Chapter Text
The first inkling of the curse was a vivid sense-dream. Jiang Cheng dreamed often, of the burning of Lotus Pier, his sister dying in his arms, his brother dying a moment later, Jin Ling getting mixed in by his slumbering mind. But this was a nice dream.
For a few minutes, Lingling was little again, and he’d fallen asleep in Jiang Cheng’s lap while he sat on the Lotus Throne. There wasn’t much else to the dream, but Jiang Cheng could feel it so vividly, the comforting weight of his nephew on his thigh, his furnace-warm little body, the feeling of his fat little cheeks wobbling when he yawned.
He woke up alone in his huge bed. If he was sharper with the disciples that day, no one asked why, and Jiang Cheng wasn’t about to tell them that he was hollow with loneliness, missing his baby nephew.
The feeling continued to grow, but Jiang Cheng didn’t think much of it. Maybe he started to call for wine with his dinner a little more frequently, to help him sleep, but that didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean anything that every night he dreamed of his nephew, or his brother thumping into his back and nearly strangling him in his stupid baby-monkey hold, or worst of all, his sister or his mother, tucking him into bed, smoothing his hair down, straightening his collars.
It was natural, wasn’t it, that he would feel this way? After his brother came home and left, with that stupid Lan Wangji. With Jin Ling in Lanling not just half the year, but nearly always.
One night, Jiang Cheng woke up from a dream about A-Jie. Dreaming about her, good or bad, was the hardest. He missed her so fiercely but if he let himself think about her too long, he was so angry with her.
Wei Wuxian’s death had, by the end, seemed an inevitability. But A-Jie had been safe in Lanling. She had a baby. What was she doing, she -
Jiang Cheng rolled over onto his side, and curled into a ball around his knees. He was so stupid and weak. How could a dream about his sister tucking him into bed upset him so much that he was trembling, he -
The servants always made his bed with silk sheets and folded a quilt on the other side of the bed, where his spouse should be sleeping. Jiang Cheng’s core was so strong that he only reached for it in the dead of winter. But tonight he couldn’t get warm. He pulled it over himself and when that wasn’t enough, started tucking the edges under his trembling body, trying -
Why the hell was he cold? It was the middle of May. Lotus Pier was hot as balls in the summer.
He sat up in bed and put his head in his hands, trying to shake the dream of his sister and the gnawing feeling of loneliness enough that he could think. He hadn’t been able to make himself sit to meditate since Wei Wuxian had come back, and besides, his wonderful core didn’t need maintenance. He did so now, forcibly keeping himself from thinking that there might be something wrong with his core.
It still whirled in his lower dantian, as warm and dependable as it had always been. Jiang Cheng didn’t know what to make of that, now that he knew it was Wei Wuxian’s. There was no time to think about it tonight. He continued his body scan.
Now that he was paying attention, there was a small spot of cold on his left lung. He was no medical cultivator, but he knew enough. The lung was associated with sadness, and…
Well, yes, he’d been sad lately.
Now that he thought about it, his dreams had changed recently. He’d gone from nightmares to those aching dreams about his family, which hurt so differently. They’d started about…
Well, about two months ago. There’d been that nighthunt with the lonely hermit’s ghost and the mysterious fog. His head healer would kill him for leaving it this long, if he was at all inclined to take this to her, which he wasn’t.
He had, of course, ordered all the juniors to the infirmary to be checked out after inhaling the mist, and no illnesses or ill-effects had been reported. There was no reason to think that he couldn’t dissolve this cold spot with a few days of more focused meditation, now that he’d realized it was there. He’d fix it up, and then go back to his normal nightmares about Wen Chao hitting him with his own discipline whip until he wondered if he’d die, and going home after the siege and finding that A-Jie’s blood had seeped through his trousers as she died and his thighs were smeared with it, and trying to wash it away, and…
Yes, he’d start meditating to dissolve the curse tomorrow. He’d do it better with a good night’s sleep.
