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Jiang Cheng was captured by the Wens and Wei Wuxian never found him.
He went to great lengths looking for him, letting the others fight the war he couldn't care about. He slipped into every single Wen supervisory office he could find, interrogated them, tortured them, killing them. Nobody knew where his shidi was.
He heard the Campaign failed. The leaders of the great sects were executed at Buyetian’s splendid square, their blood marking the rise of the new era. The Crimson Sun reigned. Yunmeng Jiang disappeared into sad ballads and ghost stories.
No one remembered Wei Wuxian anymore. He was as far away from jianghu as he could be. The most brilliant youth of his generation was now a mere rogue cultivator, half-mad, looking for his liege.
Only Jiang Yanli, who now stayed at Meishan Yu, was the last connection to the life he once had. She, who had lost everything—her family, her home, her fiancé—was always waiting for his scarce visits, in dingy secluded inns of Meishan. She never failed to bring him the soup, steaming hot and fragrant with tender meat, but it never tasted the same.
"I will find him, Shijie," Wei Wuxian vowed, the same old promise his tongue had memorized like his own name. "I will find him and bring him back to you."
Jiang Yanli smiled; the corner of her eyes had started to wrinkle. She gave up cultivation, after everything that happened. "All my blessings for you, A-Xian. Be careful on your way."
She taught him how to cook the soup. Just in case, they entertained themselves with wishful thinking, just in case he found Jiang Cheng far away from Meishan, starved and in immediate need of food.
Wei Wuxian never got it right. The meat was too tough. The broth was too salty. Sometimes he added too much ginger, sometimes too little. But Shijie assured him that Jiang Cheng would love it anyway, because Wei Wuxian cooked it for him.
She died not long after, from a disease a cultivator—even the one with a weak golden core—should have managed to recover from just fine.
Wei Wuxian continued his quest.
.
.
He crossed paths with Lan Wangji, once.
The man was as unrecognizable as Wei Wuxian himself was. So unfamiliar they both had become, they ended up engaged in a swordfight over a petty matter. It brought back memories, of their first meeting on the roof of Yunshen Buzhichu, as well as of Jiang Cheng who was waiting for Wei Wuxian in his room, fretting as always over his shixiong who was too unrestrained for those rules.
It brought the memories of the tulu xuanwu cave and everything that happened after.
They drank together that night, stuffing their mind stupid with alcohol. There was no more Yunshen Buzhichu, and Lan Wangji cared not for rules anymore.
He changed a lot, after his xiongzhang and most of his clan's death. Colder, harsher, bitter. Lan Xichen used all the remaining connections he had to keep his little brother alive, but it was as if Lan Wangji died with them all the same. Wei Wuxian wished he could be as gallant as Lan Xichen.
Had he been given the chance; he would have died for Jiang Cheng ten times over.
.
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They crossed paths again over the years. Sometimes they shared a jar of jiu (or tea, when they felt like it). Sometimes they shared a room in yet another dingy inn, pretending they didn’t hear the other tossed and turned in their bed, tortured by nightmares that never went away.
Sometimes, they saw each other from afar and nodded before they went on their own ways; or pretended not to see each other.
How ironic that Lan Wangji was the closest thing Wei Wuxian had to a friend now, but they couldn't stand the other's presence for too long.
Wei Wuxian reminded Lan Wangji that, unlike him, Wei Wuxian still had the hope of finding Jiang Cheng alive.
Lan Wangji reminded Wei Wuxian that he could have been a much better shixiong for Jiang Cheng.
.
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It wasn't until some thirteen years later that Lan Wangji approached him for real, determination in his eyes.
He said, "There will be another war."
He said that a branch of Qishan Wen had decided to revolt and was gathering allies.
Wei Wuxian's laughter sounded like a cry in his own ears. "You, Lan er-gongzi, decide to side with the Wens?"
"The other kind of Wens."
"They're all the same."
