*Flops* Okay, need to work on sketching out the rest of the plot, because this story sailed way past my original endpoint. Such are the perils of starting an idea when you don’t know all of canon… characterization may not be what you expect!
“Yes! Exactly,” Wei Wuxian nodded. “Ghosts were people. And I know your Weaponsmaster’s told you; you don’t kill people. Not unless there’s no other way to save your life, or someone else’s.”
Ah. This, at last, made sense. At least to a man who knew Crathach, and the choices the Mindhealer would make when lives were in peril. Alberich folded his arms, considering that. “Another way, you sought to find.”
“He did find it,” Wen Qionglin said softly. “He’s helped many ghosts find peace.”
“First I worked it out in theory. I never thought I’d use it,” Wei Wuxian admitted. “But then… there was a war. And a lot of angry ghosts.” He clapped his hands together. “So! Let’s see what got hold of you, Theo. Cousin, I think it’s just some stray bits of a grudge, but….”
“Let me see.” Wen Qionglin took Theo’s wrist just as Wei Wuxian had, if even more gently. Stilled, half-closing his eyes as if to better sense the flow of angry energy. Nodded, and let go. “It doesn’t have any soul-shreds in it, or pieces of a curse. It’s just malice.”
“Excellent! Malice we can handle.” Wei Wuxian twirled his flute, red jade glittering in the afternoon sun. Raised it to his lips, and blew three short, sharp notes.
Alberich saw nothing - or almost nothing. A shimmer of air, perhaps, from near Theo’s heart? Yet white ears rose, and blue eyes gleamed more brightly. :Kantor?:
:…It’s almost a black smoke,: his Companion said thoughtfully. :He called to it, and it came away- Oh, ow. NowI can see where Theo’s hurt.: Heavy hooves clopped forward. Kantor nudged the boy, offering a warm whuff of breath.
The Bardling hiccupped, then buried his face in white hide. Kantor nickered as the boy hid sobs, rubbing his chin on young shoulders.
“Wow that’s a lot of white.” Leaning on a maple, doing his best to be quiet and unobtrusive and out of the way of all the suppressed panicking, Wei Wuxian watched the pomp and circumstances upriver.
There were Heralds and Companions all over the place. There were priests of all colors of robes, cotton and linen and practical wool fluttering in the cold wind off the water, waving censers and holy texts. There were reams of gold embroidery, and glints of noon sun from the circlets of the Queen and her Consort, for what could be more important to a true ruler than making sure the center of her very capital was cleansed of resentful energy?
And in the middle of it all were three less than thrilled cultivators in Nie green and Lan white, trying to set up a good, stable formation for when - not if - the waterborne ghosts turned nasty.
“Is that - Bull Rushing?” Wen Ning peeked around the trunk of the tree beside him, shading his eyes with one hand, head tilted like one of the crows being suspiciously quiet in a nearby pine. “I thought that takes four….”
“Looks like Hanguang-jun’s been practicing with Kellen as a backup for qi flow,” Wei Wuxian reflected. “Or I hope he has… eh?”
One familiar priest dressed in quiet cream wool, looking uncertainly around, loosely followed by a gaggle of students in blue and hints of green-
And not all of the blue in the air was light off clothing. Or even visible, to most eyes.
“More air-yaojing,” Wen Ning said softly. “But if they go after magic….” “Nie Huaisang just looks fluttery,” Wei Wuxian smiled. “When he’s interested in something - and he is interested in cultivating, with anything but the saber - you learn from people who love what they’re doing. You can’t help it.” Stepping out from behind the tree, he waved. “Hello!”
A/N: Warning, this chapter is going to take a long while. Work is exhausting, though I’m trying to get back on a regular schedule of writing.
We could be another option, in Rabbit Hole. I need to talk to Wen Qing and Wen Ning, but if they think it would work… we could take students. People who can’t fit most of Valdemar, but who don’t want to go across the world;
who don’t really want to leave, but the walls of Heralds and heroes are closing in too tight for them. We could be another way.
Like he’d given Vienne another way to work out her resentment, when she knew she could never reach her murderer. And here were a whole flock of student cultivators who ought to learn how ghosts should be treated. Hmm.
