( He says, and he slips inside, feet tapping down on stone. He could muffle the sound, has the skill, but chooses not to use it, giving Xingchen one more viable way to track him. Dark doesn't have quite an effect on him, trained through hardship and horror to have a sense of space within it, in the midst of screaming spirits, in the resentment that would consume him if he'd allowed himself to fail. If he hadn't clung to tools of death, to learn how to stave off his own, and control those who hadn't breathed from anywhere like weeks prior to a full century and more.
He pads toward Xingchen, whose whites are a lightening of the dark, but not a brightness in it. The sword, the ribbon. A partially dressed state, but it is evening, and he's the one who has come here, and he doesn't care, if his shishu doesn't. )
Much to the malcontent of some. This tastes wonderfully bitter, which is how you know someone properly taught in the ways of our medicine caught hold of the antidote and ensured it worked as intended.
( All while walking over, all without more than a passing glance to sword, to ribbon, toward dark-disguised eyes. He doesn't need clarity of detail, and he wonders with the curiosity he's had all his life, what Xingchen's eyes look like, in the aftermath of his destruction on them, but it's not necessary. Not needed. )
Would you like extra hands for the tying?
( He offers instead, stepping in pointed range of Shuanghua's reach. Pausing outside of easy reach of his own arm, but letting the sword know him, and his shishu to know him too. He carries none of the dead with him now, but he is steeped by them, had been surrounded by them when the feathers had needed capturing. Visits and carries a brew boiled in a house filled with ghosts, and death has a hold on him difficult to deny, but difficult too to quantify.
Nothing evil. Nothing pure. The hazy inbetween no one lines, and that some, chasing after, believe is worth more, has more, spites more than the conventions Wei Wuxian had been condemned by from the mouths of the unknowing. )
[His senses are dulled, but the efforts Wei Wuxian takes to make his presence known are helpful and appreciated. It's...comforting, to know that someone cares enough to do it.
At the same time, Xingchen wants to hit himself. He can't just trust people. Every time he does, he ends up hurt or made a fool of or both and he doesn't know how much of himself he has left for such treatment. And this is Wei Wuxian, someone who has been good to him, but is still...Wei Wuxian. Shouldn't he be more wary of him? How far should he trust his instincts when they've proven to be insufficient? But how much should he trust what others say?
Right now, does it matter? Right now, does he really care about himself?
Apparently enough that he'll let this man enter in through a window with the supposed treatment for this awful poison. It's strange. Xingchen told Macaluso that he'd rather be dead than be a sworn follower of his. At some point, maybe before this, maybe after, he'd started to tell himself he wouldn't mind if he ended up dead. What good is he in his state, anyway?
And yet...
Xue Yang lied to him and he believed every word until recently. The people who have been kind to him here, hopefully honestly kind, seem to be good people and Xingchen knows deep in his gut that they would be upset if he died. He's just...hurting. And he has no one to blame but himself. Again.
And yet, now that Wei Wuxian is here with the cure, the treatment, the bitter medicine, he finds he still wants to cling onto something of life, even if he doesn't know if he'll be any happier afterward.
The man is trying to give this situation levity and on any other day Xingchen would laugh. It's true, their medicine is distinct. So, while he doesn't feel like he has the strength or the heart to really find humor in those words, he forces a smile and breathes out a little huff. He'll try.
The smile, fake as it is, disappears a moment later. Right. He may be clothed, but without his face covered he feels naked. Bowing his head to try and hide his face, he takes the cloth in hand again and raises it slowly to his empty eyes, holding up the ends in easy enough reach for Wei Wuxian.]
( It's an attempt, and as a man who has made attempts all his life to smile when he hasn't felt it beyond the surface, he appreciates what it is, not what it isn't. He steps forward at the please, and hums as he does, reaches to take hold of the ends, his shishu's face at his chest, with the height of the bed and the other man's torso.
He doesn't make quick work of this. He's never tied a ribbon in this way, not to someone else. His own arm bindings to himself, for practise or that show of arrogance in his anger at Phoenix Mountain, but not to others. Not even Jiang Cheng, and they'd been living in each other's pockets for so many years, what hadn't they done?
Oh, he thinks. Oh, no, he knows a time. A time when his brother had wandered up the mountain, and Wei Wuxian had wandered up too, to his conscious surgery, to the gift that might have failed them both, and left none feeling wiser. A gamble, and his core had gone the way of his shishu's eyes, to someone they cared more for than either of them cared for themselves.
He ties the ribbon, and it's gentle, the pressure of it around Xiao Xingchen's head. Stubborn, blinded man, and not blind for lack of sight. Blind for wishing to trust, as Wei Wuxian had, so long ago. Trust in better natures, in people's better selves. )
There. Does that feel better?
( And his hands fall away, and he takes a half step back, in reach, but not looming. Never looming, unless he wants that, wants the intimidation when his anger reaches its coldest levels, when the world before him feels ready to ignite as tinder to the fire of its hate. )
[Once again, he puts his wellbeing, his trust, in someone else's hands. Wei Wuxian is nothing but good in this moment, fulfilling this simple task. But Xingchen can't help but wonder, if he were to move his head slightly, let the cloth fall to his neck, let Wei Wuxian tighten the knot and tighten the knot and tighten the knot -
And then it's finished. His ruined eyes are covered and he still breathes unhindered. Wei Wuxian has, again, been kind to him. Xingchen breathes out, his shoulders slouching. Is it disappointment? Or relief? He reaches up and straightens the cloth a little, nothing that he wouldn't have to normally do himself. It's fine. He does this for consideration first, and his comfort last.]
