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Wei Wuxian is pretty sure that he can count the exact number of days it’s been since he set foot in Lotus Pier.
As he and Lan Wangji walk through the courtyard, Wei Wuxian takes note of various minor architectural changes. They barely make an impression because Yunmeng is in full bloom, and Wei Wuxian might very well drown in the scent of flowers. Every time he closes his eyes, he can hear the lapping waves that lulled him to sleep in his youth. For a few moments, his younger self is restless and blooming just below his skin.
Solitude isn’t guaranteed. That’s why he doesn’t grab onto Lan Wangji’s hand for reassurance, even though he really wants to do just that.
“Sure, it all looks impressive,” he says, instead, reaching for Lan Wangji with his words, “but it can give you some exciting allergies!”
“You immediately insult the place after not having set foot here in years?” Jiang Cheng’s voice rings out from seemingly nowhere.
Wei Wuxian jumps. He’d been expecting Jiang Cheng to throw open the doors to them with all the drama due to the chief cultivator. Instead he wanders out from under an awning. At least his purple, heavily embroidered robes look the part.
Nowaday, everyone’s prone to claiming that they didn’t like Jin Guangyao (and that they had never liked Jin Guangyao.) However, they had certainly enjoyed the stability the position of chief cultivator brought to the cultivation world. Rather than one individual taking on that role indefinitely, the position now went to leaders of the great sects for two years at a time. Initially, the plan had been for the job to go to the person who had been sect leader for the longest amount of time. However, Lan Xichen had begged leave in spite of his seniority, and no one had the heart to foist something like that upon him.
That meant Jiang Cheng – who had ascended to sect leader mere weeks after Lan Xichen- had had the good fortune of becoming the first temporary Chief Cultivator. By most accounts he had done well enough.
And this week, the role would shift over to Nie Huaisang. All the clans were here to witness and consent to this transfer of power.
For now, though, they’re mostly alone and Wei Wuxian just needs to explain himself.
“It’s a fact, not an insult. After all, you and I never got allergies.” Long ago he would have stated this without a care in the world. Today, this admission seems strangely intimate. “Also it’s clear you will have a great harvest in a few months.”
“That’s true.” Already, Jiang Cheng’s face is returning to a neutral expression. “Both things.”
Lan Wangji chooses to bow during this moment, and he does so at precisely the correct angle. No more, no less. Wei Wuxian’s mouth dries out and he wonders, distantly, if this is Lan Wangji being obscurely insulting. Jiang Cheng certainly looks puzzled.
“Welcome to Lotus Pier, Hanguang-jun,” he says after a moment, bowing in return, not bothering to hide his skepticism. “I trust your journey went well.”
“Yes,” Lan Wangji says, even though the thick spring rains made it impossible to fly. Wei Wuxian and his husband had huddled together in a damp tent most nights of this trip. “My brother sends his regrets that he is unable to be here.”
“No apologies required. I’m sure there’s a lot to do in Gusu,” Jiang Cheng says.
Wei Wuxian can almost hear what Jiang Cheng might have tacked on to his polite words. Something like this is all a waste of time and it’s taking us away from work that actually matters or this is just a glorified party that no one actually wants to attend. Or even don’t think I’ll ever forget you ripping up the spirit catching nets, you know.
Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng don’t really get into genuine arguments anymore. Not during formal gatherings for cultivators, at any rate, and today’s transfer of power is as formal as it gets. Instead, throughout the years, they’ve fumbled their way through rote, polite phrasing. Once they’ve stated a socially acceptable number of syllables to one another, they usually bounce away to different sides of the room. This is preferable - of course it is - but sometimes Wei Wuxian wishes they would fight.
“We’re glad to be representing Zewu-jun,” Wei Wuxian finally says, when the right words don’t present themselves.
Jiang Cheng doesn’t reply, he just stares at Wei Wuxian’s clothing. It’s hard to fault Jiang Cheng for that. Right now, Wei Wuxian is here as an emissary of the Lan clan and he’s largely dressed to match the part. He doesn’t get a headband (he never gets one of those, nor does he particularly want one) but he’s mostly done up in white. Wei Wuxian glances over at Lan Wangji and- yep – he’s wearing the aggresively blank face that he reserves for Jiang Cheng alone.