“Let’s start with the facts.” Wei Wuxian waved a hand to draw listening ears closer. “First, what priests do best for the dead is carry out the proper rites, laying bodies to rest so lingering souls are appeased and can pass on. True?”
“Along with comforting the living, and offering spiritual counsel, yes,” Gerichen allowed.
Wei Wuxian pointed to him, and swept his gaze over the students. “Both of which are very important. Never let any teacher tell you otherwise. The rites and upright example of a good priest reduce resentment. That makes living people less likely to be corrupted by demonic energies, and less vulnerable to being fed on by unhappy ghosts. A fierce ghost is dangerous. A fierce ghost that can feed on the rage and guilt of its entire clan can wipe out a whole night-hunt.”
“It happens,” Wen Ning nodded. “It’s… one of the ways rogue cultivators die.”
A blonde with tight braids and knives up her sleeves looked upriver at the rising incense. “So… what they’re doing there, is like pulling on boiled clothes, and scrubbing down your hands, so you don’t make patients sicker?”
“And so you don’t spread sickness out. Yes.” Wei Wuxian beamed at her. “Kais Asgurn, right? Nie-xiong mentioned you were an herb-healer.”
“Abone-healer.” Wen Ning gave her a slight, sincere bow. “Without cultivation? That must be so hard to get right.”
“There are priests in the Jianghu.” Wen Ning paused. “They don’t like cultivators much.”
“Which really isn’t fair, they’re fine at their jobs,” Wei Wuxian said virtuously. “We just get called in when they’re not enough.”
Father Gerichen’s brows climbed; he shifted his weight, as if braced for a vigorous argument. “You don’t think the Lord Patriarch and other priests will make a difference?”
He was not going to roll his eyes, Wei Wuxian decided. It was an honest question. “Patriarch or not… calling in a priest is like washing a wound. It helps keep it from getting infected. But once a wound’s gone bad, you need different kinds of healing.”
That drew the students’ attention; Mina in particular, who had been peering over at Wen Ning, gave him a wary glance. “Cultivators aren’t anything like priests!”
“Exactly.” Wei Wuxian gave the small flock of seedlings a look-over. “Which is a good thing, because priests won’t be enough for a river trying very hard to be a waterborne abyss.”
Father Gerichen only frowned. But from the way the students paled, some edging a little farther from the water, Nie Huaisang had told them stories.
Wei Wuxian spread his hands, reassuring. “It hasn’t gotten that bad. I don’t think it could get that bad, not with the Terilee running right through Companions’ Field. All that spiritual energy ringing out with every hoof-beat? Even a full-fledged abyss couldn’t do more than swirl under the surface.”
Wen Ning coughed, politely.
“Though that would be pretty bad for anyone who stuck a toe under the water,” Wei Wuxian allowed. “Father, it’s not just that Lord Orthallen used the river as his own personal unhallowed grave for anyone who annoyed him. Rivers have always been used that way. But this river flows through Haven, through the Palace, through Companions’ Field itself. It should carry the spiritual energy of a righteous ruler to the rest of her domain. Instead he laced it with the resentful energy of a traitor.” He took a breath. “And it’s worse because the ghosts trapped here by those treacherous acts resent their deaths, and their killers, and even the Heralds. Who were so close… and yet never protected them.”
Gerichen winced. “Heralds are only human, master cultivator.”
A Long Road Chapter 15 Ficbit - Definitions of Safe
This would be a bit tricky for youngsters. Even most cultivators considered oaths as more words than actual attempts to reshape the universe.
Then again, these young ones were from Valdemar. Legend said its founder had sworn an oath to do exactly that.
“Energy is shaped by intent.” Wei Wuxian thumped a fist into an open palm, choosing each word. “We intend a talisman to warm instead of burn. We intend a sword to fly left instead of right. Cultivation is how we make it work, but intent is why.”
The seedlings drew closer. Father Gerichen was listening carefully.
