catch me begging a chinese fan for a name consult later

[bloodyashes]

You find the boy in the mountains.

It's not quite 'in the Burial Mounds,' but it's damn close. It's that unsettling region where Yunmeng, Yiling, and Qishan all blend together, the portion that changed hands three times over the course of Sunshot before Wei Wuxian came out of the Burial Mounds like a ghost and let resentment loose on the Wen army. Not many people lived here then, and fewer since.

You're investigating reports of fierce corpses, because this is still Jiang territory even if there still aren't enough Jiang sect members to properly patrol it (and you're working on that, you are), and you see him.

A flash of black and red, as you fly by on your sword, that causes you to stop and swerve so suddenly that if you were any less practiced than you are, you would have slipped your footing.

You think it's him. You think it has to be him. You don't know if you hope it's him or not.

It's not him.

That much, at least, is obvious when you slow down, because the furl of red too brilliant to be blood on the forest floor isn't a trademark bright red underrobe. It's hair, so out of place that it takes you a moment to recognize it as hair, a shade you've never seen outside of weddings and new year's.

You glide closer on your sword and hop off, risking a closer look.

The boy (he's not that much younger than you, really, somewhere around eighteen or nineteen) is clearly from very far away. His features are exotic in a way you can't quite put your finger on, something about the nose and the jaw and the shape of his eyes, but his clothes are clearly foreign.

He's dead. You figure he must be dead, because now that you're close enough to see, there are huge rents through his clothes, his body, stained the actual dark red of blood. It's fresh enough that you can smell it. There's an empty sheath at his waist, partially hidden under the folds of fabric, but no sword in sight.

You have to wonder how the hell he got out here. Whatever injured him is a danger to the people around here, and you have even more questions about why a Westerner is in such a place. Those questions will probably never get answered, but you might be able to find a letter among his clothing, some indication, even if the only people familiar with the tongues of the West are those of the Lan sect...

Your thoughts race as you bend down, and eventually settle into, At least I can give him a decent burial.

He's still warm, when you crouch to pick him up, to give him some manner of dignity. Eyes already closed, expression gone slack but not rigid -

When you slide an arm under his chest (you'll get blood on your robes, but it's not the first time, it's far from the first time, at this time it isn't the blood of your family), there's a sound. It's so quiet you think you imagined it.

But as you lift him, you hear it again. The faintest gasp of inhale-exhale, of a tiny noise like a breath that someone who has lost this much blood shouldn't be able to make.

You almost drop him in your haste, because it seems impossible, it really shouldn't be, to press a hand to his chest. You feel like you could almost reach in and take the measure of his heart by holding it in your hand if you wanted. The wounds are deep, if narrow.

It's faint, under your fingers. You have to shove aside layers of fabric, and even then the only thing that gives you certainty is the way Zidian twitches in response.

But you feel a stuttering rise-and-fall under your hands, an attempted breath, and you -

(Red is the color of good luck.)

There's no way he'd survive the trip. He can't have more than a few minutes to live.

(How lucky, that you happened upon him at all?)

You get back on your sword and fly anyway, more blood staining your robes from purple to black.

(You're the Jiang sect leader. There's no one else to attempt the impossible but you.)

And so against hope, with a stranger's weight in your arms, you fly.

Comments

[bloodyashes]

You're already yelling for a healer before you even hit the docks, because, somehow, somehow, the body in your arms is still warm and drawing breath.

You know the basics of feeding someone spiritual energy, and the boy has soaked it all up like a sponge. He's a cultivator or something equivalent, has to be, with the way he clings to life still.

You lose track of things once you crash into the healing hall, everything a blur of activity centered on the body in your arms. You remember your own voice, demanding, "Just try. He wants to live, isn't that the most important thing?"

It's only when you've been shoved out the doors for the night, which somehow has already fallen late around you (it was daylight in the forest, still, afternoon but surely it hasn't been that long - ), that the weight of those words hits you.