There was a flicker in Lan Wangji's eyes, a window to the truth of his feelings. "It doesn't matter. Wen Ruohan must be taken down first." The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
Wei Wuxian didn't join the first war, too distraught to find Jiang Cheng, the only hope for his sect. But now, now it felt sometimes like he didn’t understand the meaning of hope anymore. He just kept going, because he didn’t know what else to do.
After sharing five jars of jiu with Lan Wangji and ruminating on the years of his drunken misery, Wei Wuxian sighed, picked up his bundle, and went with Lan Wangji to give the Wens their desired little army.
.
.
A Yunmeng Jiang and a Gusu Lan, finding allies for the Wens.
The previous generals would be rolling in their graves.
"How about Nie Huaisang?" His older brother was the fiercest of generals. Wei Wuxian heard he died with his head held high, screaming freedom for his sect.
"Qinghe Nie is one of Qishan Wen's closest allies."
"Ah."
The Wen branch that revolted used to be a small branch that specialized in healing. They were led by Wen Qing, a cultivator more known for her medical prowess than her swordsmanship. Wei Wuxian vaguely remembered Jiang Cheng whispering how she was Wen Ruohan's favorite, but he couldn't be sure. Without Jiang Cheng whispering the hot rumors of jianghu, Wei Wuxian felt lost.
(He missed the way Jiang Cheng would lean to him to whisper about this person or that. He couldn't help leaning toward Lan Wangji sometimes, expecting him to say something, but Lan Wangji was as clueless as he was).
The only person Wei Wuxian knew from the Wen formation was Wen Ning, Wen-guniang 's little brother. Wei Wuxian remembered the timid, soft-hearted man, remembered how he offered to find Jiang Cheng in the basement of Lianhua Wu only to bring the bad news.
"Wei-gongzi," he greeted Wei Wuxian when they met at the secret camp. There was still a tint of guilt there as if not finding Jiang Cheng all those years ago was his own fault.
Wei Wuxian smiled and nodded, and they went back to business.
Three months after Lan Wangji recruited him, the second Sunshot Campaign commenced.
.
.
They won the war.
Wen Ning delivered the last blow to Wen Ruohan, Wen Qing created elaborate poisons and deadly smoke bombs to destroy the now-weaker Wen army, Nie Huaisang was their spy for the whole decade. It turned out the way to take down the sun was to burn it from the inside out.
As the war ended, they were ready to turn around and destroyed Wen Qing’s branch too. But the first thing she did after rising as the new Qishan Wen leader was giving back all the lands to the other great sects, and letting go of most of the possessions Wen Ruohan managed to gather during his reign.
Tyranny, she said, had never been their way. Qishan Wen stepped down from their status as the strongest sect, saving just enough to honor their ancestors, and went to the mountains to repent.
Lan Wangji went back to rebuild Yunshen Buzhichu.
Wei Wuxian didn't know what to do with Lianhua Wu. It had been used as Qishan Wen's supervisory office for years. Most of the old buildings had been rebuilt in Qishan Wen style, the ponds that circled the housings were dried out or filled in with dirt. There was no single lotus blooming at the lotus pier. The colors were all red and white, blazing as the sun.
The first time Wei Wuxian stepped through the gate, his tears fell, after so long they didn't. He saw the image of him and Jiang Cheng, chasing after each other, their laughter echoed in the dry deserted air. He saw the shadow of Zidian’s spark, purple lightning of the night, inspiring and terrifying in its wake.
Wei Wuxian fell to his knees and wept for everything he had owned and lost.
.
.
He filled the sect leader position for formality's sake so that Yunmeng Jiang was still recognized as a sect when its real leader came home. He tore down the Wen architectures, refilled the ponds, and planted lotus seeds. He opened the door for everyone who wanted to join and told them not to call him zongzhu— it’s Wei-qianbei for him, or Wei-daren, the temporary leader.
Now that putting pictures of the missing Jiang heir didn't cost the artists and the posters' lives, Wei Wuxian spared no expense to commission leagues of artists and put Jiang Cheng's pictures everywhere. The promised reward was told to keep a family wealthy for three generations.