“Orthallen deliberately broke his oath, to harm the Queen, her Heir, and her loyal people,” Wei Wuxian went on. “Instead of a sword raised to defend, it’s a poisoned dagger stabbed in the back. That’s what we’re fighting; that, and all the ghosts it corrupted.”
Kais brushed back an escaping strand of blonde, red flush fading. “Isstabbed? Not wasstabbed?”
Wei Wuxian traded a quick frown with Wen Ning. They’d tried to brush up on the language as they’d raced to Haven, but Valdemaran was very different from the tongue of the Jianghu. “Yes? Is. He may be dead, but the broken oath is written on its victims’ bones. I don’t know if we can get all of those out of the river, but we should try.”
“So it is like an infected wound,” Mina muttered.
“Worse.” Kais’ nose scrunched, searching for the right words. “Like one with impacted bits of cloth and debris. No matter how you Heal it, it’ll just get infected again. Until you open it up and clean it all out.”
Wei Wuxian gave them both an intrigued look. “Good. Very good. And if you’ve dealt with raging infections, you know it’s going to be messy. So….” He made gentle shooing motions. None of the youngsters moved. Drat.
“Why are you all still here?”
Mina took a deep breath. “Because Nie-xiong said it’d be dangerous, anything even close to a water-ghoul is, and worse for anyone who knows just a little cultivation. He said the safest place for all of us to hide was right behind you.”
Bichen at his side, Lan Wangji breathed out, grateful for the comforting weight of six layers of warded silk against the river’s chill breeze. Perhaps it was presumptuous, to wear white and blue here in Valdemar’s heart when he had not earned a Herald’s colors-
:You’re planning for a fight, and only a fool turns down armor when there are swords coming at him. No matter whose colors it is.: Kellen snorted, and gave the impression of leaning with a warm shoulder, but never left his place in the formation. :Are you doing all right, Chosen?:
With others he would have kept his thoughts as neutral as his face, schooled to icy calm as the priests sang, declaimed, and deployed smoke that smelled of no herbs the Jianghu would have called familiar. With Kellen… Lan Wangji considered the matter, even as he checked how the Nie were holding position. Nie Zonghui stood before them, sabers not yet drawn, to take the brunt of any attack; Nie Huaisang behind them to hold the foundation. He and Kellen held right and left, bracing the formation where it would be most vulnerable to a sudden assault if the ghosts had any sense of tactics. He knew better than to assume they wouldn’t. Most of the Terilee’s drowning victims might have been civilians, but all it would take was one ex-soldier with as much determination as resentment to lead the others.
He’d seen it in Sunshot, when Wei Wuxian called spirits into the fray. Ghosts might be frozen by death, filled with all the hate and sorrow and rage of their last moments. It made them static. Hidebound. Predictable. But they could still learn.
And who knew what ghosts might have learned here? The currents of qi in air and water felt… unsettled. Odd, in a way he’d never noticed in sect lands. Bright, and somehow sharp, as if a thousand tiny slivers of energy pricked at his meridians.
For himself it was only annoying, requiring a fraction of his focused attention to keep the land’s qi from interfering with his own energies. Like grasping a nettle so it would not sting.
For the Nie, it seemed worse. They were twitchy. Nie Huaisang was biting his lip to keep his hand from his fan, and Nie Zonghui’s stone face belied the tension bunching silk at his shoulders.
Lan Wangji’s anger had long since been useless and unproductive. He would simmer quietly and do nothing about his rage for most of his life. That all changed when he started feeling anger over his husband’s persistent refusal to defend himself. When the person Wei Wuxian was refusing to defend himself against was Wei Wuxian, however, things got a bit more complicated. He would never, not ever, stoop to the level of certain unnamed brother in laws who like to wear purpleandyell at his husband.
He also would not fall into the same helpless sprawl of his youth, watching Wei Ying waste away and feeling helpless to stop it. So Wangji channeled his anger more productively into taking care of his husband when he refused to do so himself.