He wants to live, isn't that the most important thing?

And you compare it to a hand dropping off a cliff, and...

It's the last time you go out looking for Wei Wuxian.

SOME TIME LATER

[bloodyashes]

In spite of their similar color preferences, Yan Hui is nothing like Wei Wuxian.

He reminds you all too much of yourself, really. Sour-faced, temperamental and stern - though you're sure frustration at his inability to express himself forms a part of that temper. He's good enough to handle day to day conversation now, and has been working steadily on building his vocabulary. He takes writing lessons with Jin Ling, showing none of the irritation that another might have at sharing lessons with a small child as an adult; and anyway, the lessons are mostly to get Jin Ling used to handling a brush, something that Yan Hui apparently needs to learn as well.

It isn't that he can't write. He just can't write with a brush. On the day he finally gets fed up with it, he goes down to the butcher's and comes back with a sack of goose pinions, and sits down for two hours cutting the tips off them with an impressive delicacy and eye for detail, even if it seems unpracticed in the way that most of the things you can hire someone to do are.

This is also how you learn that Yan Hui is ambidextrous, as he shows up to lessons the next day with his goose feathers, and every time he brushes a character with his right hand, he follows it up with scribbled notes in his own language in his left, the tip of the feather leaving narrow lines of ink across the page. The way he holds the feather is completely different from a brush, but somehow the tight lines of looping characters are never smeared.

Yan Hui isn't much like Wei Wuxian, because you can't imagine Wei Wuxian putting nearly so much effort into learning. It came easily to him, like so many other things. He never learned how to work for his knowledge.

Yan Hui works, and he works, and he works. Not quite silently, but quietly enough that the occasional curse isn't enough to disturb you when he joins you for paperwork in the afternoons while Jin Ling is sleeping. Because the pace of a child's lessons isn't fast enough to satisfy him, isn't enough to express what needs expressing.

To be fair, it is also frustrating for you. However, even with the hour or two a day you set aside for trying to help the boy with your language, he is somehow making things go more efficiently. You teach him the characters for the other sects, and he sorts your correspondence. He watches Jin Ling, he gets you food and fresh ink and saves you a handful of minutes every day.

It's servant work that most cultivators would be ashamed to do. When you finally ask about it, after ten minutes of frustration at trying to express the concept of a lie to someone who knows what it is but doesn't have the vocabulary to use the damn word, Yan Hui goes quiet. And then in his limited words, he finally says:

"You don't say I can't, won't understand. You find time. You pull time out from between the walls and still don't have enough, but you find time."

And... Well, you can't very well argue with that.

However. However.

The times when Yan Hui decides to remind you of Wei Wuxian are always the most fucked up, painful, and inconvenient ones.

[bloodyashes]

Things Yan Hui - introduced as Yan Xingqi and still seeming confused by the concept of courtesy names - was supposed to do at the conference: Present himself to the other sect leaders, formally thank Lan Xichen for his aid, and Not get into debate range of Lan Qiren.

Things Yan Hui was not supposed to do, but which you didn't tell him not to do and thus you are now regretting your lack of explicit instructions: Arm wrestle the entire Nie delegation.

Or, well, almost the entire Nie delegation. Nie Huaisang, of course, isn't arm wrestling anyone, but sitting off to the side, fluttering a fan and staring intently at the table in the center of the room.

To be fair, you are also staring at the table in question, and with more than a little bit of terror. Yan Hui, in his effortless defenestration of anything resembling a social norm, is arm wrestling Nie Mingjue.

And he's not losing.

He's not winning, either - the balance is slipping very slowly towards Nie Mingjue, but it's not the kind of instant defeat you would have expected from someone 1) Yan Hui's size 2) who had spent most of the last half-year disallowed from any kind of muscular training as an invalid 3) who has already wrestled THE REST OF THE NIE. And won. The runner who came to get you stressed that part repeatedly and loudly.