Nothing turned up. At first, there were a couple of brazen swindlers who tried to impersonate Jiang Cheng or brought a dolled-up pretty boy and claimed him the missing heir. Such attempts dwindled quickly, however, after Wei Wuxian showed them what earned him the respect and fear of his war army.
At the newly built Ancestral Hall, there was no tablet for Jiang Cheng. No. Not yet. It was selfish of Wei Wuxian, maybe. But not yet.
Lianhua Wu was rebuilding, and it was waiting for its true heir.
.
.
The seasons changed and it had started to rain. Yunmeng Jiang held a mourning day during this season, for the past they've lost and the master who hadn't come home. Once a year; the robust, lively Yunmeng Jiang became as silent as Gusu Lan; and Wei Wuxian replayed again that rainy day in the market when he lost Jiang Cheng, making up all the scenarios that could have been, berating himself for leaving when Jiang Cheng was in such vulnerable state.
His annual pity party, however, was broken by the sound of someone running on the wooden floor. "Wei-qianbei! Wei-qianbei, you have to see this!"
The door to the study was thrown open and there he was, in all his youthful glory—shijie's little A-Ling.
A little after the campaign, Jiang Yanli adopted an infant. Well, some said he was adopted, an orphaned Meishan Yu baby who lost his parents in the war. Others said he was Jiang Yanli's son with Jin Zixuan, who bed her on the run before his capture and execution.
Neither Meishan Yu nor Jiang Yanli indulged in those rumors. The first time Wei Wuxian visited Jiang Yanli after the war, the boy was already big enough to eat soft food. Jiang Yanli introduced him as Yu Jinling, or A-Ling. She didn't tell Wei Wuxian anything else and Wei Wuxian didn't ask.
The boy was Jiang Yanli's light in her last lonely years, and Wei Wuxian loved A-Ling as such. When Wei Wuxian rebuilt Lianhua Wu, Meishan Yu sent A-Ling and a couple of chosen disciples to join Yunmeng Jiang, as a symbol of alliance.
Shijie's little A-Ling was not so little anymore, and now he stood in front of Wei Wuxian, breathing hard.
"Aiya, A-Ling, what's the rush? Look, you get your robes all wet!"
"Wei-qianbei," A-Ling swallowed to catch his breath. "You have to come with me. I promise him I'll be right back, but he said he can't wait for too long because he needs to go home. He lives in the mountain so it'll be dangerous if he set out after dark. Quick, Wei-qianbei, before he's gone for real!"
"Wait, wait, slow down, I'm not following. Who lives in the mountain and why must we see him?"
A-Ling opened his mouth in angry impatience before he realized that he had missed a piece of vital information in his haste. His face reddened. Wei Wuxian smiled. The boy was excitable, but also easily embarrassed. That last trait was reminiscence to someone who might or might not be the boy's Jiujiu.
As if fate decided it, right after Wei Wuxian drew those similarities, A-Ling said,
"I think it's him. I think it's Jiang-gongzi."
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The street was muddy from the all-day rain. People were turning their heads toward them, murmuring, raising eyebrows. Wei Wuxian didn't care. His too elaborate, too heavy sect leader robes were splattered with mud. He could hear the echo of Jiang Cheng's voice scolding him. Wei Wuxian's heart thundered.
In a few minutes, he might hear it for real.
They ran past the market, past the rows of houses and inns, and arrived at the town's gate. Underneath the awning, there was a crouching figure, his face hidden by the wide-brimmed hat.
"Xiansheng! Hey!" A-Ling waved, the water from his soaked sleeve splashing onto Wei Wuxian’s face.
The man in the distance noticed them and rose to his feet. He was wearing a peasant's clothes, and Wei Wuxian noticed the two woven vegetable baskets by his feet and the bamboo shoulder pole leaning on the wall.
