Chapter Text
To fall, to fall, to fall
A god takes a graceful step forward
To fall, to fall, to fall
He enters the realm of the mortals
Wei WuXian wakes to rolling thunder and flashes of lightning that crawl across the inky sky like tendrils of bright, luminescent, souls. It’s jarring, something so sudden and loud to be the first thing he hears upon returning to the land of the living, but it is so reminiscent to his own personality - loud, unapologetically bright, brimming with energy. He focuses his stare out his small window, a perfect view of the darkened courtyard from the servant quarters where he sleeps, and grins as another flash of lightning illuminates the old walkways and benches. It’s been much too long, his memories hazy and dripping with melancholy, since he has seen the old Lotus Pier - his true home. He wants to sit up, fling his bed sheets off, and go outside to dance among the rain and the frogs that have come to cry their need for mates. Skin crawling in desperation for the feeling of cold drops of water on it, he does just that, shuffling out of his room as quietly as possible. When he closes the door, he winces at the loud click that seems to echo in his ears, and waits for a few breaths. When no questioning shouts are heard or heads popping out of rooms come into view, he immediately makes for the courtyard barely 5 feet away, his heart hammering in his chest wildly.
His bare feet slip and slide on the wet stone and he holds back a whoop as soon as he runs out into the open, instead turning his head up to let the cool water run over his face and down his neck. He feels alive , something he hasn’t experienced in what feels like forever. His body is still young, still intact with his golden core and only the scars of discipline whips and Zidian mar his back in jagged lines - more burns than anything else. The inner robes that wrap around his body like a second skin were soaked the second he stepped out from under the overhang, but now they start to droop, his pale shoulders exposed to the harsh splatter of raindrops and the humid breeze of summer. He has half a mind to rip them off with the confidence of a mediocre archer from the LanlingJin Sect who had just hit his first bullseye after 3 hours of practicing, but thinks better of it when he remembers the other servants might see and tease him for it.
Twirling in circles like a child, he laughs under his breath with his arms thrown out, as if trying to embrace the very sky that rumbles above him in flashes of white and dark blue. The wind brushes against his cheeks in bold strokes, leaving him shivering and breathless and feeling as if he was one with the elements. He’s in love with this moment, in love with the chance this scenery implies, and in love with himself for once. Never has he done something as trivial as this, in all his lives , and felt as content - as relieved .
He hears the crackle of Zidian before he feels it, wrapping around his wrist to pull him back and out of the rain with terrifying speed. Madam Yu stands over him, looking down at his soaked visage in annoyed disgust and resignation. “ What are you doing, Wei WuXian?”
Ignoring the scrapes and the stinging burn of Zidian seemed to be much easier than he remembered it to be.
With a giddy grin, he pushes himself up to his feet and shoots Madam Yu his best wink. “Oh, you know,” He begins, but trails off at her disapproving scowl, a shiver running up the length of his spine. He’d never forgotten Madam Yu’s attitude towards him, but it’s still shocking to witness after so many years of not having to bow his head as she lectures him for doing something stupid again . Thankfully, Zidian is not pulsing with any more destructive energy than it was before, only burning with a gentle thrum against his arm. He dimly notes his wrists are unbelievably bony, more so than what he had thought they had been before the Burial Mounds.
Madam Yu sends a quiet “tsk” his way, along with a jerk of her chin. Nostalgia tears at his cheeks as he automatically ducks his head with respect, blinking down at the grey stones beneath his feet. There’s a beat of silence in which he stands as still as possible while Madam Yu shuffles slightly to the side. He’s sure there’s going to be a smack, or at least a shock from Zidian, but it never comes - in fact, Madam Yu takes this moment to speak and look at him .
(Wei Ying would never admit it, but his heart had nearly stopped in that long minute. Madam Yu barely gives him the time of day even when she’s lecturing , eyes always looking away like she’s too revolted to even glance at him, and yet… this time is different?).
Rough fingers, calloused with years of training with both sword and whip, grab his chin and pull it up so he has to look into stormy, violet eyes. Nails dig into his cheeks and force his lips to scrunch forward - he definitely looks ridiculous, but his knees are trembling so bad his pride is barely there anyway. “Wei Wuxian,” She begins, and he has to hold back an automatic response of saying ’ here! ’ by pressing his lips together as harshly as possible. Yu ZiYuan squints at this, suspicion tugging at her own lips, but she forges on with the same amount of heat as before. “Since you have been kind enough to finally leave your room , you will be subjected to constant supervision by either me or other servants. Your insolence shall stand no longer! If you continue to refuse your meals and worry Jiang Cheng anymore, I’ll personally whip you until an inch of your life! To have the audacity to distract your future Sect Leader with petty lovesickness- !”
Lovesickness?!?!
