eastbound | audio | un: yiling patriarch

( It will be the younger generation. The one younger than either of their selves, no matter when they lived or died. The ones who grew up after the war, who saw a land in the aftermath, and glimpsed what a peace not held on the edge of a knife could mean. Who could decide a man castigated by the world at large may be one who is not defined by the beliefs they grew up with, if they chose to look at him, evaluate him on their own.

He's fond of the juniors for many reasons, and always had been, but this... this was a gladness that perhaps they'd finally grown up as a generation of change, not committed to their older generation's mistakes, but aware of them, and wanting to move forward in their own ways.

He continues humming to himself, but the cloak resting to the side may ping as something... heavily death aligned, in a sort of gently contained way. No resentment, per say, but death clings to it, firmly bookended by the life within the growing bed. It's warmer in this closed room area, with all the windows, letting natural light come through when the snow was repeatedly kept off.

He pauses when he looks back, seeing a familiar... and yet unfamiliar, in ways, person lingering. )

You don't have to stay long, if you don't want to. I'd understand.

( It's a conversational tone he says this in, but he does understand, more than he necessarily wants to. He's not interested in defending himself, arguing against rumour and outside perception. It was part of his failings. His belief people would see, would understand, instead of assume. Instead of assign.

(He was wrong. So very, very wrong.) )

I've got at least two potatoes ready for roasting. Do you like roasted potatoes? ( He shifts, moving toward where the runes are to power this whole area. Placing his hand on one, he feels his energy slowly being siphoned, far different from the sudden pull that Xie Lian had managed. ) What would you like to hear first?

[The humming stops and Xingchen purses his lips. He should have announced himself at the very least. It's too late for that regret, though, and Wei Wuxian doesn't sound like he's upset about it. He doesn't even sound disappointed. His words, instead, sound resigned, like he's used to this treatment. He probably is, if not worse. Still, there's no need for Xingchen to be overly rude; Wei Wuxian has done nothing to offend him so far.

If he thinks about it, Wei Wuxian hasn't done anything to personally offend him the entire time they've been here. And that's something that definitely warrants further contemplation. But not right now.

He steps further in and is almost overwhelmed. First, there is something in this garden that is...not right. He doesn't have Shuanghua on him - perhaps a foolish oversight, but maybe not - but he wonders if his blade would pick up on this...thing. His gut pulls at him, the thought of death resonating in his mind, but wouldn't that be fitting? It's Wei Wuxian here, after all. And Wei Wuxian speaks as if there is nothing out of the ordinary, offering him roasted potatoes.

Xingchen does like them. He likes most food.

He doesn't answer at first, unsure if he should be more concerned about the presence or if there is enough food here to share with the others, but then gives in, just for this moment.]

I like them, yes. If it's no trouble.

[And then, he has an opening. Xingchen, of course, can't see and he can't quite pinpoint where the worrisome object is, but he finds his feet carrying him toward the area that feels right and he reaches out a tentative hand.]

What is that?

( He probably shouldn't stare, shouldn't watch his martial uncle like this, trying to learn him again. He's seen him, a span of years through A-Qing's eyes, knows how he laughs, knows his kindness, knows the blindness that has nothing to do with his eyes. Knows her concern, her horror, her protectiveness. Xiao Xingchen has been loved. He has been lost.

Wei Wuxian understands that, too, in retrospect. How one man's shattering can shatter those left behind. Xue Yang descending into a madness he can't claw out of, obsession leaving him unable to admit that it was his failings that destroyed someone he cared about, however twisted his way to finding that caring. A-Qing turned into a living ghost, blinded truly, and killed eventually in the truth of revealing where the one she'd failed to protect had been; and Song Lan, too brash, too bold, not speaking where he should, with his closest friend's eyes, turned into a puppet by the man who manipulated Xiao Xingchen's sword into sheathing itself through Song Lan's stomach.

He's seen it. Empathy leaves a sort of bitter aftertaste on his tongue, memories borrowed and lent and she had wanted so much, hadn't she? One sense of safety. One sense of family. One brave, lying girl who walked up to a sword that was lowered when she would have impaled herself for a lie, and a truce had moved forward from then on.

He shakes his head when Xiao Xingchen approaches the cloak, smiling and breathing out in a sigh. )

Once we're done here, I'll roast them for us. There's more, and the millet, that I can get going for everyone else.