The man looked up. "There you are! I thought you wouldn't come!"
The phrase grabbed Wei Wuxian by the collar and pulled him back through time, through space; where his only concern was teasing Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng's concern was Wei Wuxian's unruly behavior. He was late to the class after shenanigans and Jiang Cheng whispered the phrase to him, the same exact words, the same exact tune—scolding, yet relieved.
"Jiang Cheng, don't you trust your shixiong? I know how to handle my timing!"
"Xiansheng, don't you trust me? I'm a man of my words!" A-Ling's exclamation pulled Wei Wuxian back to the present.
"This is Wei-qianbei. He's the one who'll ... Buy your vegetables," A-Ling introduced him, glancing sheepishly at Wei Wuxian for the sloppy lie.
The man’s vegetables were sub-par at best, the kind that poor farmers planted mostly to feed themselves and occasionally sell to the town in exchange for some meager cash that didn't worth the trip back and forth; but needed anyway. Yunmeng Jiang would never feed their disciples with such kinds of vegetables.
But the man turned at him and beamed and Wei Wuxian felt as if being punched in the gut.
"Oh, thank you, Wei-daren! Wei-daren is the epitome of benevolence!"
The corners of the man's eyes crinkled with age; his complexion was dark from toiling under the sun. There was a missing tooth at the side top row of his teeth which was only visible because he smiled so wide. He was so disheveled, so humble.
The man smelt of sweat and rain and a musty cheap garment. He was like heaven and earth from the princeling in Wei Wuxian's posters, carefully painted with the best image of Jiang Cheng in mind. He wasn't even a cultivator. Hell, even if the man saw the poster, he wouldn't dare to draw a resemblance.
But A-Ling noticed. Wei Wuxian almost sobbed. Of course he did, he was Shijie's little A-Ling, he saw precious things in places where people would not see. He saw this humble farmer from the mountain; and even though he was different from the pictures and stories Wei Wuxian told him, A-Ling knew.
A-Ling knew, just as Wei Wuxian knew.
Jiang Cheng didn't smile enough the kind of smile that lighted up his face. But when he did, it was exactly like that. That shape of lips, that sparkle in his grey eyes, that soulful thing that warmed the witnesses to the core. Wei Wuxian could be half-blind and he would still recognize that smile anywhere, because Jiang Cheng's smile touched more than your eyes.
"Ah, I am the one who must thank you. You saved us the trouble of finding vegetables!"
Even though he was dressed in rags. Even though he aged. Even though he wasn't a cultivator.
Wei Wuxian knew, as sure as his beating heart.
The man in front of him was his Jiang Cheng.
.
.
His name was Wang Jiang, from the childless couple who took him as a son and the river where they found him half-dead with a festering wound on his chest. His memory started with a peasant mother with grey hair who smiled down at him with kind eyes. There was no remembrance left of his past.
"My father carried me on his back all the way up the mountain and my mother nursed me back to health. They were too poor to call for a doctor, but their love saved me,” he spoke of them with high reverence. Ever a dutiful son, to both sets of his parents.
Wei Wuxian invited him to Lianhua Wu as a guest, returning the favor of Wang-xiansheng who had waited for him until it was too late for him to go home.
Lianhua Wu was still rebuilding, nothing close to how it used to be, but it was still so overwhelming to Wang Jiang. He got flustered and embarrassed, realizing that the master and young master he had been talking so casually with were more highborn than he had thought.
He almost refused to go past Lianhua Wu's gate, and only Wei Wuxian's pleading convinced him. Even then, Wang Jiang ducked his head low, unable to meet the eyes of the fancy-robed cultivators.
Wei Wuxian's heart clenched. This is all yours, he wanted to say, we're all here waiting for you to come home.
But this Jiang Cheng couldn't even bring himself to step into the guest pavilion that was "too grand" for him. This Jiang Cheng trembled like a frightened squirrel in a lion’s den.