Wei Ying blanches at this and immediately tries to yank his chin away from Madam Yu, but her grip only grows tighter and her words even more biting. His mind runs in circles while he tries desperately to grasp the situation. This… other self of his… has fallen in love with someone ?
Vaguely, he’s aware of Madam Yu’s voice rising in volume, but it’s drowned out in his own internal panicking. His nape prickles as his hair stands on end, a rare sense of shame flooding through him. He doesn’t even know who it is he apparently loves!
Just who the hell did he fall in love with?!?!
When Madam Yu’s impromptu lecture finally ends, he immediately scurries back to his room, mind in a frenzy. He’s never truly loved anyone more than a friend… he’s sure of it! In all of his lives, the most attraction he’d ever experienced was towards the pretty girls who ran the shops in YiLing and QingHe - all sharp edges, rough language, and dark eyes that made the tips of his fingers tingle. And, well, Lan Zhan - but, you see, that doesn’t count because everyone knows Lan Zhan is the prettiest human being out there - if he’s even human . Wei Ying honestly wouldn’t be surprised if his old classmate was already an immortal since he certainly looked like one, or, well, the idea of one.
With shaking fingers, he peels off his robes to put on a clean pair, a small frown pulling at the edges of his lips. His skin is unbearably sensitive around his shoulders, likely from the wet robes chafing when Madam Yu had pulled him towards her, and he shivers when the stagnant air of his room hits it. It’s a strange burn, something he hasn’t missed from his time in Lotus Pier where the threat of rain was always iminent, even during clear skies. Blankly, he pulls on his spare robes that are just a little too short at the bottom and in the shoulders. He’ll look a bit more like an idiot later, but he’s sure Jiang Cheng will have a field day with it, his teasing comments already echoing in his ears as he turns to glare accusingly at his desk.
Well, if there’s any hints toward who he might like, it would be in there .
Shaking his head to get rid of Jiang Cheng’s smug smile, he immediately pulls open the first drawer on the left side of his desk. He shouldn’t be so worried about this, in fact he should be worried about a certain red-eyed teenager that must be running around somewhere out there, but the curiosity is gnawing at him. Plus, if he wants to convince Madam Yu and Jiang Cheng that some strange ghost didn’t possess him, he’ll have to have some knowledge of who he apparently fancies.
In the first drawer, there’s nothing but old, slightly stained, notes from his time in the Cloud Recesses. He grins when he flicks through them and finds more than one of his many silly drawings of Lan WangJi. In one, he has his eyes slightly downcast, an uncharacteristic blush spread on his cheeks and two large bunny ears situated right on top of his head. It’s adorable and it immediately sends Wei WuXian into a fit of giggles.
‘ Lan Zhan.’ He thinks, grin tilted sideways with mirth. ‘Lan Zhan, if you ever saw this - hahaha, my head would surely be cut off!’ After a bit, his laughter slowly subsides as he pats his stomach as if he had just eaten a good meal. A hearty laugh might as well be as good as some rare delicious food at this point .
Suddenly, there’s a loud bang from outside his room, followed by the raised voices of both Jiang FengMian and Madam Yu. Wincing, he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He feels a little silly for obsessing over the little love interest this version of himself apparently had, when his family stands outside, unaware of the dangers that hang over their heads. The simmering anger that now floods the air suffocates him, and he thumbs at the edges of the papers. He’s only seventeen in this body, way too young to marry by his standards , and definitely not in the mood to settle down anytime soon. Quickly, he shoves his old notes back into his desk, mood a little bit more somber - mind a little bit more sober. A few self deprecating thoughts turn loops in his mind as he stands up and begins to head towards the docks, ignoring Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu expertly.
If he wishes to save his family this time, he mustn’t play around.
/—/—/—/
Three hours later, Jiang FengMian finds Wei WuXian in the woods, half hidden in the shadows of the trees yet still illuminated in the rays of the sun. His arms shake from exhaustion as he pulls another arrow back, aiming for a target his Uncle can’t see, but is undoubtedly filled with holes. His posture is immaculate, straight and steady but still relaxed, and his mouth curves up in concentration. The feathers of the arrow brush his lips for good luck, and then he releases, soon followed by the undeniable thud of the arrow hitting its intended target.
By the time Jiang FengMian finds his words, Wei WuXian has already nocked another arrow, preparing for yet another practice shot. His shoulder tenses, his fingers quivering with exertion, and just before he release once more, the soothing voice of his Uncle permeates the air. “A-Xian,” Uncle Jiang begins. His gentle voice calling his name throws him off so much, he releases prematurely, watching as his arrow disappears into the gloom at least five feet off from the target. He clicks his tongue in frustration, mentally marking the 301 perfect shots back down to 300 perfect shots and 1 lost arrow , before he turns to the Sect Leader of YunmengJiang. Quickly, he grins that same relaxed smile he’s always given Uncle Jiang, something to placate him and tell him he’s alright . He already knows where things conversation is headed.
