Chapter Text
Jiang Cheng was in his tent re-working the Jiang battle formations when Wei Wuxian-- hands stacked high with papers and talismans-- shouldered inside and declared, "I need you to take off your robes!"
"No," Jiang Cheng snapped reflexively. Then he actually processed what Wei Wuxian had said, and his brows drew together. "Wait, what?"
Wei Wuxian sagged against the tent pole, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. "Rejected so quickly!"
Jiang Cheng gave him a flat glare. "Aren't you supposed to be helping the Nie set up the sentry spells?" He didn't have time for whatever nonsense Wei Wuxian had come up with. Another one of his few remaining original Jiang disciples had died today, and he needed to account for her loss. He was exhausted, and his head hurt, and he wanted very badly just to get this done so that perhaps in the days ahead they might actually survive.
Wei Wuxian slunk closer, dropping his pile of papers right on top of Jiang Cheng's notes and slouching onto the travel trunk stored beside the desk. He crossed his arms on top of the pile and propped his chin on them, turning his face sideways to look up at Jiang Cheng. "I helped," he said. His eyes glittered, red-rimmed and over-bright, and his skin had the gray tinge of exhaustion. This close, he stunk of the strange resentful energy his new cultivation style utilized. His hands were clean-- at least he'd had the courtesy to wash off the grave dirt before coming-- but his fingernails were chewed to the quick. Jiang Cheng's lips pressed together, half-concern, half-disapproval.
"They weren't supposed to be done for another shichen," he said, instead of when is the last time you slept or have you eaten anything in the last two days or any of the hundred other things he wanted to say. Wei Wuxian didn't mind being mothered when Jiang Yanli did it. If Jiang Cheng tried, he'd just tell him to fuck off. He continued, "It doesn't count as helping if you do one thing and leave."
Wei Wuxian waved a lazy hand. "Oh, I left several hands to do the work in my place." He cackled suddenly, mostly to himself. "Though fewer hands than bodies, if you know what I mean."
His corpses. Jiang Cheng gave Wei Wuxian a skeptical glare. He still didn't know how he felt about those. They were deeply unnerving-- though they'd more than proved their worth in battle. "Dead bodies can't perform spells," he said.
"No, but they can run-- heh, well, shuffle, I guess-- supplies out to the people who can. Which frees up a bunch of the juniors to help elsewhere. Nie-zongzhu seemed to think it was a good idea!"
Well, if Nie Mingjue had approved it... "Sure," Jiang Cheng said, skeptically.
Wei Wuxian's corpses couldn't help Jiang Cheng develop battle formations, though. Jiang Cheng turned his attention back to his papers. Up until this point, he'd really just been throwing people together almost randomly, creating a new squad whenever enough new cultivators joined up; that wasn't sustainable in the long term, though. His mother had taught him to weigh his cultivators' strengths and weaknesses and put them together in teams such that the whole would be stronger than the parts. Chen Danqi's death was as good an excuse as any to update the rosters.
Wei Wuxian could help with the battle formations-- but as usual these days, he didn't seem inclined to. Instead he watched Jiang Cheng work for a bit, sprawling over half of his desk. As the minutes burned away, Jiang Cheng felt frustration mounting. If he wasn't going to help, he could at least get out of the way! Jiang Cheng leaned over to snatch one of his papers crushed under Wei Wuxian's arms.
The angle was awkward, and the scars on his chest twinged.
He didn't think his expression had actually changed, but Wei Wuxian must have been paying more attention than Jiang Cheng had realized, because he sat up immediately, leaning in. Humor fell away like a mask, leaving something intent behind.
"Do they still hurt?" he asked, staring at Jiang Cheng's chest.
Jiang Cheng didn't respond for a moment. Then he shrugged. The whip marks-- six or seven of them, stretching from left shoulder to right hip-- had closed up as soon as Baoshan Sanren had restored his core, but they hadn't healed well; the scars pulled and caught, and every change in weather set them aching. Most of the time he could ignore it, or work through it. As long as he warmed up first, it didn't seem to affect his fighting.
Wei Wuxian leaned in closer, hands moving for the lapels of Jiang Cheng's robes. "Lemme see?"
Surprise reverted him back a decade. Jiang Cheng dodged in his chair, slapping at his hands. "Wei Wuxian! What the fuck?"
Wei Wuxian persisted, fingers sneaking beneath the edge of fabric, fingernails scraping Jiang Cheng's skin in a way that made a jolt of something go through him. "I've been talking with the healers! I have some ideas this time."