You have seen Yan Hui's arms. They're not nearly thick enough for this. Apparently his fucking face is, though, because as you watch the two of them strain down to the end, Yan Hui finally giving up just before the back of his hand touches the table, he looks Chifeng-zun in the eye and just says, "Next year."

Nie Mingjue laughs, because of course he does. He releases their clenched hands and slaps his own on the table, palm down. "I'll be looking forward to that! You've got one hell of an arm."

Yan Hui stops scowling in a way that counts as a smile (people have commented on how alike you are, but you know how to smile, you just don't have any reason to anymore). He looks maybe a little embarrassed, which, what the hell, you don't understand this boy. Is he embarrassed about losing to the strongest cultivator of your generation in an arm wrestling match?!

You clear your throat, pointedly. Both of them look in your direction, Yan Hui fast enough that his hair swings behind him in a red curtain. Now that you have their attention, you aren't sure what you're supposed to say. It's not like you can swear at Nie Mingjue for being ridiculous.

"I hope you're not planning to leave for the Nie," is what you manage, words carefully chosen of those you're certain Yan Hui will understand.

Yan Hui gives you a dismissive look that you probably shouldn't tolerate from him. "They can wish," he replies, the words accented but correct enough. He returns his gaze to Nie Mingjue, stands, and bows to him, and then again to the room at large. "Thank you for the challenge."

A Nie retainer bows back. "Thank you for indulging our curiosity, Yan Xingqi. May you have a pleasant rest of the conference."

You go through the rest of the appropriate polite noises to collect your wayward whatever the hell he is and leave as quickly as you can.

VERY, VERY MUCH LATER

[bloodyashes]

Lotus Pier's Master of the House is not at all what you were expecting.

Well, okay. You had been told his hair was red, but that doesn't prepare you for how bright it is, aberrant against the fog of the town. It's wedding red - Wen red - and hangs completely loose down his back, long to the waist and with a squared off end that speaks of cutting. Against the outer robe he wears, dark and slightly too grey to be called plum, it's as effective as a beacon for the juniors to follow in the fog.

You had heard from the slightly more reliable source of Lan Zhan that Yan Xingqi is a match for Jiang Cheng in temperament, and there are definitely enough scowl lines on his face - so young! No one told you he was so young! - that you believe it. But the scowl softens immediately at your nephew's cry of "Shishu!" into something warm that, when you try to put it on Jiang Cheng -

... Well. Not anymore, anyway.

With one arm wrapped around Jin Ling, he takes your situation report - spotty and distracted as it is, with contributions from half the juniors and your own worries for Lan Zhan - with only a stern nod, and then immediately begins to hustle the poisoned youngsters to shelter. Jin Ling stays attached to him as though bound by a rope, which is a bit entertaining in its own way. It's natural that Jin Ling would be the shortest in the group, he's not done growing yet. Yan Xingqi, on the other hand, is old enough to be full grown, and barely any taller. You've heard that cultivation makes people grow to the maximum height they can get, and certainly cultivators are usually taller than normal people (and then the shortest cultivators you knew before were Jin Guangyao, a late start, and Nie Huaisang, who avoided doing real work), so it doesn't match with what you've heard about his skills.

But you don't say anything, because aside from a suspicious eye on you, he works very hard to keep the juniors calm and make them eat their medicine even as the Lan boys burst into outright tears at the spice. Really, it's not even that bad.

"I'm going to die," Lan Jingyi proclaims. "Why is it so hot?"

"It clears the poison from your sinuses," Yan Xingqi says, voice full of authority. "You're crying it out."

You're not sure that's actually true, but it stops them from complaining any further, especially when Yan Xingqi slides them candies that kill the remaining spice with sweet when they're finished. If he takes care of the juniors at Lotus Pier like that, you feel less bad about not being able to return. Clearly the children of the Jiang are in good hands.