Wen Ning, he soon realized, was well practiced in this area. He discovered it when the two of them shared their first skeptical look after a night hunt when Wei Ying insisted the wound he’d received was only minor. (It hadn’t been.) Together, along with the juniors, they worked the necessary ordeal of looking after Wei Ying down to an art.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, approaching his husband after a hard won battle. “Are you alright?” He wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. Everyone present was used to such displays, except Jiang Wanyin, who made a disgusted sound but was dutifully ignored.
“I’m fine,” Wei Ying said cheerfully, trying to pull Lan Wangji in for a real kiss.
“He’s a fucking liar, I sawhim get hit,” Jin Rulan snapped, confirming Wangji’s suspicions that the kiss had been a diversion tactic.
He pulled away before their lips could meet, drawing a pouting whine from Wei Ying. Good boy, he thought gently toward the boy. Already he was shaping up to be a better relative then Jiang Wanyin, stabbing incident notwithstanding (and entirely unforgiven).
“It was nothing, just a graze!”
If Wangji knew anything about Wei Ying, it was that he downplayed the seriousness of his hurt because he didn’t want to feel like a burden.
“It was not,” Jingyi chimed in, taking down their lure flags.
“Perhaps you should let us look at it,” Wen Ning tried gently. He always tried, at least, to give Wei Ying the illusion of choice in the matter, but all of them knew well enough by now that the wounds would be tended to, by force if necessary. Wangji also knew that the presence of Wei Ying’s younger brother tended to make him slip back harder into old habits without realizing.
“No really, it’s nothing,” Wei Ying tried to brush past Wangji, but Wangji caught him easily around the waist and lifted him until his feet no longer touched the ground. There were benefits to Mo Xuanyu’s slight frame. Most of them were that it made it easier for Wangji to tote his husband.
The juniors, familiar by now with the procedure, all slid wordlessly into their roles, leaving Jiang Wanyin standing in the middle of the clearing looking a little lost.
Lan Sizhui sat down and began playing cleansing to disperse remaining resentful energy. Lan Jingyi took a quikun pouch from Lan Wangji and began pulling out the tents. Jin Ling began collecting firewood, then lighting a fire near where Lan Wangji had sat Wei Ying down with the utmost care.
The most puzzling thing of all, however, was the resigned sigh that Wei Wuxian huffed, allowing himself to be manipulated and moved without much protest or participation.
“You’re overreacting,” he said, like a man already defeated.
“No I fucking wasn’t,” Jin Ling said, now pointing out the place he’d seen Wei Wuxian be hit. (He had indeed not been overreacting).
“I thought I saw him roll an ankle,” Lan JIngyi put in, at which point Jin Ling himself started forward and started testing the limb while Lan Wangji and Wen Ning were busy bandaging Wei Wuxian’s chest.
“I think it’s fine, he must not have hurt it.”
At this point Wei Wuxian looked up at Jiang Cheng and rolled his eyes, looking annoyed, but he still didn’t protest to any of the treatment.
“Are we happy now?” He asked, grinning sarcastically up at his husband as he was redressed.
“Mn,” Lan Wangji said simply.
“Good,” Wei Wuxian said, kissing his husband sweetly on the lips.
Jiang Cheng frowned and looked into the fire, ignoring the twang of something that was definitely not jealousy at the easy camaraderie that Wei Wuxian had with these people.
Wei Ying woke up with a mostly silent gasp. It was a talent he’d mastered after the Cave of Xuanwu but before the fall into the Burial Mounds. Back then he’d had no choice, he didn’t want to worry Shijie, of anger Madam Yu, or wake up all of Lotus Pier with his terrified shrieking.
These days he doesn’t have to worry about any of that. There weren’t very many people who lived within shouting distance of their house, and they had long since obliged those peoples requests that they put silencing talismans up on their walls for… reasons. Fun reasons.
The only person he risked waking up was his husband, who, for once, was still sleeping peacefully beneath him and would no doubt wantto be woken if he knew about Wei Ying’s nightmares, but Wei Ying still didn’t rouse him. Lan Zhan needed his rest. Especially now that Lan Xichen was finally, gradually, beginning to come out of seclusion after three long years.
Sometimes Wei Ying wondered about that. Three years. Had he done it intentionally, punishing himself for the same length of time Lan Zhan had been punished? Or had it been a coincidence?