Yes. Thank you.
[Now, they should get straight the point of this illicit meeting. Wei Wuxian has the cure, something once again made by Wen Qing. It sounds like she's kept busy, but then Xingchen did tell her they have a habit of getting into stupid situations. He hadn't meant for something this dire, though.
And yet, having someone he thinks he can trust here, treating him well, when he's been left adrift because of everything that has happened in the past few weeks, Xingchen can't help but speak.]
My friend -
[No. That's no longer right.]
...Xue Yang would help me do this sometimes.
[He's obviously weak. Why else would he tell anyone something so insignificant? Why would he tell someone who isn't a close confidant?
Ah...but then, Xingchen no longer has one of those. His mind screams at him to shut up, but his soul longs.]
Sorry, that's not... You're sure no one else needs the medicine before me?
( It should break part of his heart, if it wasn't already stitched together as it is, hearing his shishu say that. Wei Wuxian shifts, and then kneels, there before his martial uncle, who is younger than him. There is so much that files into small discrepancies between them, not just the ages they wear, and that's fine in the end. It's not an isolated case, and he's still who he is: still someone Wei Wuxian has better learned here than had known beyond reputation and tragedy of his ending, back home.
He reaches out, then pauses. )
I'm reaching for your hands, if you don't mind the contact.
( Speak, for what eyes can't see. )
Xue Yang... in his twisted ways, knew he cared for the illusion of a life he'd built with you. That he helped because he wanted, I don't think that was false. He's fickle like that. He couldn't understand why you'd break under the horror of what he tried to make you into, and he was wild with it, when you did. So, shishu. Yes, I know no one else needs the medicine first, and I'm asking: find the strength to live. Please, find the strength to live.
( Because it's with that he reaches into his shirt and pulls out the small medicine jar. The one he presses into Xiao Xingchen's hand, curling his fingers around it. The choice is yours. )
Dying only solves the hopelessness we feel in the moment. It doesn't allow us to make anything better out of our mistakes, whatever those were.
[Oh. Contact. In this state of vulnerability, he aches for it, even if he can't feel it as well anymore. But Xingchen nods and flips his hands in his lap, palms up, accepting Wei Wuxian's touch.
He holds onto that point of connection as Wei Wuxian speaks, tries to comfort him in a way. If he grips those hands too tightly, well. He can't tell, exactly, but he's not entirely sure if he's sorry about it. Just...having someone to listen and care and not judge him immediately for his foolishness is...so much, right now.
The fact that Wei Wuxian knows so much about what happened in Yi City unsettles Xingchen a little, but he tries not to dwell on it. That takes too much energy for his situation, anyway.
And then the medicine is in his hand, along with reassurances that he won't be selfish if he takes it. He should. Xingchen knows he should. The logical part of him knows he needs to get past this and get better. He feels useless, but he isn't, not completely, and while he may not find some use here in Taravast, maybe he can save up his skills and strength for a later date.]
...I can never forgive him.
[Xue Yang has done too much to too many people. He's a monster with practically no hope of learning his lesson. And yet Xingchen can't help but think of the countless times they laughed together, enjoyed life, and felt like a family. Where is the line between lie and happiness?
He can't tell. But he holds the little jar and slowly opens it, the smell of the medicine immediately assaulting his nose. Ah...it definitely promises to be potent. He should take it before he regrets the smell, but also because...he does want to keep living. No concrete reasons come to mind immediately, but there's something pulling at his gut that tells him to hang on for whatever reason. It's probably nothing more than the guilt of upsetting others, notably Wei Wuxian right now. But if that's enough...
He takes the medicine, tipping his head back, only to immediately grimace at the taste.]
( And there is nothing in Wei Wuxian that needs to be gracious when he says: )
You shouldn't. The only one you need to work on forgiving with time is yourself.
( Said quietly, and certainly, from a man still working hard on doing that himself. It doesn't mean Xue Yang was nothing but falsehoods, as Wei Wuxian has even said. There were good things, whimsical in delivery, and there was danger and the delight of a feral animal in tearing into any perceived threat. He's seen too much of what happened through A-Qing's eyes to think Xue Yang is anything but his own stuck ways, of possessiveness that doesn't see person—ah.
No agency of self. Only the decisions made, wanting, without discussion.
It stings, having lessons to learn from a madman and a murderer. Humbling, because he needs the learning of them still.
He exhales, something ghosting laughter, and rests his hands on his shishu's knees. )
It is, it is. I'll pass along the compliment, though you should do it yourself.
( A pause, and: )
Lan Zhan is not a talkative man, but it's worth speaking to him. He'll listen, and he's here, two doors down the hall to your right. When it comes to anything else, Shishu, you're not alone unless you wish to be. I'm here, Sizhui's here, Eleven is a good soul, Lily is an ambitiously curious one. Allison cares, and there are people willing to be friends, for all our oddities, if you'll have them.
( Asking for trust is too hard, so he doesn't. He just offers options, as he continues to kneel here, at a living dead man's feet. At least, he can say, Xue Yang had done as Wei Wuxian had instructed. At least it had not all been Wei Wuxian's duty, this telling of terrible things. )
[The medicine leaves an unpleasant aftertaste in his mouth, though no more complaints are uttered. Instead, he just swallows, trying to get the remnants down, and scrapes his tongue against his teeth, but it's all still there, lingering.
Bitter. Like how he feels about himself these days.
