[So it goes like this: Jin Guangyao is killed in Guanyin Temple, and everyone rejoices, sort of, or at least pretends to, because it's safer to keep your head down than side with the loser. Jiang Cheng sets off for Lotus Pier almost immediately, but he can hear all the lesser clans chattering already: justifying it, weaving a story in their heads, making it so that the whore's son deserved what he got. Jiang Cheng doesn't disagree, mind you, but it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. It reminds him too much of what had happened when Wei Wuxian had died the first time (another guilt he carries in his heart; another sin that cannot be erased, no matter what he does or says or thinks). And that association in turn leaves him repulsed, and it's just . . . it's easier to just stop thinking about it.
They scatter. Wei Wuxian goes off with his husband, and for his part, Jiang Cheng goes to Lotus Pier. He hears that Nie Huaisang is going to be elected chief cultivator, and that's all right, he supposes. He doesn't care, really. He's fairly certain Nie Huaisang doesn't, either.
Because the days turn into weeks turn into months, and when it comes down to it, it's not really about power or politics. It's about loss. And no amount of triumph will bring back Nie Mingjue (or Jiang Yanli, or Jin Zixuan, his parents, or—)
The point is: the ending is happy, theoretically, but only for a few. The rest are left to pick up their shattered lives and do the best they can.
(start again;)
So it goes like this: I don't understand what he thinks he's doing, Jiang Cheng rants to Nie Huaisang one night. They're tipsy-verging-on-drunk, which explains his loose tongue. It's a foolish thing, ranting about this, but it's not as if everyone doesn't know that Wei Wuxian is associating with the remnants of the Wen clan. I don't understand why he won't come home! What does he see in them? Why does he risk all of our lives and reputations for their sake? And what he means— and indeed, perhaps what Nie Huaisang understands, in his own quiet way— is why won't he come home? Why won't he pick me over them?
He does not understand. He does not understand, a month later, why Wei Wuxian willingly agrees to be expelled from the Jiang clan. He does not understand why living in a hellish space with enemies who slaughtered their entire home is better than being with his shidi. He does not understand, he does not understand, and he never does, not once, not even years later, when all the clans are gathered and screaming for blood, kill the traitor, when he sees Wei Wuxian hanging off the cliff, when their sister's blood is drying on his hands and all he can feel is rage rage rage—
(start again;)
So it goes like this: he is tired. He is tired because he is hallucinating things he does not understand: events that have yet to happen, things that cannot possibly be. He sees his shidi as a demonic cultivator; he sees Nie Huaisang all bloody, grimacing as he stitches a corpse back together. He sees them all, warped and twisted and broken, and he does not understand, because the war is over.
They are dreams, surely, and he dismisses them as such. Distress after battle is not uncommon, or so he is told. Nightmares and hallucinations . . . he should not pay them mind, a healer tells him, and so he does just that.
They all of them are too young to fight in a war, and far too young to be a war hero, and yet still, both of these things are true. The Wens have been defeated, and hey, what a triumph! Glory enough for everyone, and yet Jiang Cheng feels like a child as he sits in their former enemy's great hall, sipping on wine and listening to the others talk. He catches Nie Huaisang's eye and grimaces; he's gratified when the other man returns his gesture with a little smirk. What are they doing here, they two of them? Boys, both of them, and yet somehow when Jin Guangshan addresses the leader of Yunmeng Jiang, it is him they mean.
It's a meaningless title, of course, but it's still his. Powerless, for Yunmeng Jiang consists of three siblings and a handful of broken, beaten disciples, and doesn't everyone know it? That's why Jin Guangshan pushes for the marriage. That's why Jiang Cheng falters. That's why Wei Wuxian loudly diverts attention, and it's good, it is, but it doesn't help his case later on. Everyone remembers him as the boy who'd spoken out— and oh, don't they hold that against him later? When he speaks out against even worse things; when he wants to know where the leftover Wen clan are being held, when it all starts to go wrong (or was it even earlier than that?)
(start again;)
So it goes like this: he is sixteen and in Gusu, sent there not just to train to be a cultivator, but because he is sickly. Because he has nightmares of things that are impossible; because he clings to his parents and Yanli sometimes as though he is a child, not a man. Because he does not understand why whenever he sees Nie Mingjue, he sees a corpse; that whenever he catches Huaisang's eye, it is only a distant, cruel sort of man he sees, not the boy whose friendship he adores.
The Lans have no answers, though they do their best. He is too proud still to let Wen Qing examine him, but it wouldn't matter. He can't look at her either. He can't look at any of the Wens without growing sick, for all he can see are their burnt corpses. All he sees around him is death, and he can't, he can't, he doesn't understand—
(start againagainagainagain—)
Jiang Cheng is sixteen. This is not the first time he has been sixteen. He hopes it will be the last, but he has no real hope anymore.
He goes to Gusu. For once in his life (lives), he is at the top of the class. Not even Lan Wangji can compare to him; not even Wei Wuxian can line up to his sheer practiced talent. Of course they can't. He has lived, oh, so many times over. Wei Wuxian will always have more raw talent than Jiang Cheng, but— well, what's that saying about putting in your ten thousand hours? It's a bit like that. Repetition, and he was no slouch even in his first life.