( Millet that he doesn't burn, mostly because he runs the fire for a longer boiling at the hearth. He hates how tasteless it is, but it does fill. And there are more potatoes... but for now, it'd be nice just to have this, a kind of bridge between two stories that never crossed. )

Ah, that's Asgeirr. You feel the death attached to the cloak, don't you. ( Rhetorical, considering why else is he asking? ) When there'd been the, ah, heist at the bank, Xiao Five picked up various things. That cloak is one. Asgeirr was an older man of a religion I'm not familiar with, who was executed for speaking out about his firm beliefs against slavery. I'm not entirely sure if it was intention or accident that ended him bound to the cloak of his executioner, but he'd been kept in a vault for, oh, decades? Much longer? I asked if he wanted to move on, but he's more content hanging around for now.

( He says all of this like it's entirely reasonable. It's a bit odd, even for him, because so often spirits don't retain that much of coherency and agency following traumatic death. Asgeirr does, and he's an interesting conversational partner, if not really up to date on any current politics. How could he be?

If touched, the cloak is worn, but softly so, washed and mended by inexpert hands (Wei Wuxian has been practising, such as it was). It changes nothing of the feeling of death, so much steeped death, but it isn't a greedy death. Heavy, present, but not consuming. )

[The feeling of being watched is nothing new. Xingchen has endured it for a few years now and comes to expect it anymore. So he doesn't chastise Wei Wuxian for staring. He doesn't bring it up at all.

Neither does he stop the thoughts that fill Wei Wuxian's mind, since there's no way he can know them. To him, this man who should be dead is just watching him, an object of curiosity, while he tries to parse what this death-drenched object is. Thankfully Wei Wuxian explains quickly enough, though when it's revealed there's a spirit attached to a cloak, Xingchen pulls his hand back before touching it. Habit, probably. Don't touch without consent, even when the dead are involved.]

Asgeirr...

[The name rolls clumsily off his tongue and he repeats it a couple times under his breath.]

What a sad story. And a strange one. I don't think I've ever encountered a ghost attaching itself to an object. Usually they linger near a specific place and try to cry out for some sort of justice.

[His lips curl up slightly and he angles his head toward where he thinks Wei Wuxian is standing.]

Ah, but you already know this, I'm sure. But he hasn't shown any signs of resentment to your knowledge? Just contentment to exist like this?

[And in a vault for so long, too. How lonely that must have been. Xingchen is kind of impressed he didn't just fade away if he had no intention of fighting back against his executioner or anyone else.]

( He ceases his staring, eyes back on his task in the gardens. )

Spirits like that are thick enough in the shadows of the citadel. Anyway, Asgeirr has been content, as much as one might be. I think he's too old to have decided to hold on through resentment... not every spirit does, even back home.

( The ghost would be happy to chat, if asked, had only not come out with the general thrum of the runes here hungry for energy to keep them running, to keep the everything warm enough to grow these hardy vegetables in this callous sort of marrow-chilling winter. )

If you're of a mind, call out to him. He may not be alive like we are, but he's a mind, and he's opinions enough, and he's pleasant company. I can give you two a moment together, get these potatoes started?

( Before they can settle in for the conversation that they'd come here to have, really. )

[Xingchen is curious about the spirit and, given permission to indulge such curiosity, simply nods in Wei Wuxian's direction. He doesn't mind if the other man listens in; it's not as if Xingchen plans to speak of anything personal.

So he calls on Asgeirr. The conversation doesn't go very far and leaves Xingchen more convinced that the ghost is easily distracted and almost lost more than aware of his own death, but it's hard to get a solid reading from such a short interaction.

The housecat that has made herself known in the meantime twines around Xingchen's ankles, purrs still vibrating loudly from her little body and he leans down to pet her again and, feeling brave, pick her up. He's quiet for a moment, listening for any movements from Wei Wuxian, trying to judge how far away he is, but eventually speaks up.]

I would have liked to have met him in life, I think.

( His hands are dirt flecked in a way he recalls from the Burial Mounds, when he tried his hand at tilling (to little avail) or the planting of lotus seeds in a pond that shouldn't have made it (and did, despite young hands prying up bare sprouts, due to the love of the Wens who had transplanted older roots, who had gifted him a life for the hole that grew in his heart, larger than the hole of his empty dantian, his transplanted core). His neat pile of potatoes, each of them formed in organic whole, none of them uniform.

The cat he notes, but does nothing to mind: a predator he can appreciate, one who didn't leave him scrambling away in fear. There's the rambling conversation of the ghost of a scholar, and Xiao Xingchen, learning of his ways.

There is this, the small gestures of truce, between the span of two lives and greater depths of claimed deaths. )

I would have, too. Ah... I think this is all I'm gathering of the potatoes for the moment. You had questions. Did you want to ask them?