The idea of forgiving himself is so foreign right now and it's the process of his tongue-scraping that keeps him from laughing at Wei Wuxian in a jaded manner. A tiny voice in the back of his mind tries to break through, tries to tell him that this man is right, that everything takes time, and wouldn't he have said the same thing were their positions reversed? But perspective is everything, isn't it? And for Xingchen, the outlook is pretty bleak.
He doesn't know if he'll ever be even a shadow of his former self again. How could he be?
But he's heard Wei Wuxian and while he can't find a proper verbal affirmation, he places the now-empty jar onto the vanity and reaches out to lay his hands atop Wei Wuxian's own. And as he keeps speaking, Xingchen's hold gradually tightens. His chest tightens, as well, overcome with this kindness in such an unforeseen candidate, threatening to squeeze any other kind of emotion out of him. But Xingchen no longer has any tears to cry - not real tears - so he breathes in, hard, and does his best to settle himself.]
...I'll try.
[Even that feels like too much of a promise, but while Xingchen may not believe his own words, they should act as some sort of anchorhold. A low bar to aim for, but a bar, nonetheless.
( Thank you, with his hands clutched so tightly, and his thoughts a whirl with muddled understandings and the clarity of heartache. He stills himself, his thoughts, his tongue, and closes his eyes, not that his shishu will know. There are things they are remarkably similar in, and ways they're so remarkably different, he and this martial uncle of his, his long gone mother's unmet junior.
Tangled relationships, for people whose paths crossed only when death lingered in the wind. )
I mentioned once before that your actions were inspiration for ones of my own. I never said what that was, did I?
( Rhetorical question, and his voice is soft, so soft. He doesn't move, simply stays where he is as he starts this peeling back of flesh, this blind revelation. )
Jiang Cheng had his core melted when he was captured by the Wens, when Lotus Pier fell. We were able to rescue him at the time, but we had no solution to what was keeping him depressed, unwilling to heal in bed. When you think there's only one way to make up to the people you care about, and you decide for yourself you know the way of it, where does that lead us?
( Another pause, and he breathes out, a huff of laughter with no mirth in it. )
We found Song Lan on the mountain, still healing from what you gave him. Wen Qing made sure he was fully healed before we sent him off with my shijie, to keep her safe, but it's what he said that gave me the idea, and when we found the theory for the golden core transfer... I sent him up the mountain, to ask for Baoshan Sanren.
( He falters, the memory of this more poignant because we are made of our mistakes and sacrifices, and where it leads us is not the place we would have been without it. And still. And still. He's never told this story himself, would have drowned it in his blood, but that wasn't right, and Jiang Cheng, oh, he would be told. He would know.
First, this: )
Wen Qing is the most amazing doctor our world has seen, or will see. I had her transfer my golden core to Jiang Cheng without him knowing, and the operation succeeded—it was the week following when the Wens caught me, tortured me, and dropped me into the Burial Grounds. A coreless man, too stubborn to die, who emerged three months later to exact his vengeance in the war, and never held his sword again. You may have heard of him. The birth of the so called Yiling Laozu, feared and terrifying cultivator.
( and at that, he does laugh. just, laughs, as his eyes open; )
We want better than what the world gives us, Shishu, but the consequences we never intended can be the ones that swallow us whole. Learning to live beyond that isn't easy, but neither were the choices we thought we had to make in the first place, when we never asked, "May we" to begin with.
[For whatever reason, Xingchen had thought this would be the end of their conversation. The part of him that wants to hide away and suffer in silence, like a wounded animal crawling away into the forest, hopes it would be, but then he's still terribly lonely, even if he's seeking comfort in places he shouldn't.
But then Wei Wuxian speaks and there's something in his voice that makes Xingchen forget himself, a softness, a baring that he can't imagine is revealed to just anyone. He sits so still, despite the poison still in his body, and barely breathes, giving this man his due attention.
It's already been established they do not come from the same exact world or timeline or...or whatever has gone on to mix up their memories, leaving them unmatched, but he listens regardless. Some version of himself has inspired Wei Wuxian to make a sacrifice, so he's obligated to give him this at the very least. But almost immediately, Xingchen realizes he's in for a lot. To be told something so personal, so secret, details that pertain not just to Wei Wuxian, but to the people around him.
If what he says is true - and he has no reason to not believe this story, no matter how amazing it is - then that changes everything about how Wei Wuxian has been perceived. And there really is such a similarity between the two of them, a desire, a need to take care of someone they love, to fix them. It's frightening now that he's on the outside looking in. To give away his core like that... And to use the excuse of Baoshan Sanren and carry out something like that and disregard the danger...it's brilliant. It's terrifying.
Xingchen heaves out a breath and trails his hands up Wei Wuxian's arms, to his shoulders, hesitating to touch any further, but needing to just...hold.]
I...
[What is there to even say to all of that?
He breathes again to focus himself and starts over entirely, daring to ask something he doesn't deserve to know.]
Song-daozhang... He was well?
[That's all he wants to know. Song Lan wants nothing to do with him anymore and he respects that, but he at least wants to know he was some help in the end.]
cw: some body horror/torture? mentions? non-explicit
( He stays steady, receptive to his shishu's grip, not shying away from it though he has now made himself vulnerable in the way that means his quick, easy death, should Xingchen choose. This close, it'd be easy; neither of them properly on guard for this, nor the question that does come to Xiao Xingchen's lips.
Idiosyncrasies between them and their lives aside, there is no good ending for that question. There is only the truth, at the time of tellings. )
He was at that time. Years later, whatever the break between you, he'd been looking to find you. You were not uncared for, even by those you felt had broken off ties.