So he excels, and for the first time in his life he is praised universally. Even his father admits that he has done well, and yet the praise is meaningless. He cannot look at his father, nor his mother. He cannot look at his siblings, nor most of their classmates (for they die, you know. In one way if not another). He has tried to save them, in this life or that, but it doesn't much matter. He's never good enough to save them all. He doesn't know how to plan like that: meticulously, carefully, seeing the whole board instead of just two steps ahead. Jiang Cheng truly does excel in many fields, but not that.
But there is someone who does.
Nie Huaisang is not the manipulative chessmaster he will become. His talents have not been honed by grief and rage; he has not spent over a decade carefully calculating his revenge. And yet they still must be there, for Nie Mingjue's death had only brought them to surface, not given birth to them.
If he's going to end this cycle, Jiang Cheng determines, he needs help to do it. Not from any of the corpses he sees shambling around him, but from someone similarly untouched. Someone who made it out alive, if not wrecked and ruined. Someone who can think like that, or will soon, if he has anything to say about it.
And it starts here: by the river in the back of Gusu. Nie Huaisang is skipping class, which isn't shocking. It won't matter either way, he had told Jiang Cheng cheerfully once (when? This lifetime? The last? They blur). Jiang Cheng agrees: it won't matter. All the cultivation lessons in the world won't change what's to come.
He sees him on the bank. Purposely he makes noise as he climbs down, and offers an odd little wave as he comes to sit next to him. He so clearly has something on his mind, but he'll bring it up in his own time.]
What are you drawing?
[It's a real question, sort of, or at least a way to kick off a conversation. Jiang Cheng sits, leaning back on one hand, wishing he was far better at concealing his emotions and thoughts than he truly is.]
[ there are many things most people don't know about nie huaisang. most people look at him and see a nie who isn't a true nie — who picks painting over sabers, poetry over war, running away over revenge. who is only good at doing nothing, whose cultivation is weak, who doesn't really apply himself to anything he does.
they're right, of course, but what they don't know is how much time and effort maintaining that image actually takes.
if you actually bothered showing them what you can do, his brother had said, exasperated and tired and fond, the entire cultivation world wouldn't think you're useless.
I know, nie huaisang had answered patiently, that's exactly what I'm trying to avoid.
one of the things they don't know is that the reason nie mingjue keeps pushing him is not because he thinks he's useless; it's because he knows he's not. but huaisang has spent too much time and care cultivating the image of a weak younger brother, frivolous and uncaring of politics, a spoiled young master who relies on his da-ge's strength in everything, to give it up just because his brother insists.
another is the way he sometimes stays up until morning, sitting in his brother's room, reading over his correspondence, making little notes on the margins of the letters, sometimes writing entire responses in his brother's handwriting, strong and bold characters entirely unlike huaisang's own, delicate penmanship.
(another is that one of huaisang's earliest memories centers around his brother, looking at him with serious eyes and telling him he was the only nie he'd ever seen who didn't lose his temper, ever. what most people don't know is the quiet relief in fifteen-year-old nie mingue's voice when he looked at his little brother and said, hold on to that, huaisang, I never want to see you...
he'd never finished the sentence, but so soon after their father's death, there had been little doubt as to how it would have ended.
it's at the tender age of nine that nie huaisang swears off saber practice.)
perhaps it should not come as a surprise to anyone, least of all his brother, that the lessons in gusu mean so little to him.
instead, he focuses more on relationships — da-ge is too busy to forge relations between the sects, and most wouldn't even dare to try and befriend the formidable chifeng-zun. but nie huaisang, unassuming and weak in cultivation, he is easy to befriend. he's free with his smiles, freer with his time, and he never forgets: not a name, not the details he's heard in snippets of conversation.
soon enough, there's few guest disciples in gusu who he can't greet by name.
there's one friendship that baffles him somewhat, though — that with the heir of the jiang sect. huaisang had taken one look at jiang fengmian's ward and decided that he wouldn't even have to try and befriend wei wuxian, it would happen on its own accord... but jiang cheng? people frequently compare him to huaisang's brother, just as brilliant as chifeng-zun in his age, in skill and unyielding temperament, and initially...
to his embarrassment, initially, huaisang had thought he stands a better chance at befriending the second jade of lan than the jiang sect heir.
to his greater embarrassment, jiang cheng had seemed to want to befriend him all on his own. he still can't quite understand why — but he's resigned himself to waiting for the reason. eventually, he'll find out... all he needs is some patience.
luckily, nie huaisang is the one nie capable of infinite amounts of patience.
he doesn't show his surprise when jiang cheng joins him during class hours; instead, he tips his canvas towards him, to show him the beginnings of a landscape — the river in front of them, but unforgiving mountains in the horizon. ]
Just imagining how this river would look in Qinghe! [ his answer is cheery, unassuming, as he sets down his brush and picks up his fan instead. ]
Jiang-xiong, what are you doing here? Not that I'm not pleased to have company, but I would have thought classes would hold more interest to you than watching me draw.
[One of the troubles of living eternally, over and over, is that he forgets that not everyone knows him yet. Sometimes he oversteps. He assumes familiar levels of brotherhood and intimacy when he has not, aha, cultivated them in this life.
