Chapter Text
It begins, truthfully, like this:
“Oh, heavens,” Wen Qing mutters, her hands lifting to her temples as if to physically ward off the absurdity of their conclusion. Her sharp features twisting into an expression so utterly disdainful that it nearly seems like pain, her words heavy with the weight of reluctant realization. “We need a man.”
The sheer contempt in her voice is so palpable that Wei Wuxian simply cannot help it—- he bursts into laughter, sharp and bright, and wonders if she remembers she is quite well married to one.
—
There was a heavy air inside the Jiang Family Hall— oppressive and thick, weighted down with unspoken words and barely contained tempers. Not yet a true storm, but close.
Like some ominous hum of thunder, rolling just out of sight.
Wei Wuxian felt it more acutely in the ache of his shoulders, where Jiang Cheng’s hands clamped down like a vice. His younger brother’s grip was a punishing, mean thing; digging deep into his bones with such strength he swore he heard a faint pop. He thought, with half-a-mind, that if Jiang Cheng continued, his arms might just snap in two. Like little, fragile twigs in the path of a particularly angry hurricane.
For all of his brother’s smaller frame, Jiang Cheng was infuriatingly strong— a fact Wei Wuxian was reminded of frequently these days. Coreless and weak, being used as a human stress ball by his dearest little brother, the prick.
“You mean to tell me,” Jiang Cheng growled, his voice low and downright venomous, “that you’ve been walking around coreless all this time— because you had the idiotic idea to give me yours?”
It wasn’t a question, not really: Jiang Cheng’s voice was a whip, cracking with disbelief and fury. And he punctuated every word by shaking Wei Wuxian hard enough to make his teeth rattle.
Wei Wuxian flailed rather uselessly, his hands coming up in a gesture of surrender. “Technically, yes?” he offered, trying once again to joke his way out of this. Which, predictably, didn’t work. “But there’s a way to fix it now! I promise—”
“Your last way to fix it was blindfolding me up a mountain and performing highly experimental surgery, you brain-dead piece of shit!” Jiang Cheng spat, incredulous, and shook him harder for good measure. “Do you have any idea how stupid that was?!”
Behind him, Shījiě stood uncharacteristically stiff and silent, her delicate arms crossed tightly across her chest. Her usual warmth was absent, replaced entirely by a sharp disapproval that somehow cut deeper than any of Jiang Cheng’s harsh words. Her lips were pressed into a thin, severe line, and her disappointment radiated off her in waves.
Wei Wuxian wilted under her gaze like a flower in a drought. Shījiě’s disappointment was a special kind of torture— one that made him feel like a lap-child of three. It wasn’t the fiery, explosive anger Jiang Cheng wielded like a weapon. No, Shījiě’s disappointment was quiet, simmering, and infinitely more devastating. It was the kind of disappointment that made you want to crawl into a hole and never come out, all while writing a thousand apology letters in blood all over your walls.
She didn’t even have to say anything. Just the way she looked at him— like he’d personally broken her favorite teacup and then set the remains on fire— was enough to make him want to confess every sin he’d ever committed. And maybe a few he hadn’t yet.
“The entire fucking time!” Jiang Cheng yelled, his voice climbing into a register Wei Wuxian didn’t know he could hit. “Jiějie!”
Jiang Yanli stepped forward, her usual soft demeanor replaced by something far more commanding. She looked every inch a Yu daughter now, her eyes hard as she pinned Wei Wuxian with a withering stare. “A-Xian,” she said, her voice steady and no-nonsense. “Explain it to me. Now.”
He nodded so fast his neck nearly snapped.
Clearing his throat, Wei Wuxian finally gathered himself, trying to wiggle out of Jiang Cheng’s bruising hold and failing miserably. “Wen Qing and I have been…researching,” he started, shooting a glare toward the corner of the room, where that traitor of a woman was calmly stirring a bowl of something black and ominous-looking. She was completely ignoring his plight, the absolute betrayal. Wei Wuxian stuck his tongue out at her. She ignored him harder, clearly deciding that Jiang Cheng’s anger was his problem and not hers. Truly, the worst sister-in-law to ever grace the realm.
She knew Jiang Cheng wouldn’t yell at her! He took his marriage vows far too seriously for that!
“We’ve figured out a safe way to grow it back. My Golden Core,” Wei Wuxian continued, trying to sound confident. “There’s still a chance.”