“You were ordered to be under constant surveillance, A-Xian.” His voice is soft, tentative in the way he only talked when Wei Ying was about to be punished. “Why did you run out here, alone?” Wei Wuxian doesn’t deign his uncle with a response, just keeping the smile plastered on his face. There’s a wordless statement hanging in the air - no matter what Wei WuXian, son of CangSe SanRen, says… it will not save him from his inevitably punishment. Jiang FengMian shifts slightly, mouth turned down in a frown that stems from something Wei WuXian doesn’t want to acknowledge just yet.
“Will you take your punishment?” Uncle Jiang says, eyes lowered to some point at Wei Ying’s chin - it’s irritating that he can’t be looked in the eye at times like this. His uncle has always been soft towards him, has always tried to get him out of punishments before they were assigned, but he was never able to look him in the eye before, during, or after the lashings. Wei Ying isn’t exactly sure why, perhaps it’s a fatherly love that tears itself apart each time he watches his not-exactly-but-kinda-basically son get beat by his own wife, but Uncle Jiang has always done this - it’s a never changing aspect of his that Wei WuXian unfortunately despises.
Once, when he was younger, he had gathered the courage to ask Madam Yu about this very habit of his. She had sneered, violence shining in her eyes brighter than Wei Ying had ever seen it at that point, and answered with words that were meant to sting. “He did that to your father and mother too, stupid boy . He can’t bear to hurt those he loves more than his own, true , family huh? Your mother, disgusting rat, took advantage of it just as you do. It’s pathetic, seeing a grown man grovel for people he’s not even blood related to. Are you proud, Wei WuXian ?”
By that time, he had already gotten used to Yu ZiYuan’s biting remarks, and simply dropped it. It wasn’t all that important anyway.
Unfortunately, he could not ignore her summons in the same way as he did her words back then, so he bows his head in silent submission instead. His mouth is set in a tight straight line, pride and stubbornness turning in his gut like never before, because even if he had technically done wrong, it was all for the right reasons. His arms ache as he obediently holds them behind his back and begins to follow Uncle Jiang out of the little forest and back towards the heart of Lotus Pier.
He refuses to feel any shame when his shidi call out in teasing voices, asking if he had gone off to drink again. With a roll of his eyes and a quiet chuckle he thinks, ‘ Ah, I really wish I could do that!’
When he enters the main room, Madam Yu is already sitting there with Jiang Cheng kneeling behind her quietly. Her eyes are thunderous, and her hands are curled into fists where they rest on her thighs. Wei WuXian offers her a dopey grin, hoping - praying, really - that he’d be let off his punishment since he was really just practicing alone.
He is not let off.
He gets 5 lashes from Zidian, one for each hour he was missing from training, 3 hours of holding a horse stance, and room confinement. He’s not really angry about the lashes, they add to the array of scars on his back seamlessly, but the room confinement throws him into a bit of a predicament. Since he’s not allowed to leave his room, he’s forced to meditate or draw for hours on end, keeping him from the practice he was hoping to get in. Muscle memory alone won’t be enough to keep him in the top 5 during the competition (and within the Sect Leaders minds).
He twists a piece of his hair around his finger, letting out a sigh every few minutes in a cheap way of trying to make some noise without causing a disturbance. His eyes stray to the window, just barely big enough for him to slip through, and bites his lip. The urge to escape is thumping in his legs to the beat of his heart, but his mind tells him that he does not want to face Madam Yu again today.
With a groan, he stands up quickly, and begins to pace the length of the room. He developed this habit during his first time as the infamous YiLing Patriarch, specifically when he was inventing, and discovered it did tend to help him calm down. His feet are nearly soundless against the wood floor, years of being a servant within the Jiang Sect taught him seemingly useless skills that cultivators would likely never use, but helped him during the Sunshot Campaign among other things.
There’s three more hours until dusk. The possibility of an escape will be higher during that time as everyone will be inside eating or resting up for the early guard shift in the morning. Lotus Pier’s security has never been top-notch, specifically because Uncle Jiang refused to completely cut themselves off from the commoners, thus there was many ways the disciples could sneak out for wine or food. He would just have to wait for the right moment, then, as he knew Madam Yu did not have the patience to come check up on him during his punishments.
Walking up to his window, he leans against the ledge and stares up at the orange, pink, and blue hues that stretch across the sky in lazy streaks. Three hours won’t be too hard, he supposes, if his view is as beautiful as this. He thinks of bright laughter and a time long passed where he could tease with a genuine wit instead of repeating already worn out jokes and phrases, and smiles.
A son with the sun at his back
Creeps with a lecherous grin
A white blade will find its place
Callous in its slide
A line of red appears
‘Cross a pale neck