So: he sees Nie Huaisang and sees . . . oh, all of him, past and present, broken and whole, brother and distant friend, chief cultivator and Gusu student all at once. It's strange, but what's worse: it's hard to keep track in his mind what he's supposed to know and what he shouldn't.
(He gave up and told Wei Wuxian, once. Spilled the entire story, tearful and furious in turns, and to his eternal credit, his shidi had tried his best to help. Hadn't thought him mad, no, but instead worked hard to try and prevent the future.
It hadn't helped.)]
No.
[Well, it's true. Blunt, but true. He knows what Lan Qiren is lecturing today. He could likely teach the class himself. Still, that's not really a great answer, and so Jiang Cheng shrugs one shoulder. Does he look carefree? He does not. He is doing his best.]
You draw better than anyone in our class. Perhaps I'm looking for a lesson in something I lack skill in.
[After all, painting is one of the gentlemanly arts. Not one he's very good at. Just as his poetry always comes out clunky and dull, so too is his art very, hm, messy. But that's incidental, and anyway, not why he's here.
Jiang Cheng takes a breath. Fifty lifetimes, and he still wants to get this right. He can't stand having to live through all the years once more, knowing he'd failed at the first step.]
But I need your help as well. It's . . . a complex problem.
[ his fan moves over his face absently, almost like an afterthought — but behind it, huaisang looks at jiang cheng with sharp eyes. in something I lack skill in, he says, which means whatever grandmaster lan is teaching is something he does not lack skill in.
it's bold words, and huaisang wonders.
it doesn't do to ask, though, and so he only answers, bright as ever, ] I would be happy to teach you!
[ but it's empty words, he knows that much already. jiang cheng is not here to paint. and he doesn't have to wait long for his friend to keep speaking; how tense he looks, too, shoulders drawn tight like he's carrying the weight of more than just yunmeng on them.
I need your help, jiang cheng says, and huaisang's eyes widen. he's not yet practiced enough to conceal it — instead, he defaults to what he does when a reaction is un-concealable: he exaggerates it, lets his surprise show. ]
If it's a complex problem... ah, Jiang-xiong, not to be rude, but why are you asking my help? Surely someone else could help you much better!
[ he knows his reputation. no one outside of qinghe should come to him about problems that aren't about smuggling in wine or acquiring specific art. he should know; he's made sure of that. ]
Oh, he's so bad about being subtle, he really is. He's never had the patience for it, not in this life or any other. But maybe that's for the best. Act too shifty, and Nie Huaisang will just grow suspicious.]
No. They couldn't. There isn't anyone else who can help me with this. Just you.
[He meets his eyes, trying to keep his expression as open as he can. It's awful to be seen, it really is, but his best chance is to be as open and as honest as he can.]
You know people. You know how they work, and how to predict what they'll do. No one else can quite so well.
[God, but he's so tired. Maybe some of that shows too, as they stare at one another.]
I have a problem that requires thinking about things like that for years to come.
[ just you, jiang cheng says, and for a split second, there's only one expression on nie huaisang's face: fear.
because those words imply responsibility, which is what he's been trying to avoid all this time. quickly, he tries to wave his fan to say no, no, not me, you can't possibly mean that, but then his friend keeps going and he finds he can't really say anything at all.
how does jiang cheng know all this? sure, he's made some jokes about wei-xiong's behaviour that have turned out to come true in the next day, but he never thought anyone would take that as a serious sign of him predicting what people do.
no one, aside from da-ge, is supposed to know about his penchant for strategy and politics and people-reading. and da-ge hates that that's what he's good at, so there's no way he's talked about it.
except, maybe... ]
Did Xichen-ge say something? [ jiang cheng looks so tired that huaisang considers lying about it all for approximately three seconds before he sighs in defeat. ]
You know I don't like responsibility... but fine. Tell me about your problem and we'll see if I can help you or not. But don't expect too much of me! I'm really not good under pressure.
[ but there's something in his voice, a current that runs beneath the near-flawless pretense of incompetence... a current that's excitement. intrigue. despite himself, he's interested, and he can't help it. ]
[He shakes his head minutely: no, Lan Xichen didn't say anything. Frankly, Jiang Cheng doesn't want to drag him into this, not so early. He's a good man, with a good heart, but . . . well. He isn't the key to fixing all this. He has his own flaws, and they hinder more than they help.
But ah . . . the moment of truth, sort of, and he balks. It's not that he hasn't anticipated this, but it's one thing to know it's coming logically; it's quite another to have it come upon you in reality. Hm.]
You won't believe me. It's a fantastical story.
[Fantastical: not whimsical, nor happy. But as if he's lying absurdly, like a child. Jiang Cheng grimaces as he glares out at the river before them. There's a stone not too far from his fingers, large enough to fit in his palm, worn and smoothed down by the current. He takes it in hand, running his thumb over the edge, pleased to have somewhere to direct his mounting anxiety.]
. . . but it starts with Meng Yao. And Chifeng-Zun. And you, Nie-xiong.
