Chapter Text
There had been a time when Jiang Yanli had carried both her brothers home.
“You can’t carry them both forever.” Her mother said, when she heard about it, piercing eyes seeming to cut right through her robes to see how Jiang Yanli’s shoulders ached. At the time, Jiang Yanli hadn’t entirely understood. Her brothers had been smaller then, easier to just pick up and stumble back with.
They’re much bigger now. She hasn’t been able to lift either of them in a very long time, no matter how much she sometimes wants to. When Wei Ying slips through her fingers, when she can’t hold Jiang Cheng back, a part of her wishes they were still that small.
Wei Ying can play baby with her as much as they both like, but neither of them can turn back time. Those are days long gone, along with everything else.
But Jin Ling, her A-Ling, is still very small, and fits perfectly in her arms. There is no greater joy than being able to hold him close and see the light in his eyes, to watch him grow bit by bit everyday. He looks more like his father each time she wakes, she thinks, except for the shape of his eyes. Those are hers, she’s sure.
Nothing can change that.
Before the Sunshot Campaign, before her parents’ deaths, Jiang Yanli thought she had lost her chance to marry Jin Zixuan. It had hurt both her heart and her hopes. It hadn’t just been the heartbreak; it had been her own uselessness that tasted most bitter on her tongue.
Her cultivation had always been weak, incomparable to that of her powerful mother’s, and she was not particularly talented or beautiful. Jiang Yanli knew her own failings better than anyone, but still she had wanted to do her family proud and at the very least rise up to meet the expectations of her mother.
But because she was so plain, so mediocre, the boy she liked did not like her back. And because the boy she liked hated her so much, her little brothers hated him.
But in the end, no matter her own selfish feelings, if the choice was between her marriage and A-Xian, it wasn’t a choice at all.
Years have passed since then, now, and many things have changed, but that simple fact hasn’t. Jiang Yanli knows what is most important to her, and it is not her reputation or her standing in the Jin family.
Jiang Yanli knows who she loves and what she cherishes.
Jin Zixuan knows just as well, because she loves him. She loves how he has grown, matured from an awkward, arrogant boy to a man with a noble heart. But she does not, cannot, love his family, his sect, the way she loves her own.
They used Wei Ying’s love for her, for the child he has yet to even meet, against him. And it makes her furious to the point of nausea, so much so that she cannot bear to look at anyone wearing golden robes. Anger—it is not something she allowed herself to wallow in often. Her mother and brothers had always had such fierce tempers that Jiang Yanli had always felt her own frustrations were vented just by watching them.
But now, not even watching her brother pace and snarl in her rooms soothes her heart, and only little A-Ling can distract her from the worry twisting in her stomach. His soft little fingers curl around one of her own, curious eyes watching his uncle storm around. And just like that, Jiang Yanli is a little girl again, holding her new baby brother, and her mother is tempestuously sweeping through the room, back straight and eyes ablaze.
She blinks and the memory is gone, but the lingering image of her mother’s fierce countenance remains.
Jiang Yanli herself is a mother now.
What would her mother do, if she was alive? Alive to see rebellious Wei Ying scorn the whole world, with no other choice but to chase himself from Lotus Pier’s halls to protect them from the fallout? To see some other family, some other group of angry, irrational people, hurt a son of the Jiang?
It’s not much of a question at all. Her mother was many things, but she was fiercely protective of what was hers first and foremost.
“A-Cheng.” Jiang Yanli’s voice brings her brother to a halt, and his heavy eyes fly to hers. She can see the harried exhaustion within them, but it only hardens her resolve. “Can you fetch my husband?”
Jin Zixuan does not need to be fetched—he was waiting at the doors of her chambers, looking miserable. Warmth spread through her at the sight of him, despite everything else, but that too only makes her more sure of what must be done.
She can tell he’s waiting for her to say something by the slant of his brow, the furrow at the bridge of his nose.
“I am going to Yiling.” Jiang Yanli says firmly, her eyes meeting Jin Zixuan’s without wavering. She’s expecting him to try and stop her, because she recognizes that there’s a stubborn gleam in his eyes.
“I am too.” Jin Zixuan says instead, and everyone in the room goes still, including him. Jin Zixuan himself seems to have confounded himself, as if not even he had expected him to say that. He shifts awkwardly, from one foot to another, but doesn’t look away from Jiang Yanli’s own eyes. “Depending on the situation, there are things that have to be done. Reparations.” His mouth twists unhappily. “This time the Lanling Jin Sect is in the wrong, and we must take responsibility.”
The burst of love Jiang Yanli feels, rushing through her veins, almost makes her lightheaded. Her husband really has grown so much, not just in maturity and empathy, but in wisdom too. When before he could barely stumble his way through anything even resembling an apology, he can now so easily recognize the faults of both himself and his people.
Jin Zixuan must take responsibility and try to ease tensions with Yiling, because Jin Guangshan will not.
“Someone has to stay and look after A-Ling.” Jiang Yanli says softly, and they all stare at each other in a stalemate. It doesn’t need to be said, but in the current situation, neither Jiang Yanli or Jiang Cheng are willing to entrust the baby to any Jin besides Jin Zixuan himself.
She doesn’t expect Jin Zixuan to understand that, but surprisingly, he seems to.
“Sect Leader Jiang,” Jin Zixuan turns and meets her brother’s burning gaze head-on, “please take care of A-Ling.”
