This, at least, is something Jiang Cheng can understand. Existing in this place, stripped of rank in all but name, bereft of duty, robbed of vengeance, of purpose, of all but the most tenuous of peace with that which was once and can never be home again— He is barely treading water. He, of Yunmeng Jiang, raised in high rivers and lotus ponds, is drowning.
He cannot remember the last time he pulled air into his lungs and did not find it rancid, did not find himself choking. This has been true since the war, since the burning of Lotus Pier, but since arriving here the water-drenched rot has corrupted the blood in his veins, has seeped into the marrow of his bones.
The cold batters him. Lan Wangji's words flay his spirit. Wei Wuxian's existence, an open door he cannot cross that would lead him home, bleeds his soul. Wen Qing's tolerance of him remains a testament to his failure as a sect leader, as a friend, as a man.
But put a weapon in his hand, put something he can identify as an enemy before him, and for a moment all the rest just goes away. The war was much the same for him. He has no love of bloodshed, but most days he wakes up and violence is all he can make sense of, all he can understand.
There is clarity here his life does not otherwise afford him, and so he moves readily to embrace it. Zidian crackles in his clenched fist, Sandu at ready at his waist. He moves through the canyon as the harpies converge, Zongzi—the hound—keeping guard at his heels.
"Get down!" he snaps at some figure he does not recognize in the chaos and the dust, swinging his whip to intercept rocks being hurled at the bystander. Leaping forward, he puts himself between the stranger and the attacking harpies.
"Can you fight?" he asks, to determine how much of a liability he has on his hands. Another crack of Zidian keeps the harpies back as he assesses the situation. "Are you injured?"
in life and death
Death has long walked in Jiang Cheng's steps. He is a survivor but never by skill or choice. Through misfortune alone, through sacrifice, he endures. It is not a point of pride, it is simply something that is. The sun rises, people die, and Jiang Cheng remains.
His parents died on the same day, their hands and hearts entwined. Wei Wuxian fell to Lan Wangji's outstretched arm. Who would ever reach for Jiang Wanyin?
Even Yanli drew her last breaths watching Wei Wuxian.
All Jiang Cheng has are the things they left behind. His father's sect. His mother's whip. His sister's child. Things borrowed, bequeathed, stolen.
It has long worn into fact for Jiang Cheng, that this is all he has because it is all he deserves. Wei Wuxian earned every ounce of love, every drop of devotion.
All Jiang Cheng ever did was react, was accept, was obey.
It's a strange thing, remembering being a child who never quite belonged in his own home, in his own skin. Hoping to grow into the lofty expectations set of him, growing out of them instead.
Jiang Cheng remembers being a child and hoping, fervently, to find his footing. To gain security and stability as he matured, to become everything his parents hoped of him and more. He always thought the older he got, the more assured he would feel.
It never came.
Jiang Wanyin knows he will never go home again, because his heart has no place to rest. He asks himself, day after day after day, who will reach for him in the end? Who will he reach for?
There is nothing and no one. Not even himself.
As though this was not torture enough, lately—
Lately, he asks himself this question and sees a flicker of something out of the corner of his eye. A flicker of someone. A glimpse of fluttering lilac fabric, a pale jade-adorned wrist. She's gone, long gone, but so was Lady Wen, so was Wei Wuxian, so Jiang Cheng turns in spite of himself, reaching out.
"A-Jie—"
spoils of war
Exhausted in every possible sense of the word, Jiang Cheng turns towards busying himself to try to quiet the turmoil of his mind. He does what he can to assist the poor souls joining them on this journey. He sets out into the wilderness for small game, for plants, for whatever he can bring back to the group and call progress. He antagonizes Lan Wangji in one breath and demands his company the next. He drinks, and he checks on Wei Wuxian every other hour, and he talks to his sister when he's alone as though she's actually there, because he can't help but feel like she is.
He spends time with the dog, goes out running, trains with his sword.
When the caravan crashes, he helps people wherever he can but inevitably, invariably finds himself investigating the spoils. He is not above salvage, has not been above it since the war, since rebuilding Lotus Pier from smoking ruins, and he has Wen Qing on his mind when he finds a powdered substance among the wreckage. He tastes it to try to discern its properties, finding it bitter and medicinal. He can't identify it past that, but he does quickly gather some into his bag to bring back to her as he's certain she'll know how it's useful and what to do with it.
He's almost on his way back to her when he starts to feel woozy, stumbling over his own feet.
"Wh..." he mumbles, feeling flushed as he looks up at a too-bright sky.
Where are you. Why don't you love me Wei Wuxian I am your brother...! I gave up dogs for you. Not... right now... I love Zongzi... She's staying... But before! For you! Where are you! You can't marry into Lan sect I forbid it! He has to marry into Jiang, do you hear me? Wei Wuxian!
jiang cheng | the untamed (old news)
This, at least, is something Jiang Cheng can understand. Existing in this place, stripped of rank in all but name, bereft of duty, robbed of vengeance, of purpose, of all but the most tenuous of peace with that which was once and can never be home again— He is barely treading water. He, of Yunmeng Jiang, raised in high rivers and lotus ponds, is drowning.