[Huaisang, he does not call him. A-Sang, he does not dare, though there was a time when they were so close. Some lifetime, some years past . . . it doesn't matter.
He starts. It's not . . . he isn't good at this, is the thing. He restarts and fumbles, doubling back, remembering details belatedly and adding them in. It's a terrible story; it certainly isn't one a liar would produce, for who would be so fucking terrible at it? Honestly, it'd be a miracle if Nie Huaisang believes him even if he told it perfectly, but of course, Jiang Cheng can't do anything perfectly. So many lifetimes later, his soul aged beyond belief, and still, still, he fumbles the pass when it most matters.
But he tells him. Of the war to come; of Wen Ruohan's greed and madness. Of the horrors that are only a few years in their future: the burning of Cloud Recesses, the utter destruction and desecration of Lotus Pier. His voice trembles there, for there are some things that he will never grow dull and immune towards, but that's all right. Tears are allowed sometimes.
But ah, that isn't the end of the story. Not when Chifeng-Zun is such a triumph in battle; when the Unclean Realm was the only one that withstood the Wens attacks (the Jins don't count; they barely had to contend with the war, not really). Of the betrayal of Meng Yao; of his subsequent spy work, his promotion to Jin Guangyao, and the Venerated Triad that had formed.
And on, and on, and on . . . he stops, though, just as Wei Wuxian had died. That's enough. That's more than enough, the details horrific and overwhelming, and that isn't even getting into the far future. But one thing at a time.
He doesn't dare look over at his friend. What expression will he find there? Pity? Probably. He likely thinks Jiang Cheng insane; he's likely about to suggest they go to the healers, or worse still, to see Lan Qiren.]
. . . I will you how I know of these things, if you wish. I don't understand why it happens, but I can tell you. But what I need is someone who knows how to— how to stop the future from happening. It always does. No matter what I do, no matter what I try, it always happens.
[As far as curses go, Wei Wuxian has to admit this is one of the tamer ones he's ever been hit with. Completely painless, no threat of getting worse, and not even dangerous, if perhaps slightly...inconvenient at times. Really, he'd be very interested to know what the creator of such a curse was thinking when they'd invented it if they weren't already dead. Clearing out the abandoned house of a long passed madman had seemed like an easy enough task even if the small village's occupants had sworn it was haunted—it wasn't thankfully, just a few leftover protective talismans that activated when anyone drew near—so of course it had turned into...well. This.
(He doesn't go looking for trouble, honest, but somehow it always seems to find him.)
Which is what brought him to the Nie family burial vault, as according to the workbooks he'd scoured in the deceased man's house, most of his talismans and curses were created with a failsafe. That is to say they can only be broken by the cut of a Nie sect saber. Not just any saber of course because that would be far too easy for him to resolve. No, only a saber of someone from the direct Nie line.
Why? Maybe the inventor was friends with someone in the Nie Family. Maybe enemies. Maybe even an illegitimate child. Probably, Wei Wuxian will never know, but also he doesn't actually care. Mostly he just wants to find a saber that will do the job, cut his hand open, do his best not to shift the balance of angry saber spirits to vengeful ghosts, and get out.
But life is never simple for Wei Wuxian, so of course he doesn't find one. Of course Nie Huaisang actually implemented better security around the burial vault after everything that had happened that time with Jin Ling. Of course the guards catch him and are wildly affronted by his (mild!) desecration and bring him to see sect leader Nie to explain himself. He could lose them easily—they don't even take Chenqing from him, probably because they don't recognize it or him—but at this point he's resigned himself to asking Nie Huaisang for his direct help, a predicament he'd been trying to avoid because. Well.
He does have some shame. It would have been nice to get out of this without having to tell anyone.
But he's beyond that now and if he has to face Nie Huaisang while under this curse, then the most he can do is really sell it. Give it some sass.
The guards push him (far more gently than guards have ever pushed him before) to stand before sect leader Nie's throne, and Wei Wuxian salutes with deference before straightening, flipping his hair over his shoulder, and smiling toothily up at his old friend.]
[ when he receives word that someone has tried to break into the burial vault, nie huaisang feels a headache coming on — there's exactly no one who should be attempting to break into the vault anymore, and even less of a someone who should get through his security measures.
of course, when the disciples bring a woman dressed in red and black to him, it all becomes clear.
with a wave of his hand, he dismisses the disciples; they go, but not without an insistent sect leader are you sure, to which huaisang simply nods.
as soon as the door closes behind them, he sighs. ]
No need, no need, Wei-xiong... [ he taps his cheek with his fan and says, contemplative, ] Hmm, I suppose that would satisfy the Lan Elders.
[ after that non-sequitur (but really, to him it all makes perfect sense, the lan elders might object to a cutsleeve marriage but there should be no objections to hanguang-jun marrying a perfectly suitable young mistress), he stands up and smiles, full of cheer. ]
So, what can this humble sect leader do for you? A change of clothes, perhaps? Though I have to admit, there's one thing I don't quite understand...
[ a flick of his hand and his fan opens in front of him as he peers at wei wuxian over it. ]
Wei-xiong, surely you're smart enough to know that the burial vault doesn't have any suitable clothes for young mistresses to use...?
