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Jiang Cheng is seventeen when he stumbles for a week, lightheaded and reeling, spots dancing across blurring vision and his stomach aching with an empty hunger that he has long since grown used to. He stumbles, knees shaking with desperation and fatigue, and tries not to think about his brother. His brother, that idiot, who he may never see again. His brother, who could very well be–
His brother, counting on him, who is suffering so much more than he is right now, and that thought alone is all Jiang Cheng needs to will himself to take just one more step, one more stumble, to walk just a bit faster and ignore the dizziness and shivering and the way his sight fades in and out on occasion, ignore the heaviness of his eyelids if it only means seeing his brother one more time .
And when he finally finds help, when he pushes away the thought that Wei Wuxian might be dead already, that he might have been too late, that it might have been his fault , the first thing he sees is blood and suddenly everything comes crashing back down. Suddenly, he cannot breathe, cannot move as he falls to his knees, limbs heavy, as if weighed down by pounds of silver, so close to crashing on the floor.
But then he sees the corpse of the Xuanwu Turtle and Jiang Cheng realizes . And perhaps there is a little something that stiffens in his chest at the thought that of course Wei Wuxian could kill it, prodigy that he is, and who was he to think that such a genius would need his lowly help? But the idea is buried just as quickly as it arises because when he turns back his heart drops to his stomach like a stone, heavy and fearful once again because fuck, WEI WUXIAN ISN’T MOVING AND –
And despite all of Jiang Cheng’s self control, his knees hit the icy stone floor with a thud and his tears taste hot and salty, and he is shaking and shaken and struggling for air, unable to breathe anything but short gasps, unable to focus on anything except the stain of red on steel fabric, far darker than it should be, and the bitter taste of bile in his throat. And suddenly, in the midst of desperation and despair, that thought he has been pushing away comes back to taunt him, wrapping itself around his throat and tightening until he chokes, because it wasn’t enough and he was too late, because once again Jiang Cheng has failed and Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian is dead --
But Wei Wuxian is breathing. It takes minutes for that to sink in, for relief to assuage shaken nerves and for Jiang Cheng’s own breaths to even out, slowly going from quick, cut-off gasps to long sighs of relief. And when it they finally do, a week of stumbling and pure exhaustion, pure hunger seem to have caught up with him in a single moment, and Jiang Cheng lets out a long breath and promptly passes out.
Jiang Cheng is merely a few days older when Wei Wuxian stirs awake back in Lotus Pier, and, despite himself, that stiff feeling in his chest stirs again, as Die offers his glowing praise to Wei Wuxian, not bothering to spare a single word for Jiang Cheng himself. Of course, why would he? When has he ever cared, after all. It is easy then, to sit there and wallow in some mixture of self-loathing and self-pity, and it is easy, too, to give in when it threatens to consume him. And all at once, it is too much, and Jiang Cheng is leaking, accidentally spilling his emotions in a tangle of ugly words, watching as Father’s eyes turn icy and his tone stern as he turns from Wei Wuxian to Jiang Cheng.
“...you still don’t understand the motto of the Jiang Sect…”
And Jiang Cheng wants to laugh, bitter with jealousy and regret, because of course . When put next to Wei Wuxian, it is so painfully obvious, all the ways he doesn’t measure up, when the only words that Die can spare for him are about all the things he isn’t. Yet, he can’t even bring himself to be angry at Wei Wuxian, at least not very much, because in the end, whose fault is it, if not his own? If only he had stayed behind, if only he had been a bit braver, if only he had actually done something helpful, something worthy of praise, if only . Because, in the end, it is not Wei Wuxian’s fault that Jiang Cheng isn’t good enough.