He cannot remember the last time he pulled air into his lungs and did not find it rancid, did not find himself choking. This has been true since the war, since the burning of Lotus Pier, but since arriving here the water-drenched rot has corrupted the blood in his veins, has seeped into the marrow of his bones.
The cold batters him. Lan Wangji's words flay his spirit. Wei Wuxian's existence, an open door he cannot cross that would lead him home, bleeds his soul. Wen Qing's tolerance of him remains a testament to his failure as a sect leader, as a friend, as a man.
But put a weapon in his hand, put something he can identify as an enemy before him, and for a moment all the rest just goes away. The war was much the same for him. He has no love of bloodshed, but most days he wakes up and violence is all he can make sense of, all he can understand.
There is clarity here his life does not otherwise afford him, and so he moves readily to embrace it. Zidian crackles in his clenched fist, Sandu at ready at his waist. He moves through the canyon as the harpies converge, Zongzi—the hound—keeping guard at his heels.
"Get down!" he snaps at some figure he does not recognize in the chaos and the dust, swinging his whip to intercept rocks being hurled at the bystander. Leaping forward, he puts himself between the stranger and the attacking harpies.
"Can you fight?" he asks, to determine how much of a liability he has on his hands. Another crack of Zidian keeps the harpies back as he assesses the situation. "Are you injured?"
in life and death
Death has long walked in Jiang Cheng's steps. He is a survivor but never by skill or choice. Through misfortune alone, through sacrifice, he endures. It is not a point of pride, it is simply something that is. The sun rises, people die, and Jiang Cheng remains.
His parents died on the same day, their hands and hearts entwined. Wei Wuxian fell to Lan Wangji's outstretched arm. Who would ever reach for Jiang Wanyin?
Even Yanli drew her last breaths watching Wei Wuxian.
All Jiang Cheng has are the things they left behind. His father's sect. His mother's whip. His sister's child. Things borrowed, bequeathed, stolen.
It has long worn into fact for Jiang Cheng, that this is all he has because it is all he deserves. Wei Wuxian earned every ounce of love, every drop of devotion.
All Jiang Cheng ever did was react, was accept, was obey.
It's a strange thing, remembering being a child who never quite belonged in his own home, in his own skin. Hoping to grow into the lofty expectations set of him, growing out of them instead.
Jiang Cheng remembers being a child and hoping, fervently, to find his footing. To gain security and stability as he matured, to become everything his parents hoped of him and more. He always thought the older he got, the more assured he would feel.
It never came.
Jiang Wanyin knows he will never go home again, because his heart has no place to rest. He asks himself, day after day after day, who will reach for him in the end? Who will he reach for?
There is nothing and no one. Not even himself.
As though this was not torture enough, lately—
Lately, he asks himself this question and sees a flicker of something out of the corner of his eye. A flicker of someone. A glimpse of fluttering lilac fabric, a pale jade-adorned wrist. She's gone, long gone, but so was Lady Wen, so was Wei Wuxian, so Jiang Cheng turns in spite of himself, reaching out.
"A-Jie—"
spoils of war
Exhausted in every possible sense of the word, Jiang Cheng turns towards busying himself to try to quiet the turmoil of his mind. He does what he can to assist the poor souls joining them on this journey. He sets out into the wilderness for small game, for plants, for whatever he can bring back to the group and call progress. He antagonizes Lan Wangji in one breath and demands his company the next. He drinks, and he checks on Wei Wuxian every other hour, and he talks to his sister when he's alone as though she's actually there, because he can't help but feel like she is.
He spends time with the dog, goes out running, trains with his sword.
When the caravan crashes, he helps people wherever he can but inevitably, invariably finds himself investigating the spoils. He is not above salvage, has not been above it since the war, since rebuilding Lotus Pier from smoking ruins, and he has Wen Qing on his mind when he finds a powdered substance among the wreckage. He tastes it to try to discern its properties, finding it bitter and medicinal. He can't identify it past that, but he does quickly gather some into his bag to bring back to her as he's certain she'll know how it's useful and what to do with it.
He's almost on his way back to her when he starts to feel woozy, stumbling over his own feet.
"Wh..." he mumbles, feeling flushed as he looks up at a too-bright sky.
reaching out
[ audio to lan wangji; un: sect leader jiang ]
你在哪？
蓝忘机。
我摸不到我的脸。
蓝忘机。
过来看看这个怪药物。
我们以前一起合作过。
我怀念那些日子。
很怀念。
特别怀念。
喂!魏无羡在哪？
我要找魏无羡。
我要—
[ audio to wei wuxian; un: sect leader jiang ]
Where are you.
Why don't you love me Wei Wuxian I am your brother...!
I gave up dogs for you.
Not... right now... I love Zongzi... She's staying...
But before! For you!
Where are you!
You can't marry into Lan sect I forbid it! He has to marry into Jiang, do you hear me?
Wei Wuxian!
[ lmk if you want a whiny high jiang cheng dm. ]