Jiang Cheng did not want to stay behind, but neither of them were willing to back down. In the end, her little brother was forced to capitulate, only because he was of the firm, fierce belief that Wei Ying couldn’t possibly be dead, and that he himself could storm up the mountain the moment Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan return.
Jin Ling is already bundled in his arms, but he still stares at them both mulishly. “You actually think you’ll be able to get up the mountain right now?”
Even if Jiang Yanli is with him, she doesn’t think anyone, living or dead, will be happy to see Jin Zixuan right now.
In response to the genuine concern, Jin Zixuan pulls out a box from his sleeve, marked with very familiar calligraphy. Jiang Yanli stiffens at the sight of it, her mind racing as he opens up the box and pulls out something silver and white.
“We will.” He ties a silver bell to the sash around Jiang Yanli’s waist, right next to her own, and Jiang Yanli feels her heart break a little more in her chest.
“This is...?” Jiang Yanli’s voice trails off, breaking as it goes. Her eyes are burning, suddenly, but she forces the tears away. Looking anywhere but down at the bell helps.
She and Jiang Cheng had talked about Jin Ling’s bell, of course—whether they should have one made or have him inherit one of their predecessors. There had even been a moment when Jiang Cheng had offered up Wei Ying’s, confiscated after his public betrayal.
Wei Ying would approve, if he could be with them, but neither of them had been willing to go through with it—it felt too much like giving up on ever being together again, even if it meant Jin Ling could carry something from his other uncle with him always.
Now Jiang Yanli can tell they needn’t have fussed so much, even before Jin Zixuan explains.
“Wei Wuxian’s gift to A-Ling.” He tells them anyway, his brow furrowed. “I think it saved my life from the Ghost General.”
If his suspicions are right, this bell would be able to get them up the mountain.
There are fresh tears shining in Jiang Yanli’s eyes. Jiang Cheng, too, has turned away, clutching the baby in his arms.
And so, they head to Yiling.
The city doesn’t welcome them, and the hordes of undead aren’t much better. But they don’t chase them out either, simply staring at them with eyes that are either too angry or too empty, too judgemental or too ravenous.
The people of Yiling and the corpses they live all but alongside—they couldn’t be more different, but their loyalty to Wei Wuxian remains the same.
They head up the mountain on foot, against Jin Zixuan’s instincts. It’s not long before the corpses lurking around them in hungry circles thin out, and something else begins to move through the trees. At first there are only glimpses, brief flashes of pale skin and dark clothes, but Jiang Yanli already knows who has come for them.
The further up the go, the more bold he grows. The Ghost General prowls around them, snarling and screeching, all the rest of the way up the mountain path. A new talisman hangs around his neck, the sight of which seems to ease Jin Zixuan’s heart slightly, but it doesn’t seem fully effective at keeping the corpse calm.
Wei Wuxian is, or was, alive, Jin Zixuan tells her, but he’s weak. And then he squeezes Jiang Yanli’s hand, and shoves past the furious corpse.
She isn't afraid, because she’s seen who the General is under the malicious energy twisting him, and met the meek young man her brother risked everything to resurrect. Wen Ning is not a cruel or bloodthirsty person, and she refuses to scared of him.
Still, only the bell seems to keep him at a distance, his frozen face struggling to snarl. Eventually, they reach the edges of the Wen encampment, and gaunt faces replace scraggly trees. The remains of the Wen clan are more tattered and weary than even the last time Jiang Yanli saw them, but there’s a new light of defiance in their eyes.
A woman steps to the front, one hand hovering on her sword hilt. Her expression is fierce but exhausted as she glares at them—no, at Jin Zixuan.
Jiang Yanli pretends not to notice, and steps forward to meet the infamous Wen Qing. There’s no room for pleasantries, because her heart is beating too fast in her chest.
“A-Xian,” she’s asking before she can stop herself, “is he alright?”
“He will be.” Wen Qing replies, her voice filled with anger, but no doubt. At once, Jiang Yanli’s shoulders ease.
“May I see him?”
The medic stares at her for a moment, a frown on her dry lips, and Jiang Yanli can see herself, soft and manicured, in Wen Qing’s hard eyes. But they are both older sisters, and older sisters know how each other think.
Wen Qing nods, and points her in the right direction, towards a ramshackle little hut tucked away the furthest from the camp’s borders. When Jin Zixuan steps forward alongside her, Wen Qing’s arm rises to stop him in place. “You may. He may not.”
It’s enough. They didn’t come here to argue. “Thank you.”
A figure is laying on a crude bed in the back of the house: a pitiful pile of black cloth and tangled hair. Jiang Yanli rushes to the side of the bed, unable to keep from calling out. “A-Xian!”
“ Shijie ?” A meek voice answers her, and a pale face peeks out from the curtain of unkempt hair. Wei Wuxian is laying on his front, and though his face is white and colorless, his eyes are bright. There’s a familiar pout lingering in the edges of his mouth, like Jiang Yanli’s just managed to startle him out of a sulk.
He’s...fine, Jiang Yanli realizes. Confined to bed rest, clearly, and too uncomfortable to lie on his back, but there’s energy in the way he rises to look at her, and in the nervous shake of his smile. “You came to look after me?”
There’s such a hopeful lilt to his voice that Jiang Yanli knows Wei Wuxian is certainly not dying. Suddenly, she wants to laugh through her tears.