[ read: why the fuck did you break into the vault, explanations are owed, stat. ]
[The question makes his smile falter for just a moment, relief and trepidation mixing before he schools his face into something carelessly amused again. It isn't that he's afraid of Nie Huaisang because he certainly isn't, but not being afraid and not being aware of danger are too entirely different concepts. Though he and Lan Wangji appear to be the only ones outside of a likely handful of Nie officials that know it, Nie Huaisang is undoubtedly the most fearsome figure in all of the great cultivation sects.
He is also however, in many ways, Wei Wuxian's oldest and truest friend. (Lan Wangji may be his truest something else but it would be unfair to put Lan Wangji in the same category as anyone else.) So Wei Wuxian is not afraid but he is aware.
He is also not even remotely interested in pursuing that non-sequitur for his own mental well being.]
Ah, Nie-Zongzhu, I would hardly go through such trouble to find good Nie tailoring when I'd only need to come to you for recommendations. [One corner of his lips flickers up into a smirk before his shoulders lose some of their tension and he shakes his head.]
You may have noticed I have been lightly cursed. The inventor of this curse is long dead but after some research I have been given reason to believe the curse can be broken with the cut of a Nie blade.
[He puts his arms together again to offer another salute, this one more sincere.]
I apologize for my trespass, Nie-Zongzhu, I meant no disrespect, I only sought to deal with this quietly.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
hey it's the time travel au!
They scatter. Wei Wuxian goes off with his husband, and for his part, Jiang Cheng goes to Lotus Pier. He hears that Nie Huaisang is going to be elected chief cultivator, and that's all right, he supposes. He doesn't care, really. He's fairly certain Nie Huaisang doesn't, either.
Because the days turn into weeks turn into months, and when it comes down to it, it's not really about power or politics. It's about loss. And no amount of triumph will bring back Nie Mingjue (or Jiang Yanli, or Jin Zixuan, his parents, or—)
The point is: the ending is happy, theoretically, but only for a few. The rest are left to pick up their shattered lives and do the best they can.
(start again;)
So it goes like this: I don't understand what he thinks he's doing, Jiang Cheng rants to Nie Huaisang one night. They're tipsy-verging-on-drunk, which explains his loose tongue. It's a foolish thing, ranting about this, but it's not as if everyone doesn't know that Wei Wuxian is associating with the remnants of the Wen clan. I don't understand why he won't come home! What does he see in them? Why does he risk all of our lives and reputations for their sake? And what he means— and indeed, perhaps what Nie Huaisang understands, in his own quiet way— is why won't he come home? Why won't he pick me over them?
He does not understand. He does not understand, a month later, why Wei Wuxian willingly agrees to be expelled from the Jiang clan. He does not understand why living in a hellish space with enemies who slaughtered their entire home is better than being with his shidi. He does not understand, he does not understand, and he never does, not once, not even years later, when all the clans are gathered and screaming for blood, kill the traitor, when he sees Wei Wuxian hanging off the cliff, when their sister's blood is drying on his hands and all he can feel is rage rage rage—
(start again;)
So it goes like this: he is tired. He is tired because he is hallucinating things he does not understand: events that have yet to happen, things that cannot possibly be. He sees his shidi as a demonic cultivator; he sees Nie Huaisang all bloody, grimacing as he stitches a corpse back together. He sees them all, warped and twisted and broken, and he does not understand, because the war is over.
They are dreams, surely, and he dismisses them as such. Distress after battle is not uncommon, or so he is told. Nightmares and hallucinations . . . he should not pay them mind, a healer tells him, and so he does just that.
They all of them are too young to fight in a war, and far too young to be a war hero, and yet still, both of these things are true. The Wens have been defeated, and hey, what a triumph! Glory enough for everyone, and yet Jiang Cheng feels like a child as he sits in their former enemy's great hall, sipping on wine and listening to the others talk. He catches Nie Huaisang's eye and grimaces; he's gratified when the other man returns his gesture with a little smirk. What are they doing here, they two of them? Boys, both of them, and yet somehow when Jin Guangshan addresses the leader of Yunmeng Jiang, it is him they mean.
It's a meaningless title, of course, but it's still his. Powerless, for Yunmeng Jiang consists of three siblings and a handful of broken, beaten disciples, and doesn't everyone know it? That's why Jin Guangshan pushes for the marriage. That's why Jiang Cheng falters. That's why Wei Wuxian loudly diverts attention, and it's good, it is, but it doesn't help his case later on. Everyone remembers him as the boy who'd spoken out— and oh, don't they hold that against him later? When he speaks out against even worse things; when he wants to know where the leftover Wen clan are being held, when it all starts to go wrong (or was it even earlier than that?)
(start again;)
So it goes like this: he is sixteen and in Gusu, sent there not just to train to be a cultivator, but because he is sickly. Because he has nightmares of things that are impossible; because he clings to his parents and Yanli sometimes as though he is a child, not a man. Because he does not understand why whenever he sees Nie Mingjue, he sees a corpse; that whenever he catches Huaisang's eye, it is only a distant, cruel sort of man he sees, not the boy whose friendship he adores.