That’s not a great color on you, Jiang Cheng might have said to Wei Wuxian. Or, also; he’s really got you whipped, huh?. Wei Wuxian mentally argues with the former but not the latter.
A tapping sound draws near, and it saves them from even more agonizing, polite conversation. Jin Ling wanders in through the courtyard, followed by his own particular entourage. He’s leaning on a cane, and he hasn’t brought the dog along with him.
There really needs to be some sort of tally of all the times Jin Ling has inadvertently lessened the tension between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng. After more greetings are made, and after servants lead all the various attendants away to their rooms, Jin Ling turns to Wei Wuxian.
“I barely recognized you.” He says this like an accusation.
“I thought it was a good disguise,” he says, “but clearly not good enough! What happened to your foot?”
Jin Ling scowls, looking so much like Jiang Cheng that it’s a little alarming. “I … broke it. Obviously.”
“Was it a night hunting accident?”
‘Well-” Jin Ling hesitates again. “Yes!” he exclaims, suddenly, sounding a little too eager.
“Don’t be so enthusiastic about lying,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “He just tripped a little on Koi Tower’s stairs.”
Wei Wuxian laughs until, abruptly, it doesn’t seem so funny anymore. Jin Guangyao had also taken several tumbles down those same stairs (albeit it had never been an accident.) He’s sure that that seems portentous to those prone to gossip and omens.
“See? See? The face you’re making is the kind of reaction I’m getting from everyone.” Jin Ling waves his cane around quickly before slamming it back down onto the ground. “Ugh, never mind. I have something for you two.” He gestures at Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng in turn.
What? “That’s not necessary,” Wei Wuxian says. Jiang Cheng huffs out a sound that must mean the same thing.
Jin Ling’s scowl deepens. “At least see what it is before you reject it.”
He produces a single sheet of paper, and it looks strangely humble alongside his sleeves of Jin gold.
“Sects from all over came to my parents’ wedding.” Jin Ling’s eyes slide away from Wei Wuxian’s then, and it’s easy to guess that he’s thinking about the individuals that weren’t invited during those days. “Apparently they served dishes from Lanling and Yunmeng. A woman from a sect far to the north enjoyed the pork rib lotus soup so much that my mother wrote out the recipe for this guest. A few weeks ago this same guest visited Lanling again and returned the recipe to me. She thought I might like to have something that my mother had written.”
Jiang Cheng’s mouth opens before snapping shut again.
You idiot. Wei Wuxian’s internal Jiang Cheng is so loud today. You have almost nothing from your mother and you’re giving what you do have away? To us?
Then Jiang Cheng swallows, and he holds out his hand to accept the recipe. Wei Wuxian understands; you don’t reject something this generous. He’s glad Jiang Cheng is the one holding onto it, though. After seeing Jiang Yanli’s handwriting for the first time in years and years, it feels like a hammer has slammed into Wei Wuxian’s gut.
His mind goes wandering far away from his body, then. He still doesn’t reach for Lan Wangji’s hand, but his husband’s fingers do hold onto the edge of Wei Wuxian’s sleeves. It’s one of Lan Wangji’s best tricks; no one ever seems to know that he’s doing it. The two of them decide to depart for their room soon after, even though they should probably be waiting for Nie Huaisang’s arrival.
“At least he’s still wearing a red ribbon, right?” Wei Wuxian hears Jin Ling say to Jiang Cheng.
*
The rest of the evening is a blur. A courteous, courteous blur. The ceremony is in two days. For now there’s feasting, and tomorrow … more feasting. As usual, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng gravitate to opposite sides of the room and never intersect. Lan Wangji keeps Wei Wuxian’s cup full, even though he never asks him for a thing.
Jin Ling remains seated for most of the evening, his face growing increasingly tight with pain, even though he’s clearly trying to hide it. Wei Wuxian keeps an eye on Nie Huaisang, not sure what he’s even looking for. There are no answers to be found there, that’s for sure. Nie Huaisang has somewhat shed his oblivious demeanor, though he’s quick to smile. All the same, he’s not as commanding as his brother, nor as affable as Jin Guangyao had been. He’s missing all the trinkets Wei Wuxian had seen him wear to the great cultivation meeting, but his fan is covered in gold leaf. It reflects lamp light back at Wei Wuxian, leaving spots behind his eyes whenever he closes them.