"Ideas? Ideas for what?" Jiang Cheng grabbed his hands and yanked them out of his robes. Wei Wuxian fought back. They scrabbled at each other like children for a moment. Jiang Cheng finally managed to get Wei Wuxian into a headlock. He went easier than Jiang Cheng had expected, though he wriggled like a fish.
Wei Wuxian panted, throwing Jiang Cheng a wounded glare from under his armpit. "Ideas for getting rid of your scars! I told you there had to be a way, and I think I found it."
'Take off your robes,' he'd declared as soon as he'd stepped through the door. Jiang Cheng had thought he was just being a pest. He said, "So that's what you're here to bother me about??"
Wei Wuxian stuck an arm out from his grip and patted the stack of paper he'd brought, still on the desk. "Don't you wanna give it a shot?"
Jiang Cheng chewed on his lower lip. He hated the scars. Every time they caught and pulled they reminded him of that night, of agony and his parents' bodies in the rain and being so hollow and cold and empty he was nothing now he would never be anything again --
--anyways. Suffice it to say, he wouldn't mind them gone.
"The healers have already tried. Why do you think you can do it when they can't?" he snapped. It was never a good idea to give in to Wei Wuxian blindly. That was how they'd wound up trying to catch fish naked in the middle of the lake that one time.
Wei Wuxian wriggled a little more, then pouted as Jiang Cheng refused to let go. He said, "The whip was spelled to leave scars. That means there must be something still in the wounds, keeping them from healing right-- maybe some kind of magic. If I can draw that out, it should mean they can start healing naturally."
Jiang Cheng wavered. No one still living knew how the Jiang discipline whip worked-- it had been created in his great-grandfather's time-- but the theory made sense. Maybe it could work.
And also, this was the first time Wei Wuxian had shown interest in anything more than killing Wen dogs-- or drinking-- in weeks.
"I still have work to do," he said weakly, glancing at his diagrams.
Sensing Jiang Cheng wavering, Wei Wuxian went in for the kill. "Shijie said she's noticed the scars hurting you. Do you want to make her worry?"
Jiang Cheng winced. A-Jie had been looking so tired lately, working in the medical tents all the time, but she always had scar salve for him when he needed it-- she made it herself. If this could take something off her plate... "Fine! Whatever! Just be quick about it."
Wei Wuxian grinned. Then he yanked on Jiang Cheng's robes. The ties, which he'd apparently been working on while trapped under Jiang Cheng's arm, slid apart. Jiang Cheng yelped as his robes fell open.
***
They ended up on his camp bed, because it was easier that way-- Jiang Cheng flat on his back and Wei Wuxian kneeling next to him, setting up a line of supplies on Jiang Cheng's trunk, which he'd dragged close: white paper and black ink and crimson cinnabar.
In the interests of not having to do more laundry, Jiang Cheng had shed everything except his pants. It was cool in the tent; he shivered a little as the air bit at his exposed skin, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps, and tightening his nipples.
Wei Wuxian had gone mostly quiet; he was staring at Jiang Cheng's chest, and the scars on it, with that laser-focused intensity he got when he was facing down a particularly hard or interesting problem. It made Jiang Cheng a little uncomfortable, being the focus of that much attention.
He also kind of liked it.
Wei Wuxian had been so weird, ever since coming back from... wherever it was he'd vanished to for those three months (not the Burial Mounds, surely it couldn't have actually been the Burial Mounds.) He was distant and cold a lot of the time, prone to angry outbursts, and there was a brittle edge that he'd never had before. But here, like this-- with his eyebrows scrunched up and chewing his lower lip in thought-- Jiang Cheng could see the person he'd known for most of his life. It was a relief.
Wei Wuxian knelt there for a while, examining his notes and Jiang Cheng's scars. Then, without warning, he picked up his brush and began to draw on Jiang Cheng's chest.
Jiang Cheng yelped at the ticklish touch of the brush. "Hey!"
"Oh, don't be a baby. Hold still; if you move, you're going to mess this up," Wei Wuxian chided absentmindedly, setting his other hand on Jiang Cheng's bare shoulder to hold him still. Jiang Cheng scowled, but did his best to stay still as the brush trailed a line of liquid ink across his skin. Wei Wuxian's hand on his shoulder was a point of warmth.
Soon enough, Wei Wuxian finished the first set of characters on the closer side of Jiang Cheng's chest. The tent was not large, and to make the most of the space his camp bed was pressed right up against the fabric; Wei Wuxian leaned over to reach the other side, and as he did so, his hair slid out of its haphazard ponytail and fell across Jiang Cheng's stomach, smearing several of the characters. "Shit!" Wei Wuxian exclaimed. Then he licked his thumb and went to wipe away the smeared ink.
