Chapter Text
The heat in the Sun Palace was oppressive, radiating from the rivers of molten magma that bled through the floor’s cracks. Wen Ruohan paced the length of his throne room, his heavy robes trailing like a pool of drying blood.
He was furious. Not the loud, crashing fury of his son, Wen Chao, but a cold, simmering heat that made the air vibrate.
Useless, he thought, his eyes narrowing. I gave Chao a simple task: humiliate the heirs, break their spirits. Instead, he returns like a whipped dog, howling about a servant’s son.
He paused, remembering the reports. Wei Wuxian. The name tasted like iron. He remembered the Archery Competition—the boy’s effortless grace, the way he laughed while shattering records, willingness to give Wen Qionglin a chance at competition (even he knows the boy is only useful as a hostage, what was Wei WuXian planning by trying to include such a pathetic boy). Wen Zhuliu’s report was even more intriguing: the boy had held a blade to Wen Chao’s throat with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. And then there are reports of the boy killing the Xuanwu of Slaughter alongside second lan sect heir.
Courage? Or madness? Either way, it was a spark Wen Ruohan wanted to capture rather than extinguish. If the boy could slay the Xuanwu of Slaughter while half-dead, what could he do if he were forged in the fires of Qishan?
Slaying the Xuanwu of Slaughter needs talents, exceptional talents. And getting his hands on the boy might be too easy. All he has to do is push the plans for supervisory offices a bit later.
***
The atmosphere at Lotus Pier was humid, fragrant with lotus, and thick with a dread that silenced the usual lap of the water. Wen Ruohan sat upon the sect leader’s throne, his presence an ink blot on the elegant purple decor.
Jiang Fengmian stood before him. The man looked as though he were trying to hold back a tide with a paper fan.
"I have heard accounts from my subordinates," Wen Ruohan began, his voice smooth and terrifyingly quiet. He didn't look at Fengmian; he toyed with a jade ring on his thumb. "During the indoctrination, a certain disciple of yours dared to raise steel against the Wen heir. We were there to provide guidance, yet your boy chose mutiny."
"Sect Leader Wen," Fengmian’s voice was steady, but his fingers were white-knuckled behind his back. "If the reports are complete, you know the Xuanwu was a death trap. The disciples acted in self-preservation."
Wen Ruohan’s eyes snapped up, flashing with a dangerous light. Look at him. Defending the boy with logic while his sect trembles. He doesn't realize he's already lost him. A lion does not belong in a nest of purple swallows.
"Self-preservation?" Wen Ruohan chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "My son says he sowed discord. I ask that this perpetrator be brought to Qishan for... rectification. Unless, of course, the Jiang Sect intends to claim his arrogance as their own official policy?"
The threat hung in the air like a guillotine.
"Wei Wuxian is gravely injured," Fengmian pleaded. "He only woke from his fever yesterday. He is in no condition to travel, let alone face interrogation."
"Then he shall be carried," Wen Ruohan dismissed the plea with a wave of his hand. "If the Jiang Sect truly wishes to distance itself from his crimes, I would expect you to cast him out. Why keep a thorn that pricks the hand of your superior?"
"He is the Head Disciple," Fengmian said, his voice straining. "Expulsion is a grave matter."
"And the destruction of a Sect is graver," Wen Ruohan leaned forward, his spiritual pressure filling the room until the tea in the cups rippled. "Blood for blood, Sect Leader Jiang, he raised the blade against Wen Chao. If you keep him, I take his debt from your skin. If you discard him, he is merely a criminal in my custody."
The silence lasted an eternity. Fengmian looked aged, his shoulders finally sagging under the weight of his impossible choice.
"He... he will not be considered a disciple of the Jiang Sect from this day forward," Fengmian whispered.
Wen Ruohan stood, a predatory smile stretching his lips. Success. He didn't want the boy's corpse; he wanted the boy's allegiance, and he had just severed the only anchor Wei Wuxian had left.
"Wise. You have a quarter-shichen to gather his things. He returns to Qishan with me."
