thank the heavens he’s safe!”
“Of course he is safe,” said Madame Yu, standing up and drawing an air of icy hauteur around her like a mantle. “You think so little of my son’s abilities?”
All the disciples immediately bowed, murmuring apologies, as if it was only to be expected that a little boy of eight should be capable of sailing a boat for several hundred li during peak winter storm season, alone, without coming to grief.
“That’s quite enough of that,” Madame Yu said. “Jinzhu, I want you to take half of the disciples and call at the Chang Sect Manor. There is a man there called Chang Ci’an who has deliberately injured a Yunmeng Jiang recruit. Apprehend him and bring him to Lotus Pier to answer for his misdeeds; I will not have it bandied about that the Jiang Sect tolerates any such offense. Feel free to put some chains on him, if he complains,” she added, as an afterthought, and Xue Yang felt a feral, toothy grin spread across his face.
Jinzhu – a short, efficient-looking woman with close-fitted sleeves and severely pulled-back hair – nodded assent and departed without a word.
“Please excuse my ignorance, Madame,” said one of the remaining disciples, hesitantly, “but – erm – which of our recruits did this Chang Ci’an injure?”
“That is an excellent question, Wŭ-shidi,” Madame Yu said, and turned to Xue Yang. “Brat, what’s your family name?”
Xue Yang stammered it out and she furrowed her splendid brow, looking thoughtful.
“Xue Yang? Hmm… I wonder. Well, no matter. You seem old enough for a courtesy name, in any case.”
She turned back to the disciples and announced, “This Jiang recruit is Xue Yang, courtesy Xue Chengmei. He has been carrying out a covert, long-distance reconnaissance mission for your Jiang-gongzi since the eighth month.”
All the disciples looked over at Jiang Cheng, who turned pink and ducked his head, so they turned and stared at Xue Yang, who shrugged again. It’s not like he had any answers for them, either.
“Now, as you can see, Xue Chengmei has suffered a severe injury to his left hand,” Madame Yu went on briskly. “He will be returning with us to Lotus Pier for treatment, and will join the third class of junior disciples when he has fully recovered.”
The same disciple shuffled his feet slightly, and Madame Yu looked at him.
“Does Wŭ-shidi have another question?” she inquired. Her silky tone sounded dangerous, even to Xue Yang’s inexperienced ears.
“This one begs your pardon, Madame,” the man stammered, “but should we not secure Jiang-zongzhu’s permission? Or – or consult his opinion…?”
The man’s voice died away as the Violet Spider fixed him with a glittering stare, and a smile that showed all of her teeth. His fellow disciples looked at him sideways and scootched away like he was contagious. Jiang Cheng wrung his hands together and stared fixedly at the ground, like he knew perfectly well what was coming.
The Violet Spider didn’t raise her voice, but her words still cut sharper than her whip.
“Tell me, Wŭ-shidi, did Jiang-zongzhu find it necessary to consult my opinion before he brought home Cangse Sanren’s brat? Did he secure my permission before he gave away A-Cheng’s dogs on Wei Ying’s behalf, or installed the boy in the family wing of Lotus Pier?”
The disciple looked as if he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Yu Ziyuan gave him the kind of sneer that Xue Yang aspired to.
“You will run thirty laps around the training field upon our return. Perhaps that will help beat it into your thick head that the Violet Spider cares for no man’s opinion, and asks for no man’s permission.”
With that, she turned away from the wilting disciple and hoisted Xue Yang to his feet by the back of his shirt, giving him a brisk little shake, as if he were an unruly pup. She left her hand on his shoulder as she added, “This boy’s diligent service to my son deserves to be rewarded. From now on, Xue Yang is to be considered my personal protégé. He and Wei Ying will be treated equally, disciplined equally, and allowed equal privileges. Is that understood?”
“Shì!” yelled all of the disciples fervently, and bowed again.
“It had better be,” Madame Yu said. Her smile changed slightly as she glanced over at her son, looking almost impish. “After all, turnabout is fair play, is it not?”
Xue Yang caught a glimpse of Jiang Cheng’s expression before he flung himself forward and buried his face in his mother’s side. The boy had been staring at her, besotted and starry-eyed as if she’d hung the moon in the sky. Xue Yang couldn’t quite relate – it would take him a long time to forgive her for the bruise on Jiang Cheng’s little face, as it wasn’t something he could ever forget – but he supposed he could find it within himself to go along and see how things played out.
When the Violet Spider gave orders, those orders were carried out instantaneously. Almost before he knew what was happening to him, Xue Yang found himself trussed up in a couple of blankets, thick and heavy and warm as a peat fire, then carefully placed upon a stretcher slung between a pair of hovering swords. He lay there feeling like a caterpillar in a cocoon, which was appropriate, he supposed, for someone poised on the brink of an unknown new life.
As the disciples around him began to mount their swords, he craned his neck and looked down at Jiang Cheng, who was fussing with the blankets around his feet. Jiang Cheng gave Xue Yang one of his bright and precious smiles, and Xue Yang felt a swoop in his stomach that had little to do with the fact that he was suddenly airborne, for the first time ever in his life.
As he began to float gently up into the sky, he glimpsed a woman who looked to be Jinzhu’s twin beckoning to Jiang Cheng. But the boy shook his head, tiptoed up to his mother’s side, and tugged wordlessly on her sleeve.
“It’s all right, Yinzhu,” the Violet Spider said, hoisting him effortlessly onto her sword and tucking him carefully under her arm. “A-Cheng will ride home with me.”
THE END