He pulled the quilt over himself and fell into another dream, this one about Wei Wuxian absently hugging him around the shoulders and companionably scratching his back.
A few days passed. It was really very hard to find a good time to meditate. Being a Sect Leader was a busy job. Every time he sat down, there was something else to do. Letters that had to be answered urgently, training the disciples, breaking into the infirmary while the healer was asleep to read her reports on the juniors after the nighthunt right before his strange dreams.
Only one junior had been affected. Sun Yinuo, the head healer, had noted the cold spot on her lung and decided to hold her overnight. The little junior had awoken in the night from a strange dream, and been sad and lonely. Sun Yinuo had sent for one of the girl’s shijies to keep her company for the rest of the night, and tucked the two girls into the infirmary bed together. In the morning, the cold spot was gone, with no ill effects.
Clearly his disciple’s core had healed the curse with a little time to work, Jiang Cheng decided. He carefully, carefully closed the record book and slipped it back exactly as Sun Yinou had left it. Now that he was aware of the spot, his core would do the same.
This was not so. Now that Jiang Cheng was aware of the spot, it seemed to be spreading, much faster than it had over the two months before he’d noticed it and the strange dreams. Now, his whole body felt chilled no matter what he did, and there was a prickling starting in his fingers and toes that distracted him as he tried to write his letters. He ignored it.
… he tried to ignore it. Lotus Pier was hosting the annual discussion conference in the autumn, and he found himself delegating more and more of the organization to his head disciple. The man was certainly more than capable of doing something they’d done every two years or more for the last twenty (as the Jiang clan often volunteered to host discussion conferences when one of the other great sects could not - they’d taken it over for the Nie the second year after Nie Mingjue died, and for the Jin the year after Jin Guangshan’s passing.) But it wasn’t like Jiang Cheng to delegate quite so much.
“I appreciate Sect Leader’s trust in me,” Li Hua said, the fourth time Jiang Cheng told him to do whatever he thought was best. “Is everything all right?”
Jiang Cheng sighed and gestured for his second-in-command to sit down. “My heart’s not in it this time,” he said, which was sort of true. He wanted to go back to bed and dream about being with his family. Every morning, he woke up intending to meditate, and every morning, he decided he’d get rid of the curse tomorrow.
Li Hua nodded and poured them both a cup of tea. “I understand, Sect Leader,” he said, and reached forward to place the tea in front of Jiang Cheng. For a brief moment, Jiang Cheng entertained the idea of leaning forward and taking the tea, letting their fingers brush…
His experience with the curse thus far had shown him that it could be lifted with physical contact. When he lifted an elbow during archery practice, or kicked a foot wider during drills, the tingling lifted, and for a minute or two, he’d feel warmer.
He was being very careful not to do it too much. It would be selfish to take something from his juniors without their knowing. It would be unbecoming of his position as the Sect Leader. He wouldn’t do it to Li Hua either, even if it would be easier to think about the ten thousand details that made up a discussion conference without the infernal buzzing in his feet and hands.
“About the accommodations for the Wang sect,” Li Hua started, and Jiang Cheng tried to listen. Only a few more days until they were all here, after all.
The Jin Sect arrived the night before the conference. “Sect Leader Jiang,” Jin Ling said, scowling, lines of gold-robed disciples behind him. He bowed.
“Welcome, Sect Leader Jin,” Jiang Cheng said, and bowed back. Jin Ling waited for him to straighten up, and then crashed forward into his chest, hugging him hard. “This is unbecoming, A-Ling,” Jiang Cheng mumbled, trying to pretend it wasn’t what he’d been desperately craving all summer. The cold grip on his insides released. The hornet buzz in his extremities went back to just a dull tingle.
“No one else is here yet, Jiujiu,” Jin Ling said into Jiang Cheng’s many layers of robes. “Don’t nag.”
Jiang Cheng was supposed to say something, but instead he just took a deep breath and hugged Jin Ling tighter. He missed the little idiot so much now that he was always in Lanling.