The Lans have no answers, though they do their best. He is too proud still to let Wen Qing examine him, but it wouldn't matter. He can't look at her either. He can't look at any of the Wens without growing sick, for all he can see are their burnt corpses. All he sees around him is death, and he can't, he can't, he doesn't understand—
(start againagainagainagain—)
Jiang Cheng is sixteen. This is not the first time he has been sixteen. He hopes it will be the last, but he has no real hope anymore.
He goes to Gusu. For once in his life (lives), he is at the top of the class. Not even Lan Wangji can compare to him; not even Wei Wuxian can line up to his sheer practiced talent. Of course they can't. He has lived, oh, so many times over. Wei Wuxian will always have more raw talent than Jiang Cheng, but— well, what's that saying about putting in your ten thousand hours? It's a bit like that. Repetition, and he was no slouch even in his first life.
So he excels, and for the first time in his life he is praised universally. Even his father admits that he has done well, and yet the praise is meaningless. He cannot look at his father, nor his mother. He cannot look at his siblings, nor most of their classmates (for they die, you know. In one way if not another). He has tried to save them, in this life or that, but it doesn't much matter. He's never good enough to save them all. He doesn't know how to plan like that: meticulously, carefully, seeing the whole board instead of just two steps ahead. Jiang Cheng truly does excel in many fields, but not that.
But there is someone who does.
Nie Huaisang is not the manipulative chessmaster he will become. His talents have not been honed by grief and rage; he has not spent over a decade carefully calculating his revenge. And yet they still must be there, for Nie Mingjue's death had only brought them to surface, not given birth to them.
If he's going to end this cycle, Jiang Cheng determines, he needs help to do it. Not from any of the corpses he sees shambling around him, but from someone similarly untouched. Someone who made it out alive, if not wrecked and ruined. Someone who can think like that, or will soon, if he has anything to say about it.
And it starts here: by the river in the back of Gusu. Nie Huaisang is skipping class, which isn't shocking. It won't matter either way, he had told Jiang Cheng cheerfully once (when? This lifetime? The last? They blur). Jiang Cheng agrees: it won't matter. All the cultivation lessons in the world won't change what's to come.
He sees him on the bank. Purposely he makes noise as he climbs down, and offers an odd little wave as he comes to sit next to him. He so clearly has something on his mind, but he'll bring it up in his own time.]
What are you drawing?
[It's a real question, sort of, or at least a way to kick off a conversation. Jiang Cheng sits, leaning back on one hand, wishing he was far better at concealing his emotions and thoughts than he truly is.]
omg i'm dying
they're right, of course, but what they don't know is how much time and effort maintaining that image actually takes.
if you actually bothered showing them what you can do, his brother had said, exasperated and tired and fond, the entire cultivation world wouldn't think you're useless.
I know, nie huaisang had answered patiently, that's exactly what I'm trying to avoid.
one of the things they don't know is that the reason nie mingjue keeps pushing him is not because he thinks he's useless; it's because he knows he's not. but huaisang has spent too much time and care cultivating the image of a weak younger brother, frivolous and uncaring of politics, a spoiled young master who relies on his da-ge's strength in everything, to give it up just because his brother insists.
another is the way he sometimes stays up until morning, sitting in his brother's room, reading over his correspondence, making little notes on the margins of the letters, sometimes writing entire responses in his brother's handwriting, strong and bold characters entirely unlike huaisang's own, delicate penmanship.
(another is that one of huaisang's earliest memories centers around his brother, looking at him with serious eyes and telling him he was the only nie he'd ever seen who didn't lose his temper, ever. what most people don't know is the quiet relief in fifteen-year-old nie mingue's voice when he looked at his little brother and said, hold on to that, huaisang, I never want to see you...
he'd never finished the sentence, but so soon after their father's death, there had been little doubt as to how it would have ended.
it's at the tender age of nine that nie huaisang swears off saber practice.)
perhaps it should not come as a surprise to anyone, least of all his brother, that the lessons in gusu mean so little to him.
instead, he focuses more on relationships — da-ge is too busy to forge relations between the sects, and most wouldn't even dare to try and befriend the formidable chifeng-zun. but nie huaisang, unassuming and weak in cultivation, he is easy to befriend. he's free with his smiles, freer with his time, and he never forgets: not a name, not the details he's heard in snippets of conversation.
soon enough, there's few guest disciples in gusu who he can't greet by name.
there's one friendship that baffles him somewhat, though — that with the heir of the jiang sect. huaisang had taken one look at jiang fengmian's ward and decided that he wouldn't even have to try and befriend wei wuxian, it would happen on its own accord... but jiang cheng? people frequently compare him to huaisang's brother, just as brilliant as chifeng-zun in his age, in skill and unyielding temperament, and initially...
to his embarrassment, initially, huaisang had thought he stands a better chance at befriending the second jade of lan than the jiang sect heir.
to his greater embarrassment, jiang cheng had seemed to want to befriend him all on his own. he still can't quite understand why — but he's resigned himself to waiting for the reason. eventually, he'll find out... all he needs is some patience.
luckily, nie huaisang is the one nie capable of infinite amounts of patience.
he doesn't show his surprise when jiang cheng joins him during class hours; instead, he tips his canvas towards him, to show him the beginnings of a landscape — the river in front of them, but unforgiving mountains in the horizon. ]
Just imagining how this river would look in Qinghe! [ his answer is cheery, unassuming, as he sets down his brush and picks up his fan instead. ]
Jiang-xiong, what are you doing here? Not that I'm not pleased to have company, but I would have thought classes would hold more interest to you than watching me draw.