Jiang Cheng’s grip loosened, though his eyes remained narrowed. “How?” he demanded, tone calmer but no less cutting. “And if you’re lying to me again—”
Wei Wuxian held his hands up in a perfect anjali mudra1, pleading for mercy. “Nothing bad!” he insisted, his voice rising into a plaintive whine he just knew Jiang Cheng hated but folded for nevertheless. “It’s perfectly safe. I just need an esteemed husband!”
The silence that followed was so thick one could bottle it and sell it in the markets of Yunmeng.
Even Wen Qing froze mid-stir, the ladle clanging against the bowl as she sighed heavily. For a moment, no one moved. No one spoke. Unflinchingly, she reached for a jar of wine and poured a generous splash into the concoction. Unwatered.
Jiang Cheng lunged at him.
Wei Wuxian yelped, scrambling behind Jiang Yanli, who stopped their mad dash with an outstretched hand pressed firmly to Jiang Cheng’s chest. Her patience seemed infinite, but her exasperation was clear. “Is it true?” she asked, turning her sharp gaze to Wen Qing.
As they both had long reached the most logical realization one could find: only the women of this house had working brains, clearly.
The physician finally set the bowl aside, clasping her hands in front of her with serene detachment. “Yes,” she said, her voice calm and composed. “His Golden Core didn’t melt, nor did it explode. It simply… vanished. The energy remains dormant within him, even if it is buried beneath all the layers of Yin that have replaced it. Dual Cultivation would allow an… influx of Yang energy to purify the Yin and stimulate the Core’s regrowth.” She glanced briefly at Wei Wuxian, her lips twitching in the faintest hint of amusement. “Of course, as your brother is not going into an… alternative way of life, that would require a husband.”
Jiang Cheng choked on his own tongue, his face turning red down to his neck. Wei Wuxian still wondered how those two worked— Wen Qing was so shameless, and Jiang Cheng was such a prude, he blushed at just about anything. It was a weird little dynamic.
Jiang Yanli’s expression softened slightly as Wen Qing spoke, the hard lines of her disapproval beginning to ease. She tilted her head, considering the explanation with a thoughtful frown. “So, it’s not as reckless as it sounds?” she asked, her voice still firm but no longer icy.
Wen Qing nodded. “It’s a calculated risk. And given Wei Wuxian’s current… unique constitution, it’s the best chance he has.”
Jiang Yanli’s gaze shifted back to Wei Wuxian, and for the first time since the conversation began, there was a flicker of warmth in her eyes. It wasn’t forgiveness— not yet— but it was a start. “A-Xian,” she said, her tone gentler now, “why didn’t you tell us sooner?”
Wei Wuxian scratched the back of his neck, his grin sheepish. “I didn’t want to worry you,” he admitted. “And, uh, I thought Jiang Cheng might try to stop me.”
“Damn right I would’ve!” Jiang Cheng snapped, though his anger was losing its edge. He crossed his arms, glaring at Wei Wuxian like he was trying to set him on fire with his mind. “You’re an idiot.”
“But I’m your idiot,” Wei Wuxian shot back, grinning wider.
Jiang Yanli sighed, but the corners of her lips twitched upward. The tension in the room began to dissipate, like a storm cloud breaking apart to let the sun through. “Well,” she said, her voice warm and teasing now, “if A-Xian needs a husband, we’ll just have to find him one.”
Wei Wuxian perked up immediately, bouncing on his toes. “Yes! Preferably tall, handsome, rich—”
“Heavens,” Jiang Cheng groaned, dragging a hand down his face like it physically pained him to share a room with this idiot. “I need a drink.”
Wen Qing passed the bowl. Jiang Cheng downed it.
Huh, maybe that was how they worked. Neat.
—-
Wen Qing knew, from the very first moment she proposed such an idea, that Jiang Cheng would hate it so.
It was an inevitability she had come to know in the few years following their marriage— carved into the marrow of it. Her husband was possessive in his care and protectiveness. A living, breathing force; as much a part of him as the lightening in his bloody veins. He guarded what was his by right with the ferocity of a storm, always braced for loss, as though the universe might just rip everything precious from his grasp again and again. And who could possibly blame him? Their world had been unkind, teaching them early that love was a weakness for others to exploit. From the fall of Lotus Pier to the three desolate months of Wei Wuxian’s disappearance to the war— all of it had hollowed Jiang Cheng out, leaving him a shell of rage and grief. Even now, Wen Qing sometimes caught him staring at the horizon, as if half-expecting all he had built with his bare hands to turn to ash beneath his trembling fingertips.
Vanishing into smoke once more.