( And he can't say more, not without it being the other sad truth: that it was too late, back home, for either series of events. That Song Lan nearly died on his sword, that his tongue was pried free by Xue Yang, the nails driven in his head to render him a puppet so suffused with the energy of resentment and death that he was as irrevocably marked as Wen Ning.
That it was Song Lan who had to outsurvive Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing, to carry both swords out into the world. To hope for a miracle, in collecting the shattered shards of Xiao Xingchen's soul, so that he might, in decades, be able to reincarnate.
How it is unknown what state of wholeness Song Lan's own soul claims, just as Wen Ning. Two horrendously beautiful shadows of brilliant men. )
[The answer he receives is so much more than he could ever hope for. That Song Lan was well is relief enough, but that he still cared for Xingchen...and was looking for him...
He gasps in a few breaths, pulling a hand away to clutch at his chest, overwhelmed again. A tiny but genuine smile reaches his lips, though he feels a hot wetness start to leak from his eyes. Sniffling, he sits up a little straighter and slips his hand under the cloth, wiping at the blood before it gets out of control.]
I'm glad...I'm glad.
[It's as if a massive weight has been lifted from his shoulders, although he still misses Song Lan terribly and can't just forget everything that happened with Xue Yang. His life is still a mess and it's definitely going to take time for him to get back on his feet, metaphorically, but it seems just a little bit easier.
Taking a few moments to breathe more evenly and make sure he won't bleed more, Xingchen turns his focus back to Wei Wuxian. Everything he's confessed continues to float around his head, only some of it connecting and making sense, and he understands what he was trying to tell Xingchen. Sometimes actions taken with the best of intentions just end up making things worse and there's not necessarily anything they can do about it. He wonders, though. Song Lan obviously found out what Xingchen did, but Wei Wuxian's sacrifice was different.]
Does Sect Leader Jiang know? Does anyone except Wen Qing?
[If he has to keep it secret, he will. He understands the desire to keep such knowledge under wraps.]
( Wei Wuxian stays where he is, humming a note of acknowledgement. When it comes down to it, there's nothing more that needs saying. Enough he can't even know, between differences in the lives they've lived, and how much younger Xiao Xingchen is. It's... odd, really, but by now he's accepted that odd is the least of the things to think about people sharing a concept of a world, more or less.
It's the question that comes back around that has him breathe in, out, consider. )
Wen Qing, Lan Zhan. Lan Sizhui, most likely. Jiang Cheng should know, but... for whatever impossibilities have happened, he's from a time before he learned. I plan to tell him, sooner rather than later. The road here didn't seem a wise place, then there's been this poisoning—there are excuses enough for why I delay.
( Point acknowledged, that they're excuses, but he's not looking forward to this conversation again. )
[He pulls his hand from his eyes, certain there is blood on his fingers, but that's not important right now. He rests that hand on his lap; he'll deal with it later. But Wei Wuxian is still right in front of him, giving his explanation, and Xingchen can't find fault with his delay.]
It isn't as easy to say as it should be. I don't know if you agree, but...in a way, it might have been easier to take matters into one's own hands, as desperate as they may have been.
[Xingchen was not in Wei Wuxian's shoes, not exactly, and he can't imagine what it was like to witness the destruction of the Jiang Sect and an entire life he knew. But he knows that drive to try and fix even one thing, the adrenaline pumping through his body, ruling out even the fear and the consequences that would hound him afterward. He knows what it's like to love someone so much, even more than himself.
He gives Wei Wuxian's shoulder a little squeeze.]
I understand. I won't say anything. But if you need me afterward...in case he responds with anger...
It was easier on us. We took that choice away from them, because it's what we wanted to do, shishu. It doesn't make us right. It doesn't mean we regret it, either.
( Saying he does or doesn't agree, it's not that easy. Just as the decision to act was easier than seeking the permission, the convincing, the arguments for what they felt was better, inevitable, for the best. )
... He was. I ensured he drank one of what you just had, too. As for the rest... thank you.
( For making the offer. For... something he hears very little of, in his life, when it comes to the breakdown and failings of the relationships he holds so dear. )
[It isn't something he thinks about very much, having taken the choice away from Song Lan, but...it's not untrue. Wei Wuxian also isn't wrong when he says they don't necessarily regret their actions. Xiao Xingchen would do it again in a heartbeat if he had to, even knowing the pain he'd suffer, both physically and otherwise.]
But we can't take it back, even if we wanted to.
[Time only moves forward and once decisions like this are made, they can only go along with that flow and face whatever is thrown back at them. But Xingchen nods in acknowledgment of everything, glad that Jiang Cheng is also on his way to recovery so Wei Wuxian is one step closer to clearing up the truth. He doesn't envy the man for that situation, but if it's necessary...
Gently, Xingchen raises his hand from Wei Wuxian's shoulder, finding his cheek. Maybe this is foolish, maybe he's still trusting people when he shouldn't, even after all the hurt he's been through because of it. His voice is soft when he speaks, genuine.]
You're my shizhi.
[He pulls his hand away, finally freeing Wei Wuxian from his physical presence, though he falls silent at the offer for company. Really, he wants to be alone, to sort out his roiling emotions after all these revelations. And he's tired, even this much activity - though he only got out of bed to meet Wei Wuxian like this - has left him feeling more fatigued than he has in years. It would be nice if the treatment fought off this poison by the end of the night, but he knows, realistically, it will probably take longer. He needs to rest so that when he does regain his strength, he'll be able to function almost as if things were back to normal.