In the end, against all his urges, Wei Wuxian did what he would have done if he hosted a humble peasant out of courtesy: he sent Wang Jiang to stay at the servant's complex. Though Wei Wuxian reminded the servants to have a feast tonight, to give Wang Jiang all his fills. To give him the best room and prepared him a warm bath. He sent his private healers to check up on Wang Jiang and to report back in case they found something amiss.
Wei Wuxian didn't sleep that night. Couldn't sleep a blink, haunted by pointless regret.
All these years, he had combed the lands like a madman. All these years Jiang Cheng had been living so close to home, in a mountain of Yunmeng where the rivers flow, where he sometimes came down to the market to sell his meager goods. His liege had been living a peasant's life. His liege, as the healers informed, had lost his core somehow.
The rain has poured again, a heavy downpour running havoc on the roofs, lulling everyone into a deeper sleep. Wei Wuxian's mind swirled like a heavy summer storm, his grief dragged him to the bottomless ocean.
.
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Wei Wuxian stalled Wang Jiang's departure for as long as he could.
"It was a terrible storm last night; the road must be muddy! Stay for another night, Wang-xiansheng, as your host I am responsible for your safety!"
"We're having a (hastily made up) festival tonight, it would be a shame to miss it!"
"A famed cook just came to visit. His cooking is famous thorough the land! Please, allow me the honor to share them with you!"
"Wang-xiansheng, don't go out today, the fortune teller said it's a bad day for you!"
By the end of the week, Wei Wuxian was practically gatekeeping the front gate while Wang Jiang (already dressed in new robes Wei Wuxian insisted him on taking) smiled exasperatedly at him.
"Wei-daren, you're the most gracious host, but this humble one has taken too much advantage of your generosity—”
"No, no, not at all!!" Wei Wuxian yelled, his arms reaching to hold the gates shut. "Hosting you is the highest of honor! Me and Lianhua Wu are all overjoyed to have you here! If you leave, we'll be in misery! Please stay a little longer, Wang-xiansheng. Until the rain season ceases and we won't worry of the flood taking you!"
Wang Jiang chuckled again, his eyes roamed the canals around the compound and the giant lake behind Wei Wuxian's back. "This peasant lives in the mountain, Wei-daren. Which just happen to be a bit of a higher ground than the lakeside."
If it was Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian would have retorted back over that jab.
But this man was Wang Jiang, whose first memory was of his adoptive mother's kind eyes. Who bore the obvious scar of Yunmeng Jiang's discipline whip on his chest, who was coreless, and cowered at the sight of Lianhua Wu's grand entrance. Wei Wuxian could only weaponize his most pathetic puppy eyes and childish begging.
Wang Jiang, "Wei-daren, I'm just a poor farmer. What do I have to offer to the grand Yunmeng Jiang and her master?"
He had asked it dozens of times, but it never ceased to hurt. Every time, Wei Wuxian fed him with lies, one more bizarre than another. Every time, he wanted so bad to tell him the truth.
But what good would that do? This person in front of him only knew himself as Wang Jiang. If Wei Wuxian said that he was the heir of a gentry sect, that Wei Wuxian was only there to fill in until he came back, what would Wang Jiang do, except running away?
His inheritance was much of a curse as it was a blessing.
"You look like my brother."
The surprised look on Wang Jiang's face mirrored Wei Wuxian's own. He didn't mean to say that, never meant to say that. What he wanted to say was that Wang Jiang was Jiang Cheng, his shidi, the sole reason Wei Wuxian dared to be the helm of Yunmeng Jiang at all. The number one person in Wei Wuxian's life, always had been and always ever be.
But Jiang Cheng was Wang Jiang now, he knew nothing more of their shared past. Wei Wuxian knew it would be cruel to dump everything on him. However, in an attempt of keeping the secret and preventing his Jiang Cheng from disappearing once more, Wei Wuxian’s tongue ran faster than his head and said that cursed words.
You look like my brother. As if Wang Jiang was a replacement, a farce, when in truth he was the only one that mattered.