It’s a perfectly pleasant evening, and Wei Wuxian is beyond grateful when he and Lan Wangji can return to their guest quarters.
“That wasn’t so bad,” he says, wrapping his arms around Lan Wangji the instant the door closes.
“It could have been better for you,” Lan Wangji observes. Insightful as always. Damn him.
“Oh could it? Then make this day better for me,” Wei Wuxian says, already working to get out of his clothing.
He’d expected things to be languorous between them tonight. Maybe even lazy. It’s been a day filled with arduous travel, and arduous social interactions, after all. Instead, things are surprisingly lively in bed. Just like Lan Wangji knew to refill Wei Wuxian’s cup, he also knows Wei Wuxian wants to be scratched, and bit, and held so close it leaves bruises.
“I wonder if any of the people in the rooms next door heard,” he says, after, more than sated.
Lan Wangji makes a sleepy sound, too insubstantial to even be called an ‘mn’.
“I don’t mind, but do you mind?”
Silence.
“I guess it’s not so bad.”
The only thing that answers him are the waves of Wei Wuxian’s childhood.
“I don’t think you mind at all! I think you like the idea! You’re very transgressive, Lan Zhan.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangj tucks some of Wei Wuxian’s hair behind his ears. “Get some rest.” Which won’t happen if you keep talking.
Wei Wuxian’s internal Lan Wangji voice is also very loud.
Rest is a great idea. Of course it is. His joints all seem to ache with exhaustion. Sleep still eludes him. Maybe this is to be expected. It’s a lot closer to Lan Wangji’s standard bedtime than Wei Wuxian’s.
He slips out of bed, careful not to wake Lan Wangji. Then he ruins all his effort by bending down to kiss Lan Wangji on the forehead. It’s not his fault that his husband looks so endearing this way. Nor is it his fault that the purple blankets contrast so nicely with Lan Wangji’s skin. At least he doesn’t wake up.
Wei Wuxian throws on some robes- black this time- and wanders out of the room. Outside, the lakes are close to spilling over their borders. All the wretched spring rains must have hit the Yunmeng area as well. He dips his toes into some of the water, and nearly yelps at how cold it is. All the same, he thinks about diving in anyway. His skin would end up smelling like lotus petals, and he’s sure that would make Lan Wangji happy.
“I thought you would also be awake.”
It’s his second time being startled by Jiang Cheng today. For some reason Wei Wuxian isn’t nearly as taken aback. Somehow it makes sense to run into Jiang Cheng at night, under a new moon sky. The lake surface is dark and glossy, shimmering with a reflection of the stars. Several years ago he’d stood in this exact manor and listened as Jiang Cheng hurled insults at him. Wei Wuxian’s body tenses up, preparing to fight or flee.
They talk instead.
“Our quarters are so comfortable it seems like a waste to sleep and miss out on the luxury,” Wei Wuxian says.
“This isn’t a formal meeting, you can say whatever you’re thinking.” Jiang Cheng scowls. Or maybe that’s his natural expression these days.
What is Wei Wuxian thinking? He’s been trying to chase his thoughts all evening, but they all recede from him like waves slinking back into the lake.
“I mostly meant what I said. The Lotus Pier looks wonderful. So did Yungmeng when we were making our way here.”
Jiang Cheng makes an annoyed sound deep in his throat. “I’m going to hear about all kind of flooding related property damage in a few days. It’s hard to see any beauty in the landscape right now.”
Wei Wuxian tries a different approach; “it’s good to see Jin Ling again, too. He looks well.”
“He has a broken foot! You’re not even in Lan colors anymore and it’s still like talking to one of them.”
“Would you prefer if I just stared at you like Lan Zhan might?” Wei Wuxian says, instead of sharing what he’s thinking. Namely, that Jin Ling’s bones will heal, but he’s more confident when speaking to Jiang Cheng. That his gift of Jiang Yanli’s recipe had been an act of kindness that Jin Ling probably wouldn’t have considered doing just a few years ago.
