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Thank every god listening that the discussion conference was over.
Hosting so many clans in one place had been hell on Jiang Cheng’s nerves, a monumental pain in the ass to organize, and whispers about the many tragedies of Lotus Pier had followed Jiang Cheng wherever she went, spoken in voices just loud enough to be heard but low enough to make it impossible to tell what was being said.
Jiang Cheng’s mind filled in the blanks with worst-case scenarios. This Lotus Pier was a mere shadow of its former splendor. She was not the gracious host her father had been; she lacked the commanding presence of her mother. If Jiang Cheng couldn't even control her own Head Disciple, how could she be fit to lead a great clan? If she imagined the worst, she wouldn't be surprised by what the jianghu truly had to say.
A headache had begun around midday, starting with tension in her jaw, spreading into her neck and temples as the afternoon wore on. It was a relief to finally remove the lotus crown and free the bulk of her hair from its bun. Disrobing offered further relief, each heavy layer of the Sect Leader’s ornate clothes releasing weight from Jiang Cheng’s shoulders, until she stood by the sleeping mat in her innermost robes.
After cursing Sect Leaders Yao, Su, and (especially) Jin to a special hell – one last time before she pushed every patronizing comment to the back of her mind and tried to sleep – Jiang Cheng stalked to the rosewood chest that stored her clothing.
Weeks of being unable to relax or let down her guard. Gusu Lan was the only remaining guest clan, too distant to arrive home before their strictly enforced sleep hour at hai time, but they would be gone by early morning. It was close enough to finally being alone.
Jiang Cheng kept her own clothes at the bottom of the chest.
Anyone else would assume that these had belonged to Jiang Cheng’s mother or sister. Sentimental keepsakes. What else was left, after all? Jiang Cheng had her mother’s face, her mother’s temper, what remained of her mother’s clothes in storage, and the memory of her mother’s needle-sharp words. She had Jiang Yanli’s old robes, useless for life in golden-gilded Lanling, and with them the ghost of A-Li’s comforting presence.
These were Jiang Cheng’s clothes, commissioned for her proportions, with the plausible deniability that they must have belonged to Yu Ziyuan or Jiang Yanli.
Layer by layer, Jiang Cheng redressed in the clothes she felt most comfortable wearing.
The diaphanous outermost layer, the rich pink of lotus blooms with white silk trim, crossed at the chest and clung to her silhouette at the shoulders, flowing and loose everywhere else. Her Sect Leader robes were designed to give the opposite impression: broader stature across the chest, to appear older, more masculine, to send a clear message to every cultivator who greeted her as Little Sect Leader or doubted Yunmeng Jiang’s place in the cultivation world.
Another reminder of Yu Ziyuan, who had passed on her own view of clothes as armour, a costume to create a certain perception, to her children, and none more so than Jiang Cheng. The Sect Leader’s robes were elaborate and carefully styled, always pristine, but the person Jiang Cheng recognized as herself in the bronze mirror was this one: less careful, kinder, drawn in softer lines.
Now, to braid her hair, or else it would be unmanageable by morning.
A creaking board by the doorway drew her attention. Disciples and servants of Yunmeng Jiang knew better than to enter unannounced, had been ruthlessly drilled on the consequences, which meant—
Of all possible intruders, it was Sect Leader Lan, who should have been asleep for hours by this time of night.
So much for relaxing. Jiang Cheng felt rage spark through every limb, but it was tempered by fear that Zewu-Jun might take her secret out of this room, and that couldn’t happen. Yunmeng Jiang’s position was tenuous enough without anyone knowing this about Jiang Cheng. “You saw nothing,” she snarled, Zidian sparking on her finger to make the threat clear.
Lan Xichen smoothed over an uncharacteristic look of shock with his usual genial smile. “Forgive this foolish one for intruding,” he said, bowing lower than necessary for a fellow Sect Leader. “Sect Leader Jiang seemed unwell at the closing banquet. This Lan only wished to check that the conference did not take a toll, and there won’t be another opportunity before we’re due to leave.”
Jiang Cheng’s mouth moved faster than her thoughts. “Do you make a habit of entering private rooms without knocking?”