Jiang Cheng is barely an adult when Lotus Pier goes up in flames. In all the ways that matter, he is still a child, still bearing the immaturity of adolescence as he despairs, watching hot flames eat away at those familiar, slanted roofs and the memories that came with them. LianHua Wu is a beacon now, the smoldering remains lit with shades of vermilion, set in such stark contrast to a sky dark with ash. A warning to the Five Great Sects and a reminder of which is the greatest. Jiang Cheng has never felt so small, so helpless, as he is then, unable to lift a finger as familiar voices fill the air in piercing screams, breaking through the crackling of flame, and familiar faces litter the ground in a sea of dead bodies, the red of their blood invisible with how the blaze has tinted everything in a deep scarlet haze. Grief and hatred blur, red-hot and boiling, running through Jiang Cheng’s veins and filling his very being until he chokes on it. Attempt the impossible . How can he do that when he cannot even accomplish the possible? When he can’t even protect his friends, his family, his home? There is a thin line between foolish and brave, and impossible runs right along it. And as he watches his mother’s silhouette fade away in a blaze of churning rage, with Zidian heavy on his finger, as he hears her shouts and screams that begin to dissipate when he and Wei Wuxian float into the distance, as Lotus Pier is reduced to nothing but a small spark on the horizon, and he wonders if there’s anything worth living for, now, Jiang Cheng begins to think that it is a bit more foolish than it is brave.
Jiang Cheng is no older when he attempts the impossible anyway. It is an impulse decision, all foolishness and no bravery, too quick and not particularly well thought out, but he cannot lose anyone else, he cannot lose Wei Wuxian. He’s covered for that bastard enough times, what’s one more?
And at least he’ll be able to see them again, he thinks, and a small part of him longs for it as he darts into the streets.
There is a hollow feeling in his chest. Something is missing, something that has always been there. Without it, he is incomplete. Without it, he truly is worthless. Jiang Cheng cackles, miserable and insane, and wishes for death to come sooner.
Jiang Cheng has no idea how much time has passed when he wakes, a golden core burning in his chest, whole and working and there , and it all seems too good, too perfect. It is, he realizes, when he finds Wei Wuxian missing, gone . Wei Wuxian is gone. Wei Wuxian is gone, and Jiang Cheng is frantic, breaking into a run, a sprint, tearing through the forest until he is left panting and exhausted, faint and reeling. He falls to his knees and freezes, flesh crawling, because he failed, because he still lost another person. He lost Wei Wuxian . Jiang Cheng screams, and his desperate sobs echo through the trees.
Jiang Cheng is still far too young when the weight of a sect is thrust upon his shoulders, the threats of war too dark, too looming, to leave any room for grief. He sees them, the other sects, whispering at conferences as he walks by. Whispers, soft but stinging. The Jiang Sect is sure to fall is what they say. Not good enough , is what he hears. And so, if only to spite them, he works, erecting walls of burning rage and icy indifference around him to push everyone away, prevent anyone from coming close enough, close enough to see who he truly is. He moves fast, a walking corpse, efficient and short-tempered. He can’t slow down, after all. He cannot let the grief catch up, cannot let people focus too hard on him, because then they might be able to see through the cracks, see how he is nothing but a child, stuck in second place and broken with too much grief, too much anger, too much hatred. They would see all the ways he was too weak, all the ways he didn’t measure up. They would see the things Die saw. And so, Jiang Cheng does not slow down, instead squaring his shoulders and moving from task to task, overworking himself so that no one will see him the way his father did.
Jiang Cheng is nearing his twenties when Wei Wuxian appears again, cloaked in billowing black and shrouded in inky darkness, so changed yet so much the same as ever. Perhaps he ought to question this newfound demonic cultivation, ought to fear it, but by that point, Jiang Cheng has already been burning for too long. There is too much hatred, too much anger towards the sect that robbed him of his everything for him to think of anything else. As long as the Wens fall, who cares how it happens? He has never been one to play hero, anyway. That has always been Wei Wuxian’s job. Usually, the thought is accompanied by a certain bitterness, but if it is now, then Jiang Cheng cannot feel it through the rage that is threatening to swallow him whole.