[The cat in Xingchen's arms continues to purr loudly, her body vibrating comfortingly in his hold. He's never had any pets, either on the mountain or in Yi City, but he could get used to this. Having something - someone - to hold who wouldn't shy away from his touch. He wouldn't say he's particularly tactile, but after traveling with Zichen those years back, Xingchen had grown quite aware of just how much touch he came to like, or at least not mind. And then after...

He adjusts his hold on the cat so he can pet her again. Her fur is soft, her body is warm, and Xingchen could forget that Wei Wuxian is here, if not for the sounds of his preparing or how he continues their conversation.]

I did. Who was it that told you about our seemingly mutually-trusted companion? You were hesitant to answer over the quartz.

( If he knew, he would empathise. Wei Wuxian is a tactile man who has been touch starved for some time... and steals what he can from his soulmate, in small, longsuffering forebearance, but he's also not a man who intrudes these days with the ease he once did. Everyone changes, given enough time. He's no more immune to that than most. )

Mm, Tamaiu, our hostess at the brothel. It was a curious thing to find tucked into a ribbon around a gift of wine, given in thanks for... having gifted her silks and the quartz I'd been granted at the brothel, along with a letter of gratitude.

( He'd thanked her, and she'd paid something forward: that part isn't mysterious. )

There's really only two people she could be talking about, between the Merchant and Haltham, and one we need to keep trusting in some sense. The other led us here.

( He works on brushing some more dirt off the potatoes, back into the garden beds. )

[Tamaiu. Xingchen thinks on the time they spent holed away in the brothel and doesn't think he ever found the woman anything other than generous to their lot. He certainly has no reason to find her untrustworthy. And why would she be if she took them in while they were all wanted refugees?

But it's the rest of what Wei Wuxian says that gives him pause. They've already mentioned the Merchant, but that last name trips him up, so to speak. His hand stills in petting the cat and his brow knits into the cloth covering his eyes.]

...Haltham? Why would he be suspicious?

[He's another person Xingchen wouldn't distance himself from. Though his obsession with his goat is, admittedly, a little strange.]

( Still brushing dirt from the potatoes, Wei Wuxian offers his conversational accounting: )

He's anchored to this region in a way the a merchant with no store is not, has notable leanings towards the Anurr faction, to the point where the loss of his arm might be connected to their own ceremonies regarding such things, by way of "legend." He brought us here, to where myself and Lan Zhan at minimum have held wards every night against the compulsions and voices that may as well ride the wind, and my talismans are shredded every morning. This isn't a mysterious location to anyone local--once people were asked, and the library's age in older accounting texts confirmed, the fact this was an important meeting location for Anurr himself was readily stated.

( He looks to his martial uncle, lips pressed briefly together. )

Everyone has their personal agenda. As far as warnings go, aimed to us about Haltham can be a reminder and a warning about anyone engaged in beliefs that stir the kind of fervor we see with these Anurr believers. You drank with them. You committed acts of violence with them, gladly at the time. Would you ignore that danger? Would you ignore the likelihood that Haltham could do the same?

[As Wei Wuxian offers up his explanations, Xingchen returns to petting the cat distractedly.

None of the things the other man says are necessarily proof, but at the same time, Xingchen understands where the suspicion comes from. He's hesitant to point any fingers at Haltham, but the circumstances definitely don't make him look good when they're all listed out like this.

And then there's the reminder of his own experiences with Anurr's followers and he must scritch the top of the cat's head just a little too hard because she makes a noise and wriggles, trying to get out of his hold. He's barely bent down far enough before the cat extricates herself and is off on some unknown adventure. Sighing, Xingchen straightens up again.]

That is...concerning, when you put it in so many words, but I struggle to believe him capable of such an agenda. Perhaps I shouldn't say it, but he doesn't strike me as clever enough for these implications.

[...But what if his goat infatuation is a distraction?]

( Wei Wuxian makes a dismissive motion that goes unseen, and laughs, ending it in a sigh. )

Belief, what is it, in the end? A person chooses to believe in someone's capabilities, for good or ill, and how hard is that decision to change, later on? Mah, I won't say you should believe it, or shouldn't believe it, or that Haltham is anything but a man too dedicated to one overlord over another. Either Unhalad or Anurr, do you think they leave people untouched?

( He makes a sort of humming sound in the back of his throat, picking up his small collection of potatoes. )

The winds cry and plead and cajole every night. Anurr is as greedy, just along different hunger lines. Be wary of those who align themselves with Anurr as much as anyone else, that's all. Trusting with a whole heart those who aren't giving you their whole heart in return can lead to sad betrayals, is all.