And yet. He has someone right here who really seems to care about his wellbeing, someone whom he's just claimed as family, at his knees. He needs to rest, yes, but doesn't he also need to not seclude himself so much because of his emotional turmoil? Everything is a contradiction. He wants everything and nothing. But in the end, he makes up his mind.]
( it strikes, in a way he didn't expect, to be claimed as relation. different from sizhui calling to him as someone familiar, when his memories returned; that had been a deep strike, to the heart of him in a way he had no way to prepare for. a return of something lost. an impossible truth that had been more gladdening than near every single thing he'd learned since coming back to a world that hated him no less than when he'd died.
this, however, still strikes; still draws blood. he breathes in, sharp, and it's the only response he has. enough perhaps for xiao xingchen, who is as much an orphan with found martial family as he had been, adopted in by a clan that had been slaughtered by those who believed power meant to hold sway over all. cruelty for the sake of reigning high.
but it is worse, in ways, to have a hand at his cheek. because that too is a kindness rarely given. so rarely, and so unexpected here.
if xingchen feels something hot touch his hand, wei wuxian says nothing about it. sometimes he cries, and that's fine, too. he doesn't need to call attention to it, or to why, or anything of the sort. just say, at least, following that silence of consideration: )
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( He says, and he slips inside, feet tapping down on stone. He could muffle the sound, has the skill, but chooses not to use it, giving Xingchen one more viable way to track him. Dark doesn't have quite an effect on him, trained through hardship and horror to have a sense of space within it, in the midst of screaming spirits, in the resentment that would consume him if he'd allowed himself to fail. If he hadn't clung to tools of death, to learn how to stave off his own, and control those who hadn't breathed from anywhere like weeks prior to a full century and more.
He pads toward Xingchen, whose whites are a lightening of the dark, but not a brightness in it. The sword, the ribbon. A partially dressed state, but it is evening, and he's the one who has come here, and he doesn't care, if his shishu doesn't. )
Much to the malcontent of some. This tastes wonderfully bitter, which is how you know someone properly taught in the ways of our medicine caught hold of the antidote and ensured it worked as intended.
( All while walking over, all without more than a passing glance to sword, to ribbon, toward dark-disguised eyes. He doesn't need clarity of detail, and he wonders with the curiosity he's had all his life, what Xingchen's eyes look like, in the aftermath of his destruction on them, but it's not necessary. Not needed. )
Would you like extra hands for the tying?
( He offers instead, stepping in pointed range of Shuanghua's reach. Pausing outside of easy reach of his own arm, but letting the sword know him, and his shishu to know him too. He carries none of the dead with him now, but he is steeped by them, had been surrounded by them when the feathers had needed capturing. Visits and carries a brew boiled in a house filled with ghosts, and death has a hold on him difficult to deny, but difficult too to quantify.
Nothing evil. Nothing pure. The hazy inbetween no one lines, and that some, chasing after, believe is worth more, has more, spites more than the conventions Wei Wuxian had been condemned by from the mouths of the unknowing. )
cw for passive suicidal ideation
At the same time, Xingchen wants to hit himself. He can't just trust people. Every time he does, he ends up hurt or made a fool of or both and he doesn't know how much of himself he has left for such treatment. And this is Wei Wuxian, someone who has been good to him, but is still...Wei Wuxian. Shouldn't he be more wary of him? How far should he trust his instincts when they've proven to be insufficient? But how much should he trust what others say?
Right now, does it matter? Right now, does he really care about himself?
Apparently enough that he'll let this man enter in through a window with the supposed treatment for this awful poison. It's strange. Xingchen told Macaluso that he'd rather be dead than be a sworn follower of his. At some point, maybe before this, maybe after, he'd started to tell himself he wouldn't mind if he ended up dead. What good is he in his state, anyway?
And yet...
Xue Yang lied to him and he believed every word until recently. The people who have been kind to him here, hopefully honestly kind, seem to be good people and Xingchen knows deep in his gut that they would be upset if he died. He's just...hurting. And he has no one to blame but himself. Again.
And yet, now that Wei Wuxian is here with the cure, the treatment, the bitter medicine, he finds he still wants to cling onto something of life, even if he doesn't know if he'll be any happier afterward.
The man is trying to give this situation levity and on any other day Xingchen would laugh. It's true, their medicine is distinct. So, while he doesn't feel like he has the strength or the heart to really find humor in those words, he forces a smile and breathes out a little huff. He'll try.
The smile, fake as it is, disappears a moment later. Right. He may be clothed, but without his face covered he feels naked. Bowing his head to try and hide his face, he takes the cloth in hand again and raises it slowly to his empty eyes, holding up the ends in easy enough reach for Wei Wuxian.]
Please.
no subject
He doesn't make quick work of this. He's never tied a ribbon in this way, not to someone else. His own arm bindings to himself, for practise or that show of arrogance in his anger at Phoenix Mountain, but not to others. Not even Jiang Cheng, and they'd been living in each other's pockets for so many years, what hadn't they done?
Oh, he thinks. Oh, no, he knows a time. A time when his brother had wandered up the mountain, and Wei Wuxian had wandered up too, to his conscious surgery, to the gift that might have failed them both, and left none feeling wiser. A gamble, and his core had gone the way of his shishu's eyes, to someone they cared more for than either of them cared for themselves.