*good* im psyched
So: he sees Nie Huaisang and sees . . . oh, all of him, past and present, broken and whole, brother and distant friend, chief cultivator and Gusu student all at once. It's strange, but what's worse: it's hard to keep track in his mind what he's supposed to know and what he shouldn't.
(He gave up and told Wei Wuxian, once. Spilled the entire story, tearful and furious in turns, and to his eternal credit, his shidi had tried his best to help. Hadn't thought him mad, no, but instead worked hard to try and prevent the future.
It hadn't helped.)]
No.
[Well, it's true. Blunt, but true. He knows what Lan Qiren is lecturing today. He could likely teach the class himself. Still, that's not really a great answer, and so Jiang Cheng shrugs one shoulder. Does he look carefree? He does not. He is doing his best.]
You draw better than anyone in our class. Perhaps I'm looking for a lesson in something I lack skill in.
[After all, painting is one of the gentlemanly arts. Not one he's very good at. Just as his poetry always comes out clunky and dull, so too is his art very, hm, messy. But that's incidental, and anyway, not why he's here.
Jiang Cheng takes a breath. Fifty lifetimes, and he still wants to get this right. He can't stand having to live through all the years once more, knowing he'd failed at the first step.]
But I need your help as well. It's . . . a complex problem.
same!!
it's bold words, and huaisang wonders.
it doesn't do to ask, though, and so he only answers, bright as ever, ] I would be happy to teach you!
[ but it's empty words, he knows that much already. jiang cheng is not here to paint. and he doesn't have to wait long for his friend to keep speaking; how tense he looks, too, shoulders drawn tight like he's carrying the weight of more than just yunmeng on them.
I need your help, jiang cheng says, and huaisang's eyes widen. he's not yet practiced enough to conceal it — instead, he defaults to what he does when a reaction is un-concealable: he exaggerates it, lets his surprise show. ]
If it's a complex problem... ah, Jiang-xiong, not to be rude, but why are you asking my help? Surely someone else could help you much better!
[ he knows his reputation. no one outside of qinghe should come to him about problems that aren't about smuggling in wine or acquiring specific art. he should know; he's made sure of that. ]
no subject
Oh, he's so bad about being subtle, he really is. He's never had the patience for it, not in this life or any other. But maybe that's for the best. Act too shifty, and Nie Huaisang will just grow suspicious.]
No. They couldn't. There isn't anyone else who can help me with this. Just you.
[He meets his eyes, trying to keep his expression as open as he can. It's awful to be seen, it really is, but his best chance is to be as open and as honest as he can.]
You know people. You know how they work, and how to predict what they'll do. No one else can quite so well.
[God, but he's so tired. Maybe some of that shows too, as they stare at one another.]
I have a problem that requires thinking about things like that for years to come.
no subject
because those words imply responsibility, which is what he's been trying to avoid all this time. quickly, he tries to wave his fan to say no, no, not me, you can't possibly mean that, but then his friend keeps going and he finds he can't really say anything at all.
how does jiang cheng know all this? sure, he's made some jokes about wei-xiong's behaviour that have turned out to come true in the next day, but he never thought anyone would take that as a serious sign of him predicting what people do.
no one, aside from da-ge, is supposed to know about his penchant for strategy and politics and people-reading. and da-ge hates that that's what he's good at, so there's no way he's talked about it.
except, maybe... ]
Did Xichen-ge say something? [ jiang cheng looks so tired that huaisang considers lying about it all for approximately three seconds before he sighs in defeat. ]
You know I don't like responsibility... but fine. Tell me about your problem and we'll see if I can help you or not. But don't expect too much of me! I'm really not good under pressure.
[ but there's something in his voice, a current that runs beneath the near-flawless pretense of incompetence... a current that's excitement. intrigue. despite himself, he's interested, and he can't help it. ]
no subject
But ah . . . the moment of truth, sort of, and he balks. It's not that he hasn't anticipated this, but it's one thing to know it's coming logically; it's quite another to have it come upon you in reality. Hm.]
You won't believe me. It's a fantastical story.
[Fantastical: not whimsical, nor happy. But as if he's lying absurdly, like a child. Jiang Cheng grimaces as he glares out at the river before them. There's a stone not too far from his fingers, large enough to fit in his palm, worn and smoothed down by the current. He takes it in hand, running his thumb over the edge, pleased to have somewhere to direct his mounting anxiety.]
. . . but it starts with Meng Yao. And Chifeng-Zun. And you, Nie-xiong.
[Huaisang, he does not call him. A-Sang, he does not dare, though there was a time when they were so close. Some lifetime, some years past . . . it doesn't matter.