Lan Xichen didn’t rise to the aggression. “My apologies. I did knock, but I could hear movement behind the door.”
They were at a stalemate. Jiang Cheng stood her ground, breathing heavy from the adrenaline of being caught out, and yet Lan Xichen — for some fucking reason — was still there, smiling like an idiot in the doorway. “Well?”
Lan Xichen’s smile never wavered. “May I help? I have experience styling my sister’s hair.”
The sheer absurdity of the offer— of the situation— snuffed out Jiang Cheng’s anger. Maybe this was a stress-induced dream. She would wake up in the morning, see off the Lan retinue, and Lan Xichen would be none the wiser. She was losing her mind from the weight of hosting so many nosey busy-bodies in her home.
Jiang Cheng massaged her aching temples. Another Sect Leader to curse.
“We are friends, are we not?”
It was hard to argue with that low, mellifluous voice, but the truth was that they weren’t friends. Lan Xichen was a gentleman, accommodating and patient when Jiang Cheng fumbled her way through the responsibilities and expectations of leadership, always willing to offer advice without judgment. They were on good enough terms to speak comfortably.
Lan Xichen was also Sect Leader of a great clan that had sworn ties with the Jin and Nie, leaving Jiang Cheng to fend for herself in the power vacuum left by Qishan Wen. She tried not to feel resentful of that – it was politics, at the end of the day, and dad had always tried to teach her that it was nothing personal – but Jiang Cheng had never been very good at separating her head and heart.
Fuck it. Jiang Cheng was tired, aching, and wanted to go to bed. She couldn't turn back time and prevent Lan Xichen from entering the room.
Jiang Cheng sat on the edge of the raised couch and held out her comb.
Lan Xichen joined her on the couch, accepting the comb in his upturned palm. Deft hands worked gently to remove ribbons and unravel the twinned braids at her temples.
Jiang Cheng couldn’t relax, though it felt good to have someone else brush her hair. The quiet company and long, even strokes reminded Jiang Cheng of Yanli, who would have done this for her before marriage took her to a new life in Lanling. A-Li loved her husband, glowed with happiness each time they reunited at Carp Tower, and Jiang Cheng was happy for her, really, but sometimes missing her sister felt like too much to contain: the memories of Jiang Yanli’s soft, beloved voice calling her meimei; her gentle acceptance; having someone in Lotus Pier to call family.
“It is late, so nothing too elaborate, I think.” Lan Xichen’s low voice drew Jiang Cheng out of her darker thoughts. “Jiang-guniang?”
It was a simple address, soft and questioning, but it zipped through Jiang Cheng like an electric shock: the dull horror of being seen, the pleasure of being addressed as herself, the unexpected familiarity of the hands smoothing through her hair so that the comb wouldn't tug at her scalp when it caught on a snarl.
“If you still doubt my intentions, I understand, but I hope you’ll listen to what I have to say. Surely you’ve heard the tale of Qingheng-jun and his ailing wife, or one of its many variations.”
Jiang Cheng shrugged. It was a detached way to describe one’s own parents. “The jianghu likes to talk. I’m sure you’ve heard all kinds of nonsense about the marriage of Sect Leader Jiang and the Violet Spider, no thanks to the tongue-waggers of Yunmeng.”
Jiang Cheng tried not to think about Wei Wuxian. It was a different sort of missing than missing Jiang Yanli, like picking the scab off a wound that refused to heal, hoping to find the skin knit together underneath but only drawing fresh blood. Wei Wuxian was innocent in all of that drama, at least, but still at the heart of it.
Lan Xichen hummed in acknowledgment. “Then I will spare you the full story. Suffice to say that my mother and father were not intended to share their seclusion, so children were… unexpected.
“Shufu does not like to discuss that time, but as I understand it, my father broke a months-long silence to announce that he’d been blessed with his first child. There was no polite way to brush the full truth under the rug—” Jiang Cheng was struck, again, by the disinterested description of one’s own birth “—but their child was taken to be raised on the women’s side of Cloud Recesses with the other children of the sect, until she was old enough to study with the men.”