“Alright, fine, Jin Ling is spirited lately. He’s still healing, though, and it’s madness to have him waste energy on these pointless banquets. Why aren’t we swearing in Nie Huaisang tomorrow?”
“You could give Jin Ling leave to skip the midday banquet tomorrow,” Wei Wuxian says. “He’s not essential to all this the way you and Nie Huaisang are.”
Jiang Cheng looks like he’s about to argue. Then he pauses, and nods in agreement.
“I can have food sent to him.”
“You even have a recipe you could have made for him,” Wei Wuxian says, his mind returning to the sight of Jiang Yanli’s handwriting. All at once he realizes that that is where his mind has been all night.
“I can’t have just anyone make the lotus rib soup. It has to be done by someone who knew her. So it has to be me.” Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrow. “It has to be you, too.”
*
“Be well,” Lan Wangji says in the morning, just before Wei Wuxian leaves. He sounds like someone sending his husband off to war. To be fair, he probably has good reason to not want Wei Wuxian to be around Jiang Cheng, fire, and sharp objects.
Wei Wuxian responds by kissing Lan Wangji silly. “There. Now you’re sending me off with good luck.”
“Be well,” Lan Wangji repeats. Even though he never repeats himself.
Wei Wuxian wears his standard black and red today. This cooking adventure might turn into a disaster and he doesn’t want to risk any of the white robes that Lan Xichen gifted to him.
“Do not go anywhere near the spices,” Jiang Cheng says, the second he sets foot in the kitchen. Like Wei Wuxian he’s dressed plainly. “I’m still chief cultivator for one more day. That’s a command.”
“Yes, Sandu Shengshou.” Jiang Cheng’s orders would be more intimidating if Wei Wuxian didn’t know the kitchen staff is currently hovering nervously just outside the cooking area. They clearly have little faith in this enterprise.
“I’m surprised I convinced you that easily.”
“Shijie’s recipe was perfect,” Wei Wuxian protests. “I’m not about to mess that up.”
Something flashes in Jiang Cheng’s eyes, and Wei Wuxian expects the outbursts he used to get whenever he directly referred to Jiang Yanli.
Then Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath and charges ahead. “I’ve already soaked the ribs. Do you want to wash the bones or cut the lotus roots?”
“Lotus roots,” Wei Wuxian said, quickly. It’s been too long since he’s had a chance to handle those.
They handle their tasks in silence. Somehow it’s not the pointed silence they lob at each other during cultivator gatherings. There’s something strangely peaceful about trying to accomplish something together. When Wei Wuxian shows the sliced-up lotus root in Jiang Cheng, it’s obvious he’s looking for a flaw.
“Yeah, that seems perfect,” he says, his tone so familiarly grudging that Wei Wuxian nearly laughs from sheer, unexpected fondness.
Instead, he hum to himself while cutting up some ginger. He hum and hums, just so Jiang Cheng will snap at him to stop.
The time comes when they have to place everything into one big pot.
“How long will this take again?” Wei Wuxian asks.
“At least until noon.”
Wei Wuxian abruptly sees the flaw in preparing lotus rib soup. Namely, this isn’t like one of his spicy dishes with a million ingredients that require preparing. All the hard work is done. Now the two of them have to decide whether to mind the soup together, or if one of them should leave.
Wei Wuxian remembers all the folk sayings he’s heard about waiting for water to boil, and shoves them to the side.
“I’m surprised you have time for this,” Wei Wuxian says.
“So you think I’m shirking my duties?” Jiang Cheng has no heat in his voice. He leans in closer to the pot, like he might make water boil by glaring at it.
“No?” Wei Wuxian says. “I basically implied the opposite.”
“These chief cultivator ceremonies...” Jiang Cheng sighs. “I’m really just a figurehead at them. Somehow seating arrangement, and meals, and entertainment all just appear like...” He snaps his fingers. “I inherited a lot of the servant who worked for Jin Guangyao. They know what they’re doing.”
“Why am I imagining you arguing with chefs and saying perhaps they could highlight some spicier delicacies from time-to-time?”
“Because that’s exactly what happened. They smiled to my face and said they knew the kinds of dishes that tend to please everyone regardless of region.” Jiang Cheng slams his hand down on a nearby table, and some abandoned utensils jump. “They were right.”