Now, here she was, telling him he needed to let go. How cruel of her; she had not let go of anything, not even once.
She could feel the tension coiled in his body as he lay beside her, rigid and silent, his gaze fixed on the dark canopy above their wedding bed. Moonlight silvered the sharp angles of his face, highlighting the press of his lips, the restless way his fingers curled and uncurled against the silk sheets. He looked young.
Finally, he exhaled sharply. “He thinks it’s a joke,” he muttered. “Like if he just laughs loud enough, things will go back to being as they were. But the sects fear him, A-Qing. They think he’s too strong. They think my brother is dangerous.”
Wen Qing shifted closer, propping herself up on one elbow, her free hand tracing light patterns over his forearm. “He is dangerous,” she reminded him. “He is the reason we are here, my love. Why the Jiang Sect remains where others do not.’
“I truly am married to the most insufferable know-it-all in the cultivation world,” he grumbled, but his fingers twitched like he was resisting the urge to lace them with hers.
She hummed. “And yet, I am the most adored Madam of all the Great Sects.”
Jiang Cheng scoffed, but he turned his head slightly, letting her knuckles brush against his jaw. His tension hadn’t fully eased, but his eyes, shadowed in the dim light, were softer than before; she knew him better than he knew himself.
Wen Qing pressed on. “The gentry’s hypocrisy is amusing to me, you know,” she said. “They sneer at Wei Wuxian for being untamed, for cultivating outside their rigid rules, for laughing too loudly, living as freely as he does, and yet…” She smirked. “They want him so badly, husband. Have you seen it?”
Jiang Cheng scowled. “Unfortunately.”
She chuckled, running a hand through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp until she felt some rigidity in his shoulders ease. “He’s never lacked admirers,” she mused. “Even the most self-righteous among them can’t help but be drawn to him.”
Jiang Cheng let out an irritated sigh, but his fingers finally curled around hers, gripping tight. “That’s the problem,” he complained. “They want him like he’s some kind of prize. Like he’s a challenge to conquer or a weapon to wield.” He turned fully onto his side, his brows drawn together. “He doesn’t think, Wen Qing. He’ll say yes to any idiot with a decent cultivation and a pretty enough face, if it means solving a problem.”
Wen Qing let his head rest against her chest, letting her warmth seep into him. “Then we’ll make sure the right idiot is standing in front of him when he says yes.”
Jiang Cheng huffed like a child. “Because that will go over really well.”
She lifted her head just enough to smirk at him. “It’s not about taking his choice away. It’s about making sure he only has the right choices in front of him.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “We vet them?” he said finally, his tone heavy with reluctant acceptance. “Thoroughly?”
She grinned. “Ruthlessly.”
A long silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t tense. It was filled with the quiet understanding that had settled between them over the years, the unspoken trust that had been carved out of war, necessity, and love.
She liked her husband, what a feat!
Jiang Cheng exhaled, pressing a hand to her waist, pulling her against him. “And if they hurt him?”
She tilted her head, her lips brushing the edge of his jaw. “Then we burn their sects and salt the earth beneath.”
His laugh was startled, breathy against her skin. “That ruthlessness!” He says. “That's why I married you.”
“That,” She grinned. “And also the fact that I was the only woman willing to put up with you.”
Jiang Cheng made a noise of protest, but his arms tightened around her, his grip firm and sure. “My good fortune,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to her hair.
She closed her eyes, letting the moment settle. They would do this. Together.
—
Jiang Cheng approaches the entire matter of Wei Wuxian’s marriage prospects with the same intensity and grim determination of a general setting off to war.
Whatever it was that Wen Qing had said to him, it has put his mind to work. For he spends the entire morning after pacing the Jiang Family Hall, muttering under his breath and gesticulating so wildly that Wei Wuxian fears he might throw out a shoulder. By lunch, it’s clear Jiang Cheng hasn’t just accepted the idea— he’s embraced it with the fervor of a man who can’t rest until every detail is micromanaged into oblivion.
Wen Qing, seated calmly beside him, watches the proceedings with an air of long-suffering patience that only someone married to Jiang Cheng could muster— as she has long accepted that her husband is a walking disaster, after all. Occasionally, she interjects with a dry, cutting remark that keeps Jiang Cheng from spiraling into full-blown chaos, but mostly, she seems amused by the whole ordeal.
They’re both the banes of Wei Wuxian’s existence.
“If we’re marrying him off,” Jiang Cheng declares abruptly, stabbing a piece of fish with such force that the porcelain bowl beneath it lets out a faint crack, “it has to be a significant match. But it can’t look like we’re desperate.”