Jin Ling only pulled away when one of his horrible Jin advisors cleared their throats. “Dinner for you and your clan members has been laid out in the Sword Hall, Sect Leader Jin,” Jiang Cheng made himself say. “This way.”
The hug from Jin Ling helped a lot. Jiang Cheng’s head was clearer. The tingling intensified again, little by little, but didn’t become distractingly bad during the first day of the conference. Watching Hanguang-jun and his brother shamelessly make eyes at each other from the best seats in his hall almost made him wish that the cold and the tingling would come back and numb him from everything except his dreams.
He managed to keep all the plates spinning almost without thinking about it. There was Sect Leader Yao to scowl at until he finally shut up. He still kept an eye on Jin Ling and his little friends, even though A-Ling had been a sect leader for more than two years now. The kitchen had to be reminded that the Lans could not bear even a hint of normal seasoning.
“Are you cold, Sect Leader?” one of the cooks asked, and Jiang Cheng realized he was bending and flexing his hand the way Kitchen Popo did on cold days. Without waiting for an answer, she popped open a steamer and handed him a warm bun.
“Thank you,” he said, gruffly, knowing better than to argue with anyone in the kitchen. He hadn’t come here recently, hiding himself away in his rooms to sleep and sleep and sleep. He’d forgotten how kind everyone in the kitchens was to him. “Is Popo here? I want to remind her that the Lans can’t handle anything even approaching flavor.”
“I’ll keep my eye on her, Sect Leader,” the kitchen maid promised, grinning up at him. “She’s just seeing about the fish - do you have a minute? She’s been asking after you, you haven’t visited us once, the whole run-up to the conference!”
“Tell Popo I finally got it through my head she’s been running conferences since before I was a gleam in my mother’s eye,” Jiang Cheng said, finding he had unthawed enough to smile back, just a little. “I’ll drop back in when I can.”
The second day of the conference was uneventful, except for Nie Huaisang nearly dipping his sleeve in his soup while taking dinner with Jiang Cheng and squawking about it for half an incense stick. “Wei-xiong and Hanguang-jun look quite cozy,” he said, when he’d finally calmed down.
“Yuck,” Jiang Cheng said, pretending he wasn’t ferociously jealous. “Don’t remind me. My brother can’t surprise me anymore, but Hanguang-jun is so shameless!”
The tingling was starting to return, and Jiang Cheng snuck his hands in his sleeves to rub at them again. This distracted him from the flash of interest across Nie Huaisang’s face at the words my brother.
"Ah well, young love," Nie Huaisang mused, and began to fan himself, despite it being October and not at all hot in the Pier. "What did you think of that proposition by the Liu?"
After dinner, Jiang Cheng shooed Nie Huaisang out of his rooms and lay down in his bed. He felt half-caught between his dreams and his waking life, the business of being sect leader. He wanted to fall asleep again and escape the tingling under his skin, the lonely cold spreading through his chest, and the feeling of grief under it. His brother was a stone's throw away, and he'd barely looked at Jiang Cheng the whole two days. He really was all alone.
Jiang Cheng closed his eyes and the dreams took him quickly. He didn’t need the alcohol to sleep anymore. The dreams were their own intoxicant.
On the third and final day of the conference, Jin Ling's accidental curative had worn off and Jiang Cheng thought he felt worse for having had a respite. He sat in the Sword Hall and didn’t pay any attention to any of the conference business. This was probably how he ended up agreeing to have dinner with the Chief Cultivator and his husband instead of just his beloved nephew.
“Great!” Jin Ling said, too-brightly. He looked like he was getting away with something. Jiang Cheng would never be too out of it to realize that, not while he was still conscious. “In my rooms?”
“Sure,” Jiang Cheng said slowly. His thoughts were trying to speed up enough to understand why Wei Wuxian, standing just behind Jin Ling, looked like someone had doubled his allowance. “I should…”
“It’s all arranged, Jiujiu,” Jin Ling said, officiously, anticipating what Jiang Cheng usually would have been snapping to handle. The only person who had more sway with Kitchen Popo than Jiang Cheng himself was Lingling.