***
The infirmary at Lotus Pier was usually a place of quiet healing, but Wei Wuxian’s room was currently a theater of war. Even pale and wrapped in bandages that smelled of bitter skullcap and ginger, he couldn’t stay still.
"And then, Shijie!" he crowed, his hands cutting through the air like invisible blades. "The monster’s neck was as thick as a palace pillar! Lan Zhan was on the outside, and I was pinned inside that rotting shell. It smelled like a thousand-year-old swamp, but I thought—if I don't kill it now, I'm just appetizer for a turtle!"
Jiang Yanli sat by his bedside, her hands steady as she peeled a lotus seed. She offered him a small, patient smile, though her eyes remained clouded with worry.
"A-Xian, you talk as if you weren't in coma for four days straight," she chided gently, pressing the cool seed into his palm. "Eat. You need your strength, not just your stories."
Wei Wuxian popped the seed into his mouth, grinning. "I'm fine, Shijie! Really. Once I get some of your lotus root and pork rib soup, I'll be back to jumping rooftops. Maybe I’ll even let Jiang Cheng win a spar or two to make him feel better about missing the big kill."
He laughed, a bright, raspy sound that was cut short by the heavy thud of the sliding door.
Jiang Shuling, one of the senior disciples, stood in the doorway. His face was a mask of pale grey, and his hands were trembling so violently they were buried in his sleeves.
The laughter died in Wei Wuxian’s throat. He knew that look. It wasn't the look of a brother coming to visit; it was the look of a man carrying a funeral shroud.
"Shuling-ge?" Wei Wuxian asked, his voice dropping an octave. "What happened? Is it the Wens? Did they come back for the swords?"
"Wei Wuxian," Shuling started, his voice cracking. He didn't use the usual 'A-Xian' or 'Head Disciple.' "Sect Leader Jiang... he has issued a decree."
Yanli stood up, her brow furrowing. "A decree? My father knows A-Xian is still recovering. Whatever it is, it can wait—"
"It cannot," Shuling interrupted, his eyes darting to the floor. He couldn't look at them. "The Wen Sect Leader is here. He demanded accountability for the... the incident in the cave. For the threat against Second Young Master Wen."
Wei Wuxian felt a cold prickle at the base of his spine. Wen Chao. Of course. That bloated peacock couldn't handle being saved by the people he tried to murder. But Uncle Jiang would never... he’d just pay a fine, or offer a formal apology. Right?
"Sect Leader Jiang has officially... he has officially removed Wei Wuxian from the Jiang Sect register," Shuling whispered.
The silence that followed was deafening. The cicadas outside seemed to scream in the void.
"Removed?" Yanli’s voice was a ghost of itself. "You mean expelled? Over a Wen? Shuling-ge, that's impossible!"
"He is no longer a disciple of Yunmeng Jiang," Shuling continued, the words coming out in a rushed, painful blur. "He is to be handed over to Wen Ruohan immediately. For... for 'rectification' in Qishan. You have a quarter-shichen to pack. The Wen's are waiting at the gate, ready to depart."
Wei Wuxian felt as though the Xuanwu had finally clamped its jaws around his chest. The room, once warm and safe, suddenly felt like a cage. He looked at his hands—the same hands that had fought a divine beast to save his sect brothers—and realized they no longer belonged to the home they had protected.
"A-Xian..." Yanli reached for him, her eyes filling with tears.
Wei Wuxian didn't move. He looked at Shuling. "Uncle Jiang... did he say anything else? Did he want to see me?"
Shuling shook his head, a single tear escaping. "He didn't come, Wei Wuxian. He's... he’s still in the Great Hall with him."
Wei Wuxian’s shock began to calcify into a grim, cold clarity. He wasn't just being punished; he was being traded. A pawn to keep the sun from burning down the Lotus Pier. But he will do his duty, even if that means to severe ties with the sect that raised him.
"Shijie," Wei Wuxian said, his voice eerily calm as he swung his legs off the bed, his head spinning from the sudden movement. "Don't cry. If I’m not a Jiang anymore... then I guess I don't have to worry about breaking the sect rules anymore, right?"
He tried to joke, but the humor was brittle, like thin ice over a black lake. He reached for his discarded, outer-robes.