[It sounds as if Wei Wuxian is giving him an out of sorts and Xingchen considers taking it, stopping this conversation or at least directing it toward more pleasant waters. Then again, he doesn't know Wei Wuxian beyond ungainly rumors, so what would they even talk about that doesn't circle back to something dreadful?

Instead, he starts to walk, his hands seeking a table of plants. Upon finding one, he reaches out and gently touches the leaves. If it's a root vegetable, then he doesn't know what kind it is, but, all the same, he starts to share some of his energy, first through the leaves themselves, then by pressing his fingers against the soil.]

I've said it before and I still believe it. Unhalad and Anurr are both frightful leaders. Anyone who rules with fear and oppressive power should not hold such a position. But can you blame anyone who, unlike you or me, cannot fight for themselves and instead choose to throw in their lot with someone whose chokehold is less?

[Xingchen moves onto the next plant, repeating the same motions.]

The way I see it, most people know Anurr isn't ideal, but maybe he could be a stepping stone to a better life. One day.

[...If only he could be more help. This place obviously needs it, but his attempts at gaining knowledge of the situation have only seemed to put him in compromising situations more than anything. It's frustrating.

After a moment he moves on to the next plant.]

Which is their decision to make, one way or another. This isn't our land, or our home, to decide for them.

( Just that they keep having an accidental bias through actions taken by a few. He sighs inwardly; not everything here sits right with him, but solutions aren't one hit wonders. They take time and changing political climates, people changing minds: more than what any of them can offer.

He watches his shishu with the plants, wondering for a moment... at also how his martial uncle is younger than he is. Always would be, if things didn't change. )

Do you... question your sword any more than you used to?

[Xingchen understands this sentiment, agrees with it to an extent. Don't get involved unless asked or necessary. But at the same time, he wants to ask if Wei Wuxian, while here, would simply walk past a man dying on the side of the road. Xingchen couldn't. He didn't. But he feels that bringing this up would only keep an argument going and not a discussion. Wei Wuxian seems to feel the way he does and Xingchen won't be able to change that.]

...I know. We're just passing through.

[He moves to work on the next plant, but his hands hover while Wei Wuxian asks that question. He has a way with poking at Xingchen's doubts, doesn't he? But after a moment, he finally presses his hands onto the soil once more and shakes his head.]

No. If anyone is to be questioned, it is me, not Shuanghua. It has its purpose and I am responsible for interpreting that purpose.

( He would not walk past a dying man. But it's not the same question: scale matters, to a man who was ostracised by the righteous world for saving enslaved war prisoners, from a place that took to murdering them for fun because no one cared to stop them from harming innocents. Had he left them to then die in Yiling Burial Grounds because he had to move forward, couldn't carry them all along—he sees that as the cost of interference, the cost of assuming one act can absolve them of the duty to see it through.

He would not walk past a dying man, but he would also not take up that dying man's war. Not here.

He hesitates, holding his potatoes and watching his shishu. His eyes close, briefly, and he counters, respectfully: )

Swords are forged for intents and purposes, but they were never fated to detect nuanced truths. You gave what you did, for the reasons you did. Just... consider, in the future, that not everything which cannot speak is speechless by choice. Listen harder. Shuanghua strikes fast—stay it for longer. He who strikes first does not always win.

[His own hands still haven't moved, resting on the soil and providing no nutrients for the plants around him. It's strange, listening to Wei Wuxian. The man so near is nothing like what he's been portrayed as, or at least he's an extremely good actor and can hide his purported lust for blood or virgins or children. Yes, rumors always spread out of control and pick up little details here and there, but there is always some speck of truth to them, right? Or else they'd never gather any momentum at all.

But Wei Wuxian is... Xingchen wouldn't necessarily go so far as to call him kind; he simply doesn't know him well enough to have seen that side of him, should it exist. But these last words settle around him and make him think. They have a weight to them, whether borne from experience or not.

There's wisdom there, for sure. The Yiling Patriarch was intelligent, of course, and cunning, should the tamest gossip be believed. And yet Xingchen has never heard anyone lump in the word wise with his cursed name. But as he stands here, he finds that he must not fall into the same trap as the rest of the cultivation world. Wei Wuxian undoubtedly committed unspeakable acts and there is surely blood on his hands, but those same hands work now to tend to simple potatoes, to feed the rest of their ragtag group.

Of course, he's just a man, the same as Xingchen himself. Of course, he's also multi-faceted. Xingchen is a little embarrassed to have never really thought about this until now.