Wei Wuxian had only found Wang Jiang for a week, and already he was putting him in second place, something Jiang Cheng used to be so bitter about.
But this new Jiang Cheng, this humble Wang Jiang from the mountain, didn't look bitter at all. In fact, all of sudden, his face melted into an empathetic melancholy, with something akin to understanding shining in his eyes. Just like that, he accepted the fact that Wei Wuxian had only held onto him because he looked like someone he wasn't.
Wei Wuxian wanted to scream.
"Aiya, Wei-daren. This useless peasant is no match to the fingertips of Wei-daren's brother."
No, that’s not true. You're him, you're everything and more.
The first time Jiang Cheng was the first, Wei Wuxian couldn't even tell him.
“Please, stay,” Wei Wuxian begged once more, “Please.” He had nothing left to say.
Wang Jiang smiled the way Jiang Cheng smiled when he gave in to Wei Wuxian’s whim. Fond, exasperated.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to ask about Wei-daren's brother?”
Jiang Cheng always acquiesced to Wei Wuxian, in the end.
Wang Jiang stayed.
.
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Though ashamed, Wei Wuxian was relieved that Wang Jiang agreed to stay at Lianhua Wu permanently for his sake. Wang Jiang only asked to be allowed to come home one last time, to gather his meager belongings and sent prayers to his parents’ grave. Wei Wuxian personally chaperoned him, unable to let the man out of his sight anymore.
It broke Wei Wuxian‘s heart to see Wang Jiang's coreless body toiling up the mountain. He would have carried Wang Jiang to the peak and back, if it wouldn't terrify the man. He would have beaten the mountain flat, redirected the rivers, and burned or grown a whole new forest just for him.
But Wang Jiang never asked him to, and not giving him what he didn’t ask was perhaps the only way to keep him by Wei Wuxian’s side.
The shack Wang Jiang lived in was a worse establishment than Yunmeng Jiang's unused stable. But the inside was clean and it smelt of home. In the backyard, there was a verdant oak tree, its branches full of leaves forming a canopy.
"They planted this tree when their son was born," Wang Jiang said, caressing the twisting trunks. "It was meant to be made as a house when he marries. But they never get to do it. There was a flood. He disappeared in the river and never turned up."
It occurred to Wei Wuxian just then, that as Wang Jiang, Jiang Cheng had been living as the replacement of the son the Wang couple had lost. And now, he would be living as the replacement of Wei Wuxian's "brother". He didn’t seem to mind, his simple life accustomed him to taking any blessings he was granted, never thinking about the concept of being a rebound.
That night, Wei Wuxian bowed in the Ancestral Hall, the Jiang Ancestral Hall he had no right in, asking for forgiveness.
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Wang Jiang lived in a small house by the servant’s block. Wei Wuxian gave him a small patch of land for farming, more as the means to spend his days rather than an actual need of labor, because his necessities were taken care of by Yunmeng Jiang.
Only a few trusted chosen ones knew of his real identity. Others knew him only as Wei Wuxian's new friend who was granted permission to stay at Lianhua Wu because he looked like the missing heir.
Either way, to Wei Wuxian's relief, everyone seemed to like him. Without the burden of his birthright and the responsibility of his gentry, this new Jiang Cheng was more carefree and easier to love. Soon, his house became the unofficial hangout place for servants and disciples alike, and plenty of the village ladies flirted openly with him (Wei Wuxian chuckled at the latter, remembering how difficult it was for Jiang Cheng to make an acquaintance with girls).
A-Ling, the only junior disciple who knew who Wang Jiang really was, was especially gravitated to him. The boy spent most of his off time visiting 'Wang-shushu', helping on the farm or fishing at the lake with the man. Oftentimes, Wei Wuxian caught the boy humming the folksongs Wang Jiang sang in the field.
Sometimes, Wei Wuxian caught wonderment in A-Ling's eyes as he looked at Wang Jiang, as if wondering about the real relationship between them. If Yu Jinling was truly the blood son of Jiang Yanli. If Wang Jiang was his Jiujiu.