He starts. It's not . . . he isn't good at this, is the thing. He restarts and fumbles, doubling back, remembering details belatedly and adding them in. It's a terrible story; it certainly isn't one a liar would produce, for who would be so fucking terrible at it? Honestly, it'd be a miracle if Nie Huaisang believes him even if he told it perfectly, but of course, Jiang Cheng can't do anything perfectly. So many lifetimes later, his soul aged beyond belief, and still, still, he fumbles the pass when it most matters.
But he tells him. Of the war to come; of Wen Ruohan's greed and madness. Of the horrors that are only a few years in their future: the burning of Cloud Recesses, the utter destruction and desecration of Lotus Pier. His voice trembles there, for there are some things that he will never grow dull and immune towards, but that's all right. Tears are allowed sometimes.
But ah, that isn't the end of the story. Not when Chifeng-Zun is such a triumph in battle; when the Unclean Realm was the only one that withstood the Wens attacks (the Jins don't count; they barely had to contend with the war, not really). Of the betrayal of Meng Yao; of his subsequent spy work, his promotion to Jin Guangyao, and the Venerated Triad that had formed.
And on, and on, and on . . . he stops, though, just as Wei Wuxian had died. That's enough. That's more than enough, the details horrific and overwhelming, and that isn't even getting into the far future. But one thing at a time.
He doesn't dare look over at his friend. What expression will he find there? Pity? Probably. He likely thinks Jiang Cheng insane; he's likely about to suggest they go to the healers, or worse still, to see Lan Qiren.]
. . . I will you how I know of these things, if you wish. I don't understand why it happens, but I can tell you. But what I need is someone who knows how to— how to stop the future from happening. It always does. No matter what I do, no matter what I try, it always happens.
I don't know how to make it stop.
no subject
(He doesn't go looking for trouble, honest, but somehow it always seems to find him.)
Which is what brought him to the Nie family burial vault, as according to the workbooks he'd scoured in the deceased man's house, most of his talismans and curses were created with a failsafe. That is to say they can only be broken by the cut of a Nie sect saber. Not just any saber of course because that would be far too easy for him to resolve. No, only a saber of someone from the direct Nie line.
Why? Maybe the inventor was friends with someone in the Nie Family. Maybe enemies. Maybe even an illegitimate child. Probably, Wei Wuxian will never know, but also he doesn't actually care. Mostly he just wants to find a saber that will do the job, cut his hand open, do his best not to shift the balance of angry saber spirits to vengeful ghosts, and get out.
But life is never simple for Wei Wuxian, so of course he doesn't find one. Of course Nie Huaisang actually implemented better security around the burial vault after everything that had happened that time with Jin Ling. Of course the guards catch him and are wildly affronted by his (mild!) desecration and bring him to see sect leader Nie to explain himself. He could lose them easily—they don't even take Chenqing from him, probably because they don't recognize it or him—but at this point he's resigned himself to asking Nie Huaisang for his direct help, a predicament he'd been trying to avoid because. Well.
He does have some shame. It would have been nice to get out of this without having to tell anyone.
But he's beyond that now and if he has to face Nie Huaisang while under this curse, then the most he can do is really sell it. Give it some sass.
The guards push him (far more gently than guards have ever pushed him before) to stand before sect leader Nie's throne, and Wei Wuxian salutes with deference before straightening, flipping his hair over his shoulder, and smiling toothily up at his old friend.]
I can explain.
no subject
of course, when the disciples bring a woman dressed in red and black to him, it all becomes clear.
with a wave of his hand, he dismisses the disciples; they go, but not without an insistent sect leader are you sure, to which huaisang simply nods.
as soon as the door closes behind them, he sighs. ]
No need, no need, Wei-xiong... [ he taps his cheek with his fan and says, contemplative, ] Hmm, I suppose that would satisfy the Lan Elders.
[ after that non-sequitur (but really, to him it all makes perfect sense, the lan elders might object to a cutsleeve marriage but there should be no objections to hanguang-jun marrying a perfectly suitable young mistress), he stands up and smiles, full of cheer. ]
So, what can this humble sect leader do for you? A change of clothes, perhaps? Though I have to admit, there's one thing I don't quite understand...
[ a flick of his hand and his fan opens in front of him as he peers at wei wuxian over it. ]
Wei-xiong, surely you're smart enough to know that the burial vault doesn't have any suitable clothes for young mistresses to use...?
[ read: why the fuck did you break into the vault, explanations are owed, stat. ]
no subject
He is also however, in many ways, Wei Wuxian's oldest and truest friend. (Lan Wangji may be his truest something else but it would be unfair to put Lan Wangji in the same category as anyone else.) So Wei Wuxian is not afraid but he is aware.
He is also not even remotely interested in pursuing that non-sequitur for his own mental well being.]
Ah, Nie-Zongzhu, I would hardly go through such trouble to find good Nie tailoring when I'd only need to come to you for recommendations. [One corner of his lips flickers up into a smirk before his shoulders lose some of their tension and he shakes his head.]
You may have noticed I have been lightly cursed. The inventor of this curse is long dead but after some research I have been given reason to believe the curse can be broken with the cut of a Nie blade.
[He puts his arms together again to offer another salute, this one more sincere.]
I apologize for my trespass, Nie-Zongzhu, I meant no disrespect, I only sought to deal with this quietly.