He ties the ribbon, and it's gentle, the pressure of it around Xiao Xingchen's head. Stubborn, blinded man, and not blind for lack of sight. Blind for wishing to trust, as Wei Wuxian had, so long ago. Trust in better natures, in people's better selves. )
There. Does that feel better?
( And his hands fall away, and he takes a half step back, in reach, but not looming. Never looming, unless he wants that, wants the intimidation when his anger reaches its coldest levels, when the world before him feels ready to ignite as tinder to the fire of its hate. )
cw some more of the same this boy needs therapy
And then it's finished. His ruined eyes are covered and he still breathes unhindered. Wei Wuxian has, again, been kind to him. Xingchen breathes out, his shoulders slouching. Is it disappointment? Or relief? He reaches up and straightens the cloth a little, nothing that he wouldn't have to normally do himself. It's fine. He does this for consideration first, and his comfort last.]
Yes. Thank you.
[Now, they should get straight the point of this illicit meeting. Wei Wuxian has the cure, something once again made by Wen Qing. It sounds like she's kept busy, but then Xingchen did tell her they have a habit of getting into stupid situations. He hadn't meant for something this dire, though.
And yet, having someone he thinks he can trust here, treating him well, when he's been left adrift because of everything that has happened in the past few weeks, Xingchen can't help but speak.]
My friend -
[No. That's no longer right.]
...Xue Yang would help me do this sometimes.
[He's obviously weak. Why else would he tell anyone something so insignificant? Why would he tell someone who isn't a close confidant?
Ah...but then, Xingchen no longer has one of those. His mind screams at him to shut up, but his soul longs.]
Sorry, that's not... You're sure no one else needs the medicine before me?
/psychosomatic, that boy needs therapy/
( It should break part of his heart, if it wasn't already stitched together as it is, hearing his shishu say that. Wei Wuxian shifts, and then kneels, there before his martial uncle, who is younger than him. There is so much that files into small discrepancies between them, not just the ages they wear, and that's fine in the end. It's not an isolated case, and he's still who he is: still someone Wei Wuxian has better learned here than had known beyond reputation and tragedy of his ending, back home.
He reaches out, then pauses. )
I'm reaching for your hands, if you don't mind the contact.
( Speak, for what eyes can't see. )
Xue Yang... in his twisted ways, knew he cared for the illusion of a life he'd built with you. That he helped because he wanted, I don't think that was false. He's fickle like that. He couldn't understand why you'd break under the horror of what he tried to make you into, and he was wild with it, when you did. So, shishu. Yes, I know no one else needs the medicine first, and I'm asking: find the strength to live. Please, find the strength to live.
( Because it's with that he reaches into his shirt and pulls out the small medicine jar. The one he presses into Xiao Xingchen's hand, curling his fingers around it. The choice is yours. )
Dying only solves the hopelessness we feel in the moment. It doesn't allow us to make anything better out of our mistakes, whatever those were.
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He holds onto that point of connection as Wei Wuxian speaks, tries to comfort him in a way. If he grips those hands too tightly, well. He can't tell, exactly, but he's not entirely sure if he's sorry about it. Just...having someone to listen and care and not judge him immediately for his foolishness is...so much, right now.
The fact that Wei Wuxian knows so much about what happened in Yi City unsettles Xingchen a little, but he tries not to dwell on it. That takes too much energy for his situation, anyway.
And then the medicine is in his hand, along with reassurances that he won't be selfish if he takes it. He should. Xingchen knows he should. The logical part of him knows he needs to get past this and get better. He feels useless, but he isn't, not completely, and while he may not find some use here in Taravast, maybe he can save up his skills and strength for a later date.]
...I can never forgive him.
[Xue Yang has done too much to too many people. He's a monster with practically no hope of learning his lesson. And yet Xingchen can't help but think of the countless times they laughed together, enjoyed life, and felt like a family. Where is the line between lie and happiness?
He can't tell. But he holds the little jar and slowly opens it, the smell of the medicine immediately assaulting his nose. Ah...it definitely promises to be potent. He should take it before he regrets the smell, but also because...he does want to keep living. No concrete reasons come to mind immediately, but there's something pulling at his gut that tells him to hang on for whatever reason. It's probably nothing more than the guilt of upsetting others, notably Wei Wuxian right now. But if that's enough...
He takes the medicine, tipping his head back, only to immediately grimace at the taste.]
...Wen Qing's tea was better.
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You shouldn't. The only one you need to work on forgiving with time is yourself.
( Said quietly, and certainly, from a man still working hard on doing that himself. It doesn't mean Xue Yang was nothing but falsehoods, as Wei Wuxian has even said. There were good things, whimsical in delivery, and there was danger and the delight of a feral animal in tearing into any perceived threat. He's seen too much of what happened through A-Qing's eyes to think Xue Yang is anything but his own stuck ways, of possessiveness that doesn't see person—ah.
No agency of self. Only the decisions made, wanting, without discussion.
It stings, having lessons to learn from a madman and a murderer. Humbling, because he needs the learning of them still.
He exhales, something ghosting laughter, and rests his hands on his shishu's knees. )
It is, it is. I'll pass along the compliment, though you should do it yourself.
( A pause, and: )
Lan Zhan is not a talkative man, but it's worth speaking to him. He'll listen, and he's here, two doors down the hall to your right. When it comes to anything else, Shishu, you're not alone unless you wish to be. I'm here, Sizhui's here, Eleven is a good soul, Lily is an ambitiously curious one. Allison cares, and there are people willing to be friends, for all our oddities, if you'll have them.