It finally clicked that Jin Ling had invited Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian to dinner together. He immediately wanted to get out of it, but his mind was turning over so slowly. He couldn’t make sense of why Wei Wuxian looked so hopeful. He didn’t notice Nie Huaisang in the corner, looking sly behind his fan. He couldn’t come up with an excuse to get out of dinner with the Chief Cultivator.
“... fine,” he said, and turned to stalk off, but Jin Ling caught him by his arm.
“This way, Jiujiu,” he said, and Jiang Cheng was so relieved that someone was touching him again that he went quietly to Jin Ling’s pavilion.
Lan Wangji was looking at him like he’d like to throw Jiang Cheng in the lake, which was essentially how he’d been looking at Jiang Cheng since about a month after they found Wei Wuxian all those years ago. It wouldn’t have bothered Jiang Cheng, except that his curse must have running out of material. A few weeks ago, he’d dreamed about sleeping back to back with Lan Wangji during those weeks they’d both been looking for Wei Wuxian. It had been less painful than those dreams of his sister, but he’d still woken up hating himself.
Jin Ling studiously ignored Lan Wangji’s mood and poured wine for all his guests. Jiang Cheng still didn’t feel like himself, but having Jin Ling’s arm in his had given him enough wherewithal that he could at least make the appropriate toasts. He usually said something catty to Lan Wangji, but…
“Welcome to the Chief Cultivator,” he said, tiredly, and missed Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian exchanging a concerned look. “And Sect Leader Jin, and…” He had no idea what to call his brother. “Wei Wuxian,” he said. “Please enjoy.”
“Jiujiu?” Jin Ling said, sounding concerned. Jiang Cheng looked at him, and was overwhelmed with a wash of memories, Jin Ling as a toddler, Jin Ling as a six year-old who had jumped in the lake with all his clothes on and then come running to Jiang Cheng for a hug when his shijie had told him off. Jin Ling at ten, hitting a kite and throwing himself into Jiang Cheng’s arms in triumph. Jin Ling at sixteen, sitting on the end of the pier that used to be A-Jie’s, sobbing into his arms because he was the Sect Leader now.
It was a longer pause than was really appropriate, and Jiang Cheng didn’t know how to explain. “Ah, A-Ling,” Wei Wuxian said. “Your Jiujiu must be tired, getting this big discussion conference together.”
Jiang Cheng looked over at Wei Wuxian, and there was the same overlay that there'd been with Jin Ling. Wei Wuxian scratching his back as they knelt in the courtyard, Wei Wuxian crawling into bed with him when he couldn’t sleep, Wei Wuxian cowering behind him because he was terrified of a dog. A week ago, he’d even dreamed of sitting in the kitchen after a discussion conference, Wei Wuxian’s shoulder pressed against his as they ate leftovers from the banquet they were supposed to be cleaning up. Wei Wuxian knew as well as anybody that he didn't get tired like this after discussion conferences, that he was usually eager to put the Pier back in order.
“Yes,” Jiang Cheng agreed. “Just tired.”
“Hmm,” Jin Ling said, and left it alone. Perhaps Jiang Cheng should have thought of the number of discussion conferences Jin Ling had accompanied him to, and made more of an effort to behave like he was energized by his success. But it was such an effort just to eat.
Wei Wuxian started writing to him after the conference. Every letter filled him with overwhelming sadness and a sort of wrenching hope that was almost too much to handle. Jiang Cheng spent more and more time sleeping.
“Sect Leader?” Li Hua said, setting down another stack of letters. Jiang Cheng was having more and more trouble keeping up with the letters he was getting and kept passing them off to his first and second disciples, which was fine, but unlike him. He could see that the man wanted to ask him if he was alright, but that hadn’t gotten him anywhere the first few times, so he’d left off. “Which ones should I take?”
“Oh,” Jiang Cheng said, and blinked. “Was there anything I should -”
There was a clatter in the main courtyard and they both looked up. “SECT LEADER JIANG! SECT LEADER JIANG!”