“I’m trying to get Lan Zhan to eat more spicy food. It might improve his constitution.”
Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “I saw him lift that coffin, his constitution is fine.”
“But what was it like to suddenly become chief cultivator?” Wei Wuxian asks. When the news had reached him, years ago, he had almost written to Jiang Cheng to ask. Apparently the question has been lodged in his throat all this time. Now that it’s free, it seems easier to breathe.
“It’s not so bad. It’s been like being sect leader but for everyone. I travel all over the place settling petty disputes. People lose all reason over ownership of tiny patches of land.”
Some patches of land grow potatoes better than others.
Wei Wuxian almost says this, but then Jiang Cheng keeps talking.
“And then I’d stick around and hear everyone’s take on the matter, and after a few days these disputes would turn into my entire existence. I’d become incredibly invested. Jin Ling has heard me rant a great deal about who has the right to which cabbages. I’ve become a caricature of myself.”
Wei Wuxian laughs. “So, Nie Huaisang is welcome to this job I take it.”
“Nie Huaisang…” Jiang Cheng folds his arms, and stares off into the distance. “Imagine if someone had told us he would become chief cultivator. Back when we were fifteen, I mean. We would have been so concerned.”
Wei Wuxian looks down into the pot and sees the tiny bubbles that herald boiling. “We would have said ‘what’s a chief cultivator?”
This time Jiang Cheng is the one to laugh. Unlike Wei Wuxian, his is a short, barking sound.
“I’m still concerned now,” he says, “but for the opposite reasons.”
“I don’t think he’s malicious,” Wei Wuxian says. Although if I’m right about everything, some people are very lucky to still be alive. He doesn’t say this, because Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang still need to have decent diplomatic relations.
The soup boils in earnest soon after this, and they have to bring the heat down to a simmer. Wei Wuxian expect to be dismissed at this point.
“What do you do?” Jiang Cheng asks. “I know you’ve made the Cloud Recesses your home, but…”
“But that’s pretty much anyone will say about me?” Wei Wuxian says, feigning nonchalance. “I teach. I get some of the juniors out of dangerous situations if they signal for Hanguang-jun’s help. The rest you don’t want to know.”
“Wait.” Jiang Cheng’s eyebrows are wandering close to his hairline. “You teach? In Gusu?”
“Not demonic cultivation.” Another term that would have made Jiang Cheng apoplectic in the past. Not so, today. “Practical stuff, like how to survive the elements. How to deal with some of the more unique ghouls out there. That kind of thing.”
Jiang Cheng looks down at the soup like he might find answers there. Wei Wuxian can’t blame him. The longer the soup cooks, the more the air is perfumed with the scent of their childhood.
“When some of the Jiang disciple studied at Gusu they said you led a few courses. I didn’t believe them. Do you enjoy it?”
“Yes. Do you enjoy being sect leader? Property damage complaints aside.”
“Yes.” No hesitation. No couching it in complaints or jokes. All these years, and Wei Wuxian can still tell when Jiang Cheng is being honest.
*
“You don’t have to bring me my meal,” Jin Ling complains. “I have a broken foot, I’m not a baby.”
“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng says, setting the tray in front of his nephew. “I’m trying to make today easier for you.”
“You can’t give us a recipe and expect us not to follow it,” Wei Wuxian teases.
Jin Ling’s eyes widen in alarm. “Oh no, you helped cook it?”
Jiang Cheng nudges the bowl closer to Jin Ling. “I kept my eyes on him the whole time. He didn’t add any peppers to it. Also why are you complaining? You weren’t raised to be ungrateful!”
Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng hover over Jin Ling until he snaps at them to turn their backs to him if they’re going to be so weird. After a few tentative sips, though, he’s taking to the soup happily enough.
“Alright, alright, this is actually really good. Thank you. It must be because you followed the recipe exactly.”
“We did,” Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng say in unison. They then proceed to make the retching sounds they alway made in their youth whenever they happened to echo each other. The two of them stop doing this almost as soon as they started, but there’s no denying that it happened.
Wei Wuxian carries his strangely content feeling with him throughout the evening’s festivities. Once or twice he and Jiang Cheng nod at each other from across the vast expanse of the dining room. For now this is enough.