( Asking for trust is too hard, so he doesn't. He just offers options, as he continues to kneel here, at a living dead man's feet. At least, he can say, Xue Yang had done as Wei Wuxian had instructed. At least it had not all been Wei Wuxian's duty, this telling of terrible things. )
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Bitter. Like how he feels about himself these days.
The idea of forgiving himself is so foreign right now and it's the process of his tongue-scraping that keeps him from laughing at Wei Wuxian in a jaded manner. A tiny voice in the back of his mind tries to break through, tries to tell him that this man is right, that everything takes time, and wouldn't he have said the same thing were their positions reversed? But perspective is everything, isn't it? And for Xingchen, the outlook is pretty bleak.
He doesn't know if he'll ever be even a shadow of his former self again. How could he be?
But he's heard Wei Wuxian and while he can't find a proper verbal affirmation, he places the now-empty jar onto the vanity and reaches out to lay his hands atop Wei Wuxian's own. And as he keeps speaking, Xingchen's hold gradually tightens. His chest tightens, as well, overcome with this kindness in such an unforeseen candidate, threatening to squeeze any other kind of emotion out of him. But Xingchen no longer has any tears to cry - not real tears - so he breathes in, hard, and does his best to settle himself.]
...I'll try.
[Even that feels like too much of a promise, but while Xingchen may not believe his own words, they should act as some sort of anchorhold. A low bar to aim for, but a bar, nonetheless.
And then, quietly - ]
Thank you.
cw: surgery??? noncon organ donations ig
( Thank you, with his hands clutched so tightly, and his thoughts a whirl with muddled understandings and the clarity of heartache. He stills himself, his thoughts, his tongue, and closes his eyes, not that his shishu will know. There are things they are remarkably similar in, and ways they're so remarkably different, he and this martial uncle of his, his long gone mother's unmet junior.
Tangled relationships, for people whose paths crossed only when death lingered in the wind. )
I mentioned once before that your actions were inspiration for ones of my own. I never said what that was, did I?
( Rhetorical question, and his voice is soft, so soft. He doesn't move, simply stays where he is as he starts this peeling back of flesh, this blind revelation. )
Jiang Cheng had his core melted when he was captured by the Wens, when Lotus Pier fell. We were able to rescue him at the time, but we had no solution to what was keeping him depressed, unwilling to heal in bed. When you think there's only one way to make up to the people you care about, and you decide for yourself you know the way of it, where does that lead us?
( Another pause, and he breathes out, a huff of laughter with no mirth in it. )
We found Song Lan on the mountain, still healing from what you gave him. Wen Qing made sure he was fully healed before we sent him off with my shijie, to keep her safe, but it's what he said that gave me the idea, and when we found the theory for the golden core transfer... I sent him up the mountain, to ask for Baoshan Sanren.
( He falters, the memory of this more poignant because we are made of our mistakes and sacrifices, and where it leads us is not the place we would have been without it. And still. And still. He's never told this story himself, would have drowned it in his blood, but that wasn't right, and Jiang Cheng, oh, he would be told. He would know.
First, this: )
Wen Qing is the most amazing doctor our world has seen, or will see. I had her transfer my golden core to Jiang Cheng without him knowing, and the operation succeeded—it was the week following when the Wens caught me, tortured me, and dropped me into the Burial Grounds. A coreless man, too stubborn to die, who emerged three months later to exact his vengeance in the war, and never held his sword again. You may have heard of him. The birth of the so called Yiling Laozu, feared and terrifying cultivator.
( and at that, he does laugh. just, laughs, as his eyes open; )
We want better than what the world gives us, Shishu, but the consequences we never intended can be the ones that swallow us whole. Learning to live beyond that isn't easy, but neither were the choices we thought we had to make in the first place, when we never asked, "May we" to begin with.
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But then Wei Wuxian speaks and there's something in his voice that makes Xingchen forget himself, a softness, a baring that he can't imagine is revealed to just anyone. He sits so still, despite the poison still in his body, and barely breathes, giving this man his due attention.
It's already been established they do not come from the same exact world or timeline or...or whatever has gone on to mix up their memories, leaving them unmatched, but he listens regardless. Some version of himself has inspired Wei Wuxian to make a sacrifice, so he's obligated to give him this at the very least. But almost immediately, Xingchen realizes he's in for a lot. To be told something so personal, so secret, details that pertain not just to Wei Wuxian, but to the people around him.
If what he says is true - and he has no reason to not believe this story, no matter how amazing it is - then that changes everything about how Wei Wuxian has been perceived. And there really is such a similarity between the two of them, a desire, a need to take care of someone they love, to fix them. It's frightening now that he's on the outside looking in. To give away his core like that... And to use the excuse of Baoshan Sanren and carry out something like that and disregard the danger...it's brilliant. It's terrifying.
Xingchen heaves out a breath and trails his hands up Wei Wuxian's arms, to his shoulders, hesitating to touch any further, but needing to just...hold.]
I...
[What is there to even say to all of that?
He breathes again to focus himself and starts over entirely, daring to ask something he doesn't deserve to know.]
Song-daozhang... He was well?
[That's all he wants to know. Song Lan wants nothing to do with him anymore and he respects that, but he at least wants to know he was some help in the end.]
cw: some body horror/torture? mentions? non-explicit
Idiosyncrasies between them and their lives aside, there is no good ending for that question. There is only the truth, at the time of tellings. )
He was at that time. Years later, whatever the break between you, he'd been looking to find you. You were not uncared for, even by those you felt had broken off ties.