He even sings to them! The song is quiet, warm, and as you are now it doesn't take much for you to recognize the energy in the song, a calming, renewing warmth. Voice cultivation? No wonder he has such a reputation in the Lan Sect in particular. They had exclusive control of musical cultivation until you and your flute.

And then he turns to you, with eyes bluegreen like the lakes in summer, and says, low enough that none of the kids can hear, "You've changed a lot, Xuanyu," and nothing can keep your face entirely under control. Fuck. Fuck. He might not know enough about Wei Wuxian to identify you, but apparently Mo Xuanyu wasn't completely friendless. You're screwed.

He watches you for a moment, like a tiger observing its prey, and then says, "The old you was never happy. I wish I could have done more to keep it from turning out like this."

Oh.

"For what it's worth," you find yourself saying, "I'm sure he appreciated any kindness you could give him."

"If only kindness was enough," Yan Xingqi answers, and you lift your cup of weak tea in response, like it's a cup of wine and you're making a toast. Yan Xingqi hesitates before performing the same gesture, and you both drain your cups.

So, all in all, he's not hardly a bad guy at all.

comes back to this months later

[oncedriven]

Following whatever the hell happened at the cultivation conference, you make the decision to set about getting Yan Hui a sword and finding out what he's actually capable of.

He can't fly on a sword - you're damn certain of that, from the way he stared at them on the journey to and from the cultivation conference, the obvious nervousness to the way he clung to your new first disciple. But he isn't some mundane, either.

The healers have been all too willing to tell you that no one but a cultivator, and a strong one at that, could have survived his injuries. You scoffed at the time, but now...

When you return to Lotus Pier, you don't waste time having him spar through the ranks of lower disciples. If he has any technique to match that strength, then he's going to be miles ahead of the mostly fresh faces in your sect.

Besides which, it's not your way. If you're going to get an idea of his strength, then it's going to be by testing it yourself.

So the day after you return, you make your way to the sparring grounds, and offer him a choice of practice blades.

Yan Hui assesses them carefully. These are blades for beginners who haven't bonded with their own yet, and you think he can tell they're not of the greatest quality the sect can offer. But they'll work for anyone who draws them rather than responding only to an owner's golden core, which is unfortunately what you need here.

After regarding most of the blades, Yan Hui turns to you, says, "These are mostly too thin for my style," and pulls the widest jian from the pile anyway. While you're thinking something to yourself along the lines of Too thin? What did you use before, a fucking saber?, he crosses the courtyard and settles into a ready stance. It's no stance you've ever seen before, but there's no mistaking the 'come at me' in his expression.

So you put everything else to the side, draw your sword, and go at him.

Yan Hui is not a cultivator of any sect you know of. That becomes almost immediately obvious, from his stance and more importantly the way he holds his ground. There's a certainty to it, something you've seen among some of the Nie, and that's the closest you've seen to whatever the hell this is, the sheer unrelenting power behind the downward strikes, and the upward ones that come back from those aren't exactly an opening. Yan Hui swings the heaviest practice blade in the yard around like it's a bamboo beater and you are the unfortunate dirty rug it has an appointment with. It rattles your arms, it's almost certainly going to break the practice sword eventually, but the truly baffling thing is that Yan Hui does it all one-handed.

You are having to work to parry blows from a man who uses his sword with only one hand. And while you have obvious acrobatic superiority, letting your blade help pull you up into the leaps and flips of a cultivator battle, Yan Hui just marches forward, feet on the ground and barely seeming to even track you with his eyes. Even when you flip over him and lash your blade at his back, he knows where you are enough to spin out of the way and -

You learn, very hard, why Yan Hui uses only one hand with his sword, because in the opening left when he dodges yours, he swings that empty hand around and punches you in the gut hard enough to send you sliding.

It hurts like a bitch. It isn't just a punch. There's a burst of qi in it that burns like fire - you're not making that up, either. Your clothes are warm like they've been passed over an open flame, when you automatically press your free hand to your stomach, trying to catch your breath.