Such questions might never be answered.
However, one day Wei Wuxian found Wang Jiang crafting a leather dog collar. The man explained, flustered, that he and A-Ling (ah, excuse me, I mean Yu-gongzi!) had found a pup in the forest, bundled up in clothes, likely fell from a traveler's bundle. It was a spiritual dog, a quality breed if A-Ling might say so. But Wei Wuxian was still afraid of dogs (he was working on it!) so they kept it in one of the villager's houses.
The leather collar, Wang Jiang admitted sheepishly, would be a surprise gift for A-Ling. "Ah, though of course A-Ling—I mean Yu-gongzi— deserves a better gift—"
"No," Wei Wuxian cut in, "I think it'd make him very happy."
Wang Jiang's eyes shone with love and adoration for the boy. Wei Wuxian figured that, even if it might never be officially declared, the love of a family for each other ran deep, deeper than the persons involved would ever know.
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Wei Wuxian invited Wang Jiang for tea or dinner whenever he had the time, which meant nearly every day because of course he always made time for his Jiang Cheng. Though initially nervous and awkward, Wang Jiang had slowly adapted to this shared moment of theirs, and now was no longer terrified of the idea of having Wei Wuxian pour the tea for him.
"Wang Jiang, have you ever wondered about what your past was like?" Wei Wuxian asked, one early autumn evening when they shared a drink at the lake pavilion (the one where Wei Wuxian and the Jiang siblings used to have snacks together). Soon, it would be too cold to host such an occasion outside. They were enjoying the last of the season's warmth with the jiu burning comfortably in their stomach.
"I used to," Wang Jiang admitted after a sip of his jiu, "but as my father said, I think everything happens for a reason. Who knows, maybe my past would drive me insane," he chuckled, "maybe it's my ancestors' way of protecting me, so that I can be at peace."
A fish jumped out of the water, creating circular ripples that nudged the browning lotus stems. Lianhua Wu was once again lotus-less, but they would come back in spring later.
"So, are you at peace now?"
"I am."
"Are you happy?"
Wang Jiang smiled and ah, there it was, that soulful thing again.
"I am."
And that was enough for Wei Wuxian.
His quest had come to an end.
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Winter rolled in. It was one of the worst winters they've had in a decade. Wei Wuxian was glad Wang Jiang was now staying within the sturdy walls of Lianhua Wu instead of alone in the mountain, where his survival was not guaranteed. How nearly Wei Wuxian dodged it. He sent prayers of gratitude whenever he saw Wang Jiang alive and well, dining with him.
Then, a night hunt gone wrong. A night hunt with A-Ling as the team leader, and his closest friends as the members. All four of them were close to Wang Jiang. It was past midnight when they sent a flare, hundreds of meters away from their initial hunting site. The seniors who came to their aid found the beast slaughtered, while the boys lied unconscious, half-buried in snow, crimson with their blood.
In the morning, right after breakfast, Wei Wuxian found the wide-eyed, pale Wang Jiang breathing hard in front of the infirmary. He ran all the way from the servant's common hall, where he most likely heard the news during breakfast.
"Are the boys alright!?" He squeaked; all propriety forgotten. He looked so scared, trembling from head to toe, his harsh breathing forming puffs of smoke in front of his face. Wei Wuxian had only seen such fright once—at the dawn of the massacre.
Wei Wuxian grabbed him and sit him down, in fear that he might faint. "Yes, they're fine. The healers treated them well."
"Oh, thank god, thank god. I heard the stories, I thought ...." Wang Jiang rubbed his face with trembling hands. Then he sobbed, shamelessly scrubbing his eyes with his sleeves. This Jiang Cheng didn't shy away from tears and overwhelming emotions. Somehow, it made things both better and worse.
Wei Wuxian made a mental note to remind the servants to watch their tongues. If anyone caused the real master of the house such distress, there would be consequences.