( And he can't say more, not without it being the other sad truth: that it was too late, back home, for either series of events. That Song Lan nearly died on his sword, that his tongue was pried free by Xue Yang, the nails driven in his head to render him a puppet so suffused with the energy of resentment and death that he was as irrevocably marked as Wen Ning.
That it was Song Lan who had to outsurvive Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing, to carry both swords out into the world. To hope for a miracle, in collecting the shattered shards of Xiao Xingchen's soul, so that he might, in decades, be able to reincarnate.
How it is unknown what state of wholeness Song Lan's own soul claims, just as Wen Ning. Two horrendously beautiful shadows of brilliant men. )
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He gasps in a few breaths, pulling a hand away to clutch at his chest, overwhelmed again. A tiny but genuine smile reaches his lips, though he feels a hot wetness start to leak from his eyes. Sniffling, he sits up a little straighter and slips his hand under the cloth, wiping at the blood before it gets out of control.]
I'm glad...I'm glad.
[It's as if a massive weight has been lifted from his shoulders, although he still misses Song Lan terribly and can't just forget everything that happened with Xue Yang. His life is still a mess and it's definitely going to take time for him to get back on his feet, metaphorically, but it seems just a little bit easier.
Taking a few moments to breathe more evenly and make sure he won't bleed more, Xingchen turns his focus back to Wei Wuxian. Everything he's confessed continues to float around his head, only some of it connecting and making sense, and he understands what he was trying to tell Xingchen. Sometimes actions taken with the best of intentions just end up making things worse and there's not necessarily anything they can do about it. He wonders, though. Song Lan obviously found out what Xingchen did, but Wei Wuxian's sacrifice was different.]
Does Sect Leader Jiang know? Does anyone except Wen Qing?
[If he has to keep it secret, he will. He understands the desire to keep such knowledge under wraps.]
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It's the question that comes back around that has him breathe in, out, consider. )
Wen Qing, Lan Zhan. Lan Sizhui, most likely. Jiang Cheng should know, but... for whatever impossibilities have happened, he's from a time before he learned. I plan to tell him, sooner rather than later. The road here didn't seem a wise place, then there's been this poisoning—there are excuses enough for why I delay.
( Point acknowledged, that they're excuses, but he's not looking forward to this conversation again. )
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It isn't as easy to say as it should be. I don't know if you agree, but...in a way, it might have been easier to take matters into one's own hands, as desperate as they may have been.
[Xingchen was not in Wei Wuxian's shoes, not exactly, and he can't imagine what it was like to witness the destruction of the Jiang Sect and an entire life he knew. But he knows that drive to try and fix even one thing, the adrenaline pumping through his body, ruling out even the fear and the consequences that would hound him afterward. He knows what it's like to love someone so much, even more than himself.
He gives Wei Wuxian's shoulder a little squeeze.]
I understand. I won't say anything. But if you need me afterward...in case he responds with anger...
[Because he knows that, too.]
Was he also poisoned?
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( Saying he does or doesn't agree, it's not that easy. Just as the decision to act was easier than seeking the permission, the convincing, the arguments for what they felt was better, inevitable, for the best. )
... He was. I ensured he drank one of what you just had, too. As for the rest... thank you.
( For making the offer. For... something he hears very little of, in his life, when it comes to the breakdown and failings of the relationships he holds so dear. )
Did you want me to stay for a while?
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But we can't take it back, even if we wanted to.
[Time only moves forward and once decisions like this are made, they can only go along with that flow and face whatever is thrown back at them. But Xingchen nods in acknowledgment of everything, glad that Jiang Cheng is also on his way to recovery so Wei Wuxian is one step closer to clearing up the truth. He doesn't envy the man for that situation, but if it's necessary...
Gently, Xingchen raises his hand from Wei Wuxian's shoulder, finding his cheek. Maybe this is foolish, maybe he's still trusting people when he shouldn't, even after all the hurt he's been through because of it. His voice is soft when he speaks, genuine.]
You're my shizhi.
[He pulls his hand away, finally freeing Wei Wuxian from his physical presence, though he falls silent at the offer for company. Really, he wants to be alone, to sort out his roiling emotions after all these revelations. And he's tired, even this much activity - though he only got out of bed to meet Wei Wuxian like this - has left him feeling more fatigued than he has in years. It would be nice if the treatment fought off this poison by the end of the night, but he knows, realistically, it will probably take longer. He needs to rest so that when he does regain his strength, he'll be able to function almost as if things were back to normal.
And yet. He has someone right here who really seems to care about his wellbeing, someone whom he's just claimed as family, at his knees. He needs to rest, yes, but doesn't he also need to not seclude himself so much because of his emotional turmoil? Everything is a contradiction. He wants everything and nothing. But in the end, he makes up his mind.]
Do you...have a few moments to spare?
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this, however, still strikes; still draws blood. he breathes in, sharp, and it's the only response he has. enough perhaps for xiao xingchen, who is as much an orphan with found martial family as he had been, adopted in by a clan that had been slaughtered by those who believed power meant to hold sway over all. cruelty for the sake of reigning high.
but it is worse, in ways, to have a hand at his cheek. because that too is a kindness rarely given. so rarely, and so unexpected here.
if xingchen feels something hot touch his hand, wei wuxian says nothing about it. sometimes he cries, and that's fine, too. he doesn't need to call attention to it, or to why, or anything of the sort. just say, at least, following that silence of consideration: )
Of course, shishu. However many you'd like.
( conversely, however few. )