“Mn,” Jiang Cheng said, acknowledging that she’d heard without understanding where this was going. So… Lan Xichen had an older sister? Wasn’t Lan Zhan younger? But what did it mean, to send a daughter to study on the men’s side of segregated Gusu Lan?
“The few elders who knew the truth decided the firstborn child of Qingheng-jun would be his direct and only successor, and there would be no additional children, even if the first child was… unsuitable.” Lan Xichen sounded wistful. “It’s all in the past. As you know, my parents had a second child, and I am grateful for my beloved Zhan-mei.”
Finished with the comb, Lan Xichen placed it gently on the couch, and tugged Jiang Cheng’s hair into a low tail at her nape. “It isn’t often that I have the chance to share that truth, but trust that I understand the burden of hiding in plain sight.”
Oh. Jiang Cheng understood what this implied, though she wasn’t sure she believed it. Which was more likely: that Gusu Lan had trained up an eldest daughter to take over the Sect, rather than out the unsavoury truth about her father and family line, or that Sect Leader Lan was stringing Jiang Cheng along with a convenient story?
”If you’re lying to earn my trust, Sect Leader Lan, then trust that I’ll hunt you down in Gusu if any word of tonight leaves this room.”
Lan Xichen only smiled, unbothered by Jiang Cheng’s threatening tone (or, worse, recognizing her bluff). “Hm. I’ll need another ribbon for this. Do you have one handy?”
“By the dressing table.” There was a soft noise, fabric sliding across fabric, then firm hands tied her hair in a temporary knot. Lan Xichen drifted toward the dressing table in a cloud of white robes, tinted orange by the lantern light.
Jiang Cheng understood when Lan Xichen returned from the dressing table with a thin scrap of purple fabric, forehead bare of its cloud-patterned ribbon, which was presumably now in Jiang Cheng’s hair. “Thought you weren’t supposed to take those off,” Jiang Cheng commented, a bit thrown. The purple ribbons that had tied off her Jiang braids were right there beside the comb. Hadn't Lan Xichen said this would be a simple style to wear to bed? How many ribbons could she possibly need?
“Then it will be our secret. It’s only for a moment.” Lan Xichen’s eyes glowed amber in the lamplight, sparkling with good humour, and Jiang Cheng knew too many troublemakers to not recognize the signs of mischief. “Clumsy of me, really, to not have several ribbons within reach before we began.”
There isn’t a single clumsy thing about you, Jiang Cheng thought unkindly. She studied Lan Xichen as she crossed the room, not sure what she expected to find. Lan robes were flowing and shapeless by design. Many of their cultivators were clean-shaven, and their rules forbid the makeup and hairstyles that were favoured by the women of other clans.
A perfect gentleman, Jiang Cheng thought, snorting at the thought. Mom would have had a proper fit about such unbecoming behaviour. If only she could see Jiang Cheng now!
Lan Xichen sat closer than before, patiently untying her forehead ribbon and replacing it with Jiang Cheng’s purple. The slight tug as her hair was drawn into style was remarkably effective against the dull ache in her temples.
When Lan Xichen stood, Jiang Cheng felt the shape of her hair with her fingers: a simple double-knot bun, low enough that it would not make sleeping uncomfortable, definitely not a hairstyle that required an extra ribbon. Her hair had been combed to the rich softness of silk.
“Thank you,” she said, fumbling and awkward. For taking care of me. For trusting me with your secret. For keeping mine. She wanted to believe, at least, that Lan Xichen was being truthful.
“You are most welcome.” A pause. “May this humble Lan beg a favour?”
Aha. There it was: the true price of Lan Xichen’s silence. “Spit it out.”
“When it is just the two of us, please call me Huan-jie.”
Heat raced up Jiang Cheng’s chest and face. Like hell I will! How could anyone be so shameless without it showing on their face! She managed, enunciating each syllable with stabbing precision, to reply without shouting: “Yunmeng Jiang bids you a safe journey on your return to Gusu, Sect Leader Lan.”
Lan Xichen, undeterred, bowed goodnight. “Sleep well, Cheng-mei.”
How was Jiang Cheng supposed to sleep well after that?