"Is there—is there anything I can do?"
Wang Jiang looked so desperate, yet shy, like he wanted to be useful but knew he was useless compared to the cultivators who were a thousand times better than him in everything. After all, what did little old Wang Jiang have that was worth offering?
Wei Wuxian squeezed his hand. "Yes. Please come with me."
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The kitchen was empty, the staff was taking a short break after breakfast cleanup before they had to start preparing lunch. Wei Wuxian took Wang Jiang to a table at the corner of the room where they wouldn't disturb the mobility once the second rush hour started.
"There is a recipe. From ... A-Ling's mother. My shijie." There, he said it. "Who was also my shidi 's (your) sister."
Wang Jiang's eyes widened. "Oh."
"I never managed to get it right. I'm not talented," Wei Wuxian scratched his nose, "but maybe, with your help, I can do better. Will you help me?"
Wang Jiang nodded, flustered. "Of course! It would be an honor!"
They spent the rest of the morning working on the soup. Wang Jiang listened carefully to Wei Wuxian and treated each instruction with reverence as if it was a secret recipe reserved for the kings.
Wei Wuxian felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat in the kitchen. Shijie, look. I am cooking your recipe with Jiang Cheng. Wish us luck.
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It was a little too early for lunch when they finished, but they carried the bowls to the infirmary anyway. After all, growing boys needed to eat a lot, especially when they were recovering!
To Wei Wuxian's relief, the boys did look better. A-Ling and Lan Jingyi, a guest disciple from Gusu, were bickering about each other's stupidity which led to their hunting hiccup. The other two boys, a Wen and an Ouyang, listened with an exasperated grimace. They flinched when Wei Wuxian arrived, but then brightened when Wang Jiang entered behind Wei Wuxian.
"Wang-shushu! You came!"
"Shushu, good afternoon!"
"What did you bring? It smells delicious!"
"I'm starving!"
All boys twittering happily as Wang Jiang and the servants set up the tables. The boys hobbled to the chairs, to Wang Jiang’s fretful worry, but they assured him that they were fine. After all, it wasn't the first time they broke their legs.
"You guys have to be more careful! You make Shushu worried sick!" Wei Wuxian scolded as he took a seat at the head of the table.
"Sorry, Wang-shushu. It's Jingyi. He—"
"Hey, I would've been fine if you didn't try to jump after me! The risk was calculated!"
"And you are bad in Math!"
A-Ling and Lan Jingyi bickered again while Wen Yuan and Ouyang Zizhen uttered their apology. Wang Jiang chuckled under his breath, still standing a little way away from the table.
"Jiang C—Wang Jiang, what are you doing there? Come sit! We're starving!"
"Yes, Shushu! Come here!"
Wei Wuxian was afraid Wang Jiang would refuse, but after two or three more insistence from the juniors, the man sat himself down in front of Wei Wuxian and served them the soup.
It was silent when they sipped the first spoon.
Then the table exploded with praises.
"Wang-Shushu made this? It's delicious!"
"This is the best lotus and pork rib soup I've ever tasted!"
"Like you ever tasted lotus pork-rib soup before, in your lame vegetarian menu."
"Shut up, daxiaojie."
"Thank you, Wang-shushu. It is very delicious indeed."
Wang Jiang flustered under all the attention and told everyone that he was just helping, that Wei Wuxian did most of the job, that he really wasn't talented.
Wei Wuxian didn't correct him. Couldn't. He was trapped in a sudden nostalgia and was trying hard not to cry.
It had been close to fifteen years. He had tried to perfect his recipe, but it was never the same. Sometimes the meat was too tough, sometimes too tender. Sometimes he added too much ginger, sometimes too little. He had begun giving up on recreating the soup, ready to keep it as another memory of the things he had lost.
And yet, now that he was sitting here with Wang Jiang and the boys, a miracle happened.
The soup tasted exactly as he remembered.
.
.
.
END