Not that it mattered. Either way, Lan Xichen was coming out of seclusion and he was the only person besides Wei Ying who could actually read him and no matter what Lan Zhan said, he did get grumpy when he was sleep-deprived. It’s not something most people would notice, but it just so happened that the only other living person who would be able to tell was in a bit of a delicate mindset right now. So it was best to let Lan Zhan sleep.
Besides, there was little to be done for Wei Ying’s nightmare than to snuggle closer to his husband and try to get a bit more shut-eye before the other man got up at his horrifying and unreasonable hour to “be productive” and “contribute to society.”
Wei Ying turned his face toward that of his husband, admiring the view of him peaceful in sleep. These days that minuscule wrinkle between his brows had been their constant companion, deepening momentarily whenever one of the elders suggested that perhaps Xichen wasn’t fit to lead them after all. Wei Ying had tried to help with that, offering a back massage, but that had turned into… other, more adult activities. Not that those activities weren’t a good source of stress relief, but they had caused Lan Zhan to fall behind on his paperwork for the evening which had not been Wei Ying’s goal. He’d really intended to keep things innocent, but his husband was incorrigible!
Not that anyone would believe that, which was an injustice all it’s own, but that was for consideration at a later time, when his husband’s lovely sleeping face wasn’t right there. And his verynice chest wasn’t under his cheek, rising and falling with his breathing. It wasn’t often he got to observe his husband sleeping to the chorus of songbirds, so he should savor it, he thought. He pressed a gentle ghost of a kiss to the brand on his husband’s chest before sighing contentedly.
His nightmare had left him sweat sticky, the nights in Gusu never got warm enough to draw sweat from a body, even in the height of summer like now, but he knew his husband would scrub the sweat off his skin without complaint, and with more than a few kisses exchanged as payment. He settled back into his favorite sleeping position, wiggling to get more comfortable, and if his husband’s sleeping robe was pulled askew by all the movement, well, he could hardly be blamed for enjoying it. If the birdsong was any indication, his husband would be awake shortly anyway thanks to his supernatural Lan Internal Clock.
Lan Zhan would blink awake, unfairly alert for someone who had just woken up, and look at Wei Ying with so much adoration he would feel it down in his toes, effectively chasing away the last of the nightmare chill. Then, perhaps, the two of them would get up to chasing away the remnants of sleep and drowning out the birdsong.
Wei Wuxian was just an ordinary teenager at Gusu Academy. He hung out with friends, break the rules at least once a day, and banter with his roommate, Lan Wangji at every opportunity he had.
Life had been normal, until his grandfather passed away and left him an ancient relic that gave him the Yin eyes, causing him to be able to see and communicate with ghosts. Wei Wuxian was horrified to discover that everywhere around him, there were ghosts invading his space, even watching him shower! He wasn’t able to sleep, eat, or study properly - until one day he accidentally touched Lan Wangji skin-to-skin, and the ghosts simply disappeared. Hmm?
Wei Wuxian discovered that a simple brush of hands closed his Yin eyes for five minutes. A hug, fifteen minutes. Exchanging saliva? (Don’t ask how)… Two hours. And so he began sticking close to Lan Wangji for as much and as long as he could.
Until he got kabedon'ed by his roommate.
LWJ: You try to touch me at every opportunity you have. You like me, don’t you? WWX: … (Unable to answer because of the curse of the seal) LWJ: I like you too. WWX: ??!
……..
Comment: I really love this. So much fluff, shamelessness, and strange family tree specially because all of them got reincarnated without their memories, expect wangxian who are able to known their past lives.
Wèi Wúxiàn was about to go back to Gusu with the juniors when a light flashed into his eyes out of nowhere. After that he then realized that he got reincanated into a world he wasn’t familiar. The first thing he saw was an unfamiliar face he had long forgotten.
(A fic where WWX got reincanated into modern world and so everyone else.)
………..
Comment:I can’t wait for the update…!!! I love the dynamic between Wei Wuxian, Xue Yang and Meng Yao specially in terms of planning something wicked. Can’t wait for wangxian meeting!