Jiang Cheng is finally twenty when the Wen Sect falls. It is the sweet revenge that he has been craving this entire time, the justice that he had sought for all the bloodshed and the damage. Yet, it does not fulfill him, does not leave him happy and satisfied. Perhaps, caught up in all the rush, revenge was not quite what he needed. Perhaps, it was rather the only goal he could think of that did not require having to look back. It feels as if he has lived two lifetimes in the span of a handful of years, the strain of war forcing everything to speed up in the way that war does. It has aged an entire generation too fast, forcing them all to become too ruthless, too powerful, too scarred. It has given him nothing, and taken too much. He has finally slowed down, but by now, he has grown too used to hiding the grief, pushing away the pain. It has become too ingrained into his very existence for him to simply start living again. It is not as if it has faded, no, it is still there, but it is buried too deep under all the scarring that Jiang Cheng cannot reach it any more, isn’t even sure if he wants to reach it. The war has ended, and he has gotten his revenge, but all he feels is empty and alone.
Jiang Cheng’s age no longer matters when he loses Yanli. Wonderful, selfless, Jiang Yanli, who had brought their dysfunctional little family together, at least to some degree. Wonderful, selfless, Jiang Yanli, with a slash in her back and just as protective as ever, with a knife in her throat, put there by one of Wei Wuxian ’s minions. Wonderful, selfless, Jiang Yanli, is dead , and Jiang Cheng screams . He screams, throat raw and burning but he can’t even bring himself to care when he has lost the one person who made him feel whole , who made him feel good enough , and in many ways he has lost both of his siblings. The scars that barred away that hurricane of hatred and grief split open, and he feels and it is painful .
He is not ready when he suddenly becomes an uncle. The hatred and burning is still there, churning inside his twisted heart, but Jin Ling is Yanli’s child, and he must do something, if for her sake alone. It is the war all over again. Too many emotions, no time to grieve. So instead, he pushes them away again, locks them up and keeps himself busy, keeps himself from thinking, keeps himself from feeling, and sets his sights on revenge once more.
And when it happens again, when news of Wei Wuxian’s death reaches him, he laughs because it is different this time. It does not settle his anger this time, does not wipe away his emotions, nor lock them away until he cannot feel them anymore. They keep on burning, and, by this point, they control him more than he controls them. They keep on burning, insatiable, because there is nothing else for them to do. They keep on burning, and he keeps on fighting. But there is something else to it, admit it though he will not. He did not want this, he did not want Wei Wuxian’s death, no matter how many times he said he did. It is different, to think of Wei Wuxian as dead to him and to know that Wei Wuxian truly dead, truly gone . Jiang Cheng laughs because, really, he has dug his own grave. There is no one, no one left in this wretched world who actually cares about him anymore. Really, the only thing stopping him from joining his family again is Jin Ling, who is still a small, still curious and possessing the sweet innocence of childhood. Jiang Cheng already knows his failures as a parent figure, that he will never measure up, even in this regard, because he is too broken to love another, but he tries, desperately, in hope that Jin Ling will not end up too much like him. And, like every other area of life, Jiang Cheng fails.
Jiang Cheng has aged over a decade when Wei Wuxian returns. It is by no means a happy occasion, and Jiang Cheng’s blood boils at the very sight of him, but perhaps a small part of him, what is left of that helpless 17-year-old boy, is still relieved.
Jiang Cheng is thirty-one when he finds out. The unsheathing of a sword, not his sword. Not his power. Not his core. It is a painful revelation, stinging with the bitter realization that once again, he couldn’t achieve anything himself. That, without Wei Wuxian, he wouldn’t have been able to do the things he did. That, once again, without Wei Wuxian, he was nothing.
And it is infuriating, as Wei Wuxian often is, because once again, he just had to play the hero, just had to make a sacrifice for him, one that made the one Jiang Cheng had made seem so small, so insignificant. It is petty, truly, but Jiang Cheng has both grown up too fast and never grown up, in many ways still bearing the stubbornness of youth that most have grown out of. In this way, Jiang Cheng is again inferior.
Jiang Cheng is thirty-three when he grows sick of fighting. He is old and jaded now, having fought his entire life, and he has learned, knows the uselessness of fighting pointless battles. They give him no more satisfaction, only exhaustion. And so, he finally seeks out Wei Wuxian.
At age thirty-three, Jiang Cheng learns to let go. Wei Wuxian is happy, and Jiang Cheng is alive. They are not the same as they were before, and perhaps they never will be, but they are something , and that is enough.