"A quarter-shichen," he muttered, his eyes hardening with a spark of the fierce pride Wen Ruohan was betting on. "Wouldn't want to keep the Great Sun waiting."
****
The walk to the gates of Lotus Pier felt like a funeral procession, yet the "corpse" was still walking.
Wei Wuxian’s steps were unsteady, his breath hitching against the bandages wrapped tight around his chest. Beside him, Shuling kept a hand near his elbow, though whether it was to support him or to ensure he didn’t flee, Wei Wuxian wasn't sure.
As the grand entrance came into view, the humidity of Yunmeng seemed to thicken. Standing there, framed by the looming, sun-emblazoned banners of the Wen Sect, were the leaders of the Jiang Clan.
Madam Yu stood with her chin high, Zidian crackling faintly in a rhythmic, restless purple pulse. Her eyes were sharp, tracking Wei Wuxian’s approach. Though her face remained a mask of severe discipline, there was a faint, cruel curve to the corner of her mouth—a satisfaction she didn't bother to fully shroud.
Jiang Cheng stood a few paces behind her. He looked as though he had been struck dumb, his face pale and his eyes wide with a frantic, vibrating anger. He looked ready to unsheathe his sword (which he didn't currently have on his person), yet his feet were rooted to the spot by his father’s silent command.
Wei Wuxian stopped before Jiang Fengmian. The Sect Leader looked exhausted, his gaze fixed somewhere over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.
Slowly, painfully, Wei Wuxian knelt. He reached into his belt—not for a packed bag, for he had brought nothing—but for the small, silver bell that hung at his waist. The Yunmeng Jiang Clarity Bell.
He held it out in both palms, "Sect Leader Jiang," Wei Wuxian said, his voice devoid of its usual melodic lilt. "I return what was never truly mine to keep."
He placed the bell at Jiang Fengmian’s feet. The soft clink of metal against stone sounded like a thunderclap in the silence.
He rose and turned his gaze to Jiang Cheng and saw the same thoughts simmering from the other as well.
“In the future, you will be the Sect Leader, and I will be your subordinate... like my father was to yours.” I said that yesterday. One day. I broke a lifetime's promise in a single day.
Wei Wuxian didn't look away, even as Jiang Cheng’s expression crumbled into something resembling a silent scream. He offered a smile—an empty, hollow thing that didn't reach his eyes, a mere stretching of skin over bone. It was a "don't do anything stupid" smile. A "this is fine" lie.
Wen Ruohan, watching from the sidelines at the gate with the predatory focus of an eagle, walked towards the Jiangs. He steps slow, his red and white robes sweeping over the ground where the Clarity Bell lay discarded.
He didn't even look at the bell. He looked only at Wei Wuxian, assessing the boy’s spirit through the haze of his injuries.
"A clean break," Wen Ruohan remarked, his voice carrying over the water. "Impressive. Most boys would beg. You simply shed your skin."
He turned his gaze back to Jiang Fengmian, who remained frozen.
"Since the Jiang Sect has shown such... commendable cooperation in upholding the law of the Sun," Wen Ruohan announced, his tone dripping with mock magnanimity, "I see no reason to hold onto the trinkets we collected."
With a flick of his wrist, he signaled his disciples.
A Qiankun pouch was handed over to Jiang Fengmian.
"The swords of the Jiang disciples, all nineteen of them." Wen Ruohan said, his eyes returning to Wei Wuxian, burning with a dark, satisfied light. "Consider it a fair trade. A dozen blades for one... 'criminal'."
Jiang Cheng’s breath hitched. They were getting their pride back, but the price was standing right in front of them, wrapped in bandages, removed from his previous title.
"Come, Wei Wuxian," Wen Ruohan commanded, turning his back on the Jiangs. "The sun is setting. You belong to Qishan now. You will be riding with Wen Ming for now."
Wei Wuxian didn't look back at the lotus ponds. He didn't look at the sword pouch. He stepped toward the Wen disciple waiting for him with sword unsheathed, leaving his home behind without a single possession, save for the memories he was already trying to bury.