Jiang Cheng half rose off the bed in outrage. "Don't get your spit on me!"
"I'm just trying to clean it-- oh, come on!" Jiang Cheng had licked his own hand and was trying to wipe it on Wei Wuxian's face. "Cut that out!"
They rolled around on the bed for a bit, though there was hardly enough room for it. Finally, Wei Wuxian wound up literally on top of Jiang Cheng, hair in disarray, with a handprint of ink smeared from his right cheek down his neck. "Don't! Move!" He emphasized each word by slapping his hands on Jiang Cheng's chest, loud and stinging.
Jiang Cheng snapped, "Get off me!"
Wei Wuxian stuck out his tongue. "No! This will be easier." He retrieved his brush from between the wall and bed where it had fallen, and using the edge of his sleeve, cleared the rest of the ink off Jiang Cheng's chest. Then he started all over again from the beginning.
Fine! Whatever. It wasn't the first time Wei Wuxian had made him do something ridiculous. Most of the time it was easiest to just give in. Jiang Cheng huffed and rolled his eyes and let him continue.
The brazier in the corner burned, wood crackling, as Wei Wuxian used Jiang Cheng as a canvas. Jiang Cheng passed the time by drawing up potential formations in his head, matching battle partners together-- Hao Cui was good with the bow, but was still working on her sword forms; Huang Chengyan was skilled at the various forms, but he wasn't very fast; Yan Xiaoyu was brand new and needed someone who could teach her...
This occupied him for a while, puzzling through the various options. Gradually, through, he began to notice a problem. A growing problem, so to speak.
The thing was, he hadn't-- you know-- well, he'd been busy lately. And exhausted after fighting, and hungry all the time, and-- look, he just hadn't had the time or energy lately to take care of certain things, alright? It hadn't even occurred to him. Not for weeks, really. Possibly months.
And now that was coming back to bite him in the ass, because with Wei Wuxian sitting on top of him-- weight shifting constantly as he reached to draw each character, to consult his notes, to get more ink; running fingers across his skin as he measured spacing; trailing the brush, feather light, from collarbones to ribs to sternum; hair falling down to tickle across his stomach; all in all, just touching him...
...well...
...his body was taking notice.
He found himself staring fixedly up at the ceiling, praying that Wei Wuxian wouldn't pick up on what was happening directly behind him.
Thankfully, Wei Wuxian was very focused on his work, and he seemed to have no idea something was going wrong, still mumbling quietly to himself as he painted another character just below the scars on Jiang Cheng's left pectoral. The brush tickled as it slid across his skin, leaving a line of cool ink in its wake. Jiang Cheng swallowed, mouth dry. Maybe he should tell Wei Wuxian to stop. But if he did that, Wei Wuxian might notice-- and he was so close to being done; maybe he would finish and get off on his own? (Oh, that was a bad choice of words.)
Wei Wuxian set his brush back down and surveyed his work, eyes narrowed, arms crossed and hand under his chin. Then disaster struck. Apparently dissatisfied with his work, without warning he slid back a crucial inch, bringing him directly in contact with-- directly in contact with--
Jiang Cheng could feel his expression contort in a rictus of embarrassed horror.
Even then, Wei Wuxian was so absorbed in his work that it took a long, miserable second-- in which Jiang Cheng sincerely wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment-- to register that something was wrong. Then he looked up and noticed Jiang Cheng's expression; did a double-take, and began to sit up straighter, which brought him even more firmly in contact with the issue at hand; and froze, as exactly what he was leaning back against registered.
"Um," Jiang Cheng said, and could come up with absolutely nothing further to say.
Wei Wuxian flushed red from collarbone to hairline, and scrambled upright and off the bed, nearly kneeing Jiang Cheng in the process. "I!" he said, with the bright edge of panic. Jiang Cheng saw his gaze sweep inexorably downwards. Scrambling for a pillow to hide the incriminating evidence, Jiang Cheng saw the moment Wei Wuxian laid eyes on it; his eyes went wide. "I--!" he repeated, seemingly unable to look away. Jiang Cheng had never in his entire life seen him so flustered.
Finally Jiang Cheng got the pillow into his lap. View blocked, Wei Wuxian jerked his head up, and managed to get out his entire sentence. "I don't think this is working!"
He grabbed his papers up from the chest, dropped his brush which rolled under Jiang Cheng's bed, visibly considered retrieving it and decided not to, and concluded, "I'm going to go, uh-- go! now! And do some stuff! To fix it!"
And with this display of eloquence, Wei Wuxian fled the tent like his tail was on fire.
Jiang Cheng shoved the pillow over his face instead and laughed until he cried. Serves you right, Wei Wuxian!