What now.
Wei Wuxian, mid-bite, chokes on his rice and nearly topples out of his seat. “Marrying me off?! I thought we were talking about some rogue cultivator I’d have to deal with! What am I, a— a bridal bargaining chip?!”
“Yes!” His horrible little brother snaps without missing a beat. “Now shut up and let us plan your future.”
“You cannot be—” Wei Wuxian sputters, turning to Wen Qing for backup. She lifts her wine cup with deliberate calm, takes a sip, and sets it down with a clink, her lips twitching in amusement. “Seriously!” he yelps.
“It’s your best option, it’s our best option.” She says mildly. “A good match will bring stability to the sect, which we need. And,” she adds, casting a sly glance at Jiang Cheng, “it might just be the thing to keep you out of trouble for at least an incense stick’s worth of time.”
Jiang Cheng snorts, the traitor, and Wei Wuxian clutches his chest as if mortally wounded. “Shījiě!” he wails, turning to Jiang Yanli, his last hope for salvation. “You’re not going along with this, are you? I can’t like, marry a Jin!”
“Oh, A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli says with a smile so warm it immediately sets off alarm bells in Wei Wuxian’s head. “Of course not! You deserve someone who will appreciate how wonderful you are!”
“This isn’t about me!” Wei Wuxian protests, flailing his arms. “This is about alliances and power and—”
“A competition!” Jiang Cheng interrupts, pointing his chopsticks at Wei Wuxian like, somehow, they are Zidian and Sandu combined. “And if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. We’ll strike them where it hurts.”
“What?!” Wei Wuxian yelps, nearly knocking over his bowl.
“Their egos,” Jiang Yanli suggests serenely, ignoring her brother’s dramatics. “If we phrase the announcement just so…!”
“Exactly!” Jiang Cheng’s eyes gleam with unholy glee. “We’ll spin it as a challenge. Make it sound like only the best cultivator in the land is worthy of taking him off our hands.”
“Oh, that’s brilliant, A-Cheng!” Jiang Yanli claps her hands together. “We’ll imply that anyone who doesn’t try is admitting they’re too weak to handle him!”
“Yes! Exactly!” Jiang Cheng agrees, pointing to her, practically vibrating with excitement. “Besides, not helping someone return to the righteous path when you absolutely can, is a most horrid, complete loss of face!” He practically screams. “And we are so kind, to be turning swords into jade and silk², instead of dealing with it by ourselves!”
“A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, truly.” Wen Qing adds, her tone so deadpan it could rival Lan Zhan’s. “What of the dowry?”
“That’s easy,” Jiang Cheng says, steam rolling ahead with the confidence of a man who thrives in causing chaos in Wei Wuxian’s life specifically. “Jiějiě, what do we have that’s valuable enough to make up for his… numerous flaws?”
“Flaws?!” Wei Wuxian shrieks, looking ready to combust.
“The usual,” Jiang Yanli says calmly, as if Wei Wuxian isn’t currently having a meltdown. “And then the new talismans and the compass. They’d be perfect additions— It will call to them.”
“We can’t just give those away!” Wei Wuxian protests, his voice climbing several octaves. “Those are my babies!”
“Not give,” Jiang Yanli corrects him gently, patting his hand. “Share. The marriage terms could stipulate that the talismans and compass are to be used exclusively by Yunmeng Jiang and the groom’s sect.”
“And,” Wen Qing adds, resting her chin in her palm, “we make it clear he’s staying here until the rebuilding is done. We can’t have him running off and leaving us to clean up his messes.”
“That’ll deter proposals!” Wei Wuxian says, half-hopeful.
“Only from those who aren’t worth considering,” Jiang Yanli replies with a smile so sweet it’s almost sinister. She pats his hand again, this time with a little more force.
“Honestly,” Wen Qing adds, “the talismans as a dowry are so extravagant that no one will dare complain. They’ll think we’re practically doing them a favor— trading some second son for the world.”
Wei Wuxian groans and thumps his head against the table. “I feel like a prized pig at the market.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wen Qing says with a smirk. “Pigs are more endearing.”
“I hate all of you,” Wei Wuxian mumbles into the wood. “Except Shījiě, obviously.”
“Stop whining,” Jiang Cheng says, waving him off. “You’ll thank me when we’ve secured a match that strengthens the sect.”
“Or,” Wen Qing muses, feigning deep thought, “we could always auction him off to the highest bidder—”
“Qing-jiě!”