“What’s that?” Jiang Cheng said to Li Hua, and called Sandu to his hand. Even if he was only half-there, he would never ignore a threat to Lotus Pier.
“I don’t know, Sect Leader,” Li Hua said, and caught his own scabbarded sword as it zoomed in from his office.
Jiang Cheng stood, shaking the sleeves of his robes so they would fall nicely, as his mother had drilled into him so hard that he’d probably be snapping his robes straight as they lowered him into his tomb. He stalked out into the central courtyard, Li Hua on his heels.
A bloodied Jin disciple was the one shouting down the Pier. For a second, Jiang Cheng relaxed, which was truly a testament of his weakened mental state. Then everything connected in his mind.
“Where’s Jin Ling?” he demanded, horrified with himself that he would forget his nephew, even for the time it took for a grain of sand to pass through an hourglass. “Take me to him!”
The disciple made a shallow bow. “Yes, Sect Leader Jiang!”
Jiang Cheng unsheathed Sandu, ignoring Li Hua’s demands that he wait for a moment, that they should send disciples with him. The Jin disciple mounted his sword, and shot upwards. Jiang Cheng followed, finally able to ignore the constant tingling in his feet and the burning cold in his hands in favor of something important.
Distantly, he heard Li Hua curse, and then shout something to the nearest disciple, and then the three of them were racing over the lake, towards Lanling.
“It’s a fine plan,” Jin Ling said to Wei Wuxian, his nose in the air. Wei Wuxian looked over at him with that mixture of affectionate amusement and disbelief that Jin Ling had come to know well since his uncle had first landed in Koi Tower after a nighthunt, just under two years ago. Wei Wuxian was very good at finding reasons to be in Lanling, to 'help' Shijie’s son and escape that ridiculous wall of rules in Cloud Recesses. Jin Ling was still trying to get him to admit that the liquor in Lanling was better than Emperor’s Smile.
“As you say, Lingling,” Wei Wuxian agreed, and returned to scanning the skies. “He can’t really do much about it, even if we’re wrong.”
Jin Ling didn’t think they were wrong. Jiujiu had seemed off at the discussion conference. He’d been polite to Hanguang-jun! Actually polite! The only conclusion was that Jiujiu was dying, probably of his own stubbornness. It would serve him right, except that Jin Ling was a filial nephew and could hardly let anything happen to his Jiujiu.
Jin Ling wrote to Jiang Cheng frequently - he always had, since he learned to write - and Jiujiu’s correspondence of late had been odd. It had remained odd after the discussion conference, and with a bit of begging, a bit of Emperor’s Smile and one well-timed tear, he had convinced Wei Wuxian that he ought to write Jiujiu too, just to settle Jin Ling’s mind.
The letter that had come back had been so toothless that it had convinced Wei Wuxian that something was very wrong. It had taken them a few days to agree what to do, but with a little more Emperor’s Smile and some Big Sad Jin Eyes, Jin Ling had convinced Wei Wuxian of the merits of his brilliant plan.
Now they were standing in a forest clearing a short distance from Lotus Pier, a Lan healer hidden in a bush and a spirit-binding net in Jin Ling’s sleeve, ready to be tossed over Jiujiu. They’d stopped on the way to buy a skin of blood from a butcher to toss on one of Jin Ling’s disciples to set the scene. All there was to do was wait for Jiujiu to come sailing over the horizon, and Wei Wuxian had agreed that if he didn’t come, they would get Li Hua to help them perform an exorcism.
The tell-tale hum of swords moving at speed prickled at the edge of Jin Ling’s hearing. He looked over at Wei Wuxian, who gave him that little smile that said he would go along with Jin Ling’s nonsense, but just this once. He went along with it literally every time, Jin Ling was onto him.
There was a flash of purple, and Jin Ling’s Jiujiu stumbled off his sword, wild-eyed. “Jin Ling!” he shouted, and sagged to his knees.
“Jiujiu?”