You swear. You look up, see the smirk that's almost a grin on his face, and say, "Fine. Time to quit holding back, then."

Purple sparks tingle over your fingers. Time to give as good as you got.

more wwx part

[oncedriven]

Yan Xingqi's sword can only barely be called a sword, in the exact opposite way that Nie Huaisang's saber can only barely be called a saber.

It is, technically, a jian. It's double-edged and straight, at least, though the construction of the crossguard looks more Nie than it does Lotus Pier. It wouldn't surprise you if the Nie smiths had a hand in its making, though, because the weapon is to a scale with Baxia itself - narrower than Chifeng-zun's famous blade, but just a bit longer, and with a longer, heavier hilt than you're used to seeing on any blade, presumably to keep the balance in order.

Rather than carrying it the way that most cultivators do, Yan Xingqi keeps it belted at his hip, the scabbard attached to a leather harness that hangs from his belt which keeps it firmly in place. You can appreciate that; if you'd had one of those, perhaps you would have at least carried your sword even if you didn't draw it. You need both your hands free to play flute, after all.

Under the first layer of his outer robes, which are richly embroidered on the torso but practically bare on the sleeves, he wears a similar set of bracers to the kind you're so familiar with Jiang Cheng favoring. The key difference is that Jiang Cheng's are entirely to keep his sleeves in check in battle, so that they don't get tangled with Zidian. Yan Xingqi's bracers have metal plating across the back of the forearm, going as far up as you can see beneath his sleeves, and that metal isn't clean. It's scratched and nicked, the armor of it having seen its share of use. You'd bet the sleeves of the outer robe are plain so that they can be removed from the garment and easily replaced, rather than throwing the whole robe away.

Everything about it is utterly sensible, in a way that runs counter to so many of the traditions of the cultivation world. Such, you suppose, must be the leeway granted to a foreigner under the protection of one of the Great Sects. None of it is technically unorthodox, after all. There is no resentful energy involved in how one wears their sleeves or carries their sword.

None of the juniors seem to consider it remarkable, or at least no more remarkable than they do anything else about having Jiang Cheng's second in command appear basically out of nowhere to protect them. And when all is said and done, none of them even seem to find it surprising when Jin Ling asks if he needs a ride back to Lotus Pier.

While Yan Xingqi is heckling your nephew with an amused, "Think you're strong enough to carry a passenger, now?" you glance around panicked until you realize that Lan Zhan is already beside you to whisper to.

"He doesn't fly on the sword?" you ask as quietly as you can. No one seems to find this remarkable, so you assume that it is something Mo Xuanyu should already know, but you have to ask.

"He cannot," Lan Zhan replies. "It is not a part of his cultivation path. His sword is not even a spiritual weapon."

You look at the sword again, and then back at Lan Zhan. "It isn't?"

"His cultivation method, which is called the Seven Note Path in our tongue, cultivates the body directly," Lan Zhan replies. "It uses neither golden core nor spiritual tools, but instead strengthens the meridians directly."

"He doesn't have a golden core?" you hiss, and Lan Zhan responds with a simple, affirmative Mn.

That opens so many questions into your mind that you will have to sit down later and put them in order, but the thought that cuts you to the quick is So Jiang Cheng is doomed to have a second with no golden core, huh?

And so of all the questions that roar to the forefront of your mind, the one that leaves you mouth is, "Can it be taught?"

"Mn," Lan Zhan replies, but then crushes your hopes by elaborating, "but he will not teach it outside the Jiang, and one must start very young, younger than any other cultivation method. And there is some other requirement, but what method is used to determine one's ability is a secret of the cultivation path in itself."

You weather your disappointment with a smile, and say, "So he's really something special then. I'm glad. Yumeng lost so much to the Wen that I don't think we could ever replace all of it."

And you mean it, truly you do. But you get the feeling that Lan Zhan can see right through you, because his only response is a shorter, more cut-off, "Mn."