But something else tugs at him. This isn't the first time they've spoken of Shuanghua.
He can't figure out why.]

Wei Wuxian. Why do you show concern for me?

( He pauses yet again... smiles for his own sake, and for what it does to his voice. )

You're still my mother's shidi, aren't you? I... can understand not wanting to think on those ties, but distant or not, martial family still matters. ( To him, lingers that thought. The way he'd spared Yunmeng Jiang at the battle Jiang Cheng had as willingly jumped into as the rest. The day Wei Wuxian had decided to die, and take the stygian tiger seal with him, away from this greedy, farcical righteous world. ) I'd only met you once before the way, but we'd all known of your achievements, along with Song Lan's. What you did for him... was inspiring, though not by intention. Thank you for that, years later.

( An exchange of eyes; an exchange of golden cores. It'd been the framing of it that had inspired him with how to approach Jiang Cheng's unsolicited assisting; the one Jiang Cheng still had no idea had occurred, apparently, given the means of their present friction in relationship here.

Time discrepancies. Wen Qing, Xiao Xingchen, alive. Jiang Cheng, knowing too little. Only Lan Zhan and Lan Sizhui seeming to remember what he does. )

[The martial ties make sense; Xingchen has been wondering when that would come up again, even though there's no other knowledge he can offer Wei Wuxian. But even that doesn't seem to be enough to care so much, especially since they've never -

I'd only met you once before

- ...met.

That's not right. Xingchen left the mountain not long after Wei Wuxian died -

Song Lan

Hearing the name punches the air right out of him. Any impossibilities are left forgotten for now because he hadn't been ready for anyone to speak his friend's name, and so casually, so easily.

His hands grip at the soil, fingertips digging in. He can feel dirt lodging itself under his nails.

Somehow, he keeps hearing. Acknowledgment of something Wei Wuxian shouldn't know. No one should know except one other person, a friend whom he told in confidence. It isn't that Xingchen regrets giving his eyes to Song Lan - quite the opposite - but the world doesn't need to know of his failure, how he never expected that doing the right thing would hurt those he cares for most. How Wei Wuxian found out, he doesn't know. Wei Wuxian shouldn't have been able to find out at all. He's dead. He should be dead...

Taking a shaking breath, he decides to focus on the one thing here that doesn't prick at him, though he can't just let the rest of it go, either. Put some distance between himself and the memory of Song Lan and from now on, we won't need to meet again and collect himself.]

I...was your mother's shidi, if only in name. I did not know her. I cannot tell you anything about her.

( He pauses, brow furrowed. )

I know.

( He'd asked before, but: they were of an age. It made it impossible for Xiao Xingchen to tell him anything of his mother, he who had not been born before she was descended from the mountain. )

There's only one living person who can, and he has no kind word to say.

[Xingchen is still trying to get his thoughts together, but that last statement bothers him. It's true he knows nothing about Cangse Sanren except that she married a servant, gave birth to Wei Wuxian, and then died an early death, but compared to her predecessor or her own son, Xingchen hadn't heard of her doing anything reprehensible. Why would anyone speak ill of someone like her?

Except, of course, people are complicated. Maybe she did have a darker side or made decisions that never reached his own ears. All the same, despite what Wei Wuxian may have become, Xignchen can't deny him the wish to know about his own mother.

He finally turns around, abandoning the plants for now, and faces where he thinks Wei Wuxian is while wiping the dirt from his hands.]

I'm sorry. I wish I could offer you even an insignificant anecdote.

( With Xiao Xingchen facing him, he would gesture, even when he knows he can't see; but he's busy with hands full of potatoes, and this is a subject he can't even say much about. Long, long years ago, his hopes on hearing stories of his parents wore thinner than his clothes eventually did in Yiling.

So he laughs, light and low. )

Ah, no, don't worry, don't worry. While Old Master Lan might not want to say a kind word about my mother, he's why I know neither one of us could stand his beard. Anyway, were you hungry? I'd better get these washed and roasted before someone accuses me of only remembering to cook when I have an interest in what's being made.

( This is absolutely correct, but also, his favourites are spices, and there's little of that around here right now. )

[There is...some context there that Xingchen simply doesn't have, or some joke he can't quite understand. He's not even entirely sure who Old Master Lan is, though if his memory serves him right, he thinks he has an idea. Either way, it's not important. If Wei Wuxian isn't relying on him to bridge some gap between the generations - though it seems he's not relying on anyone to do so at this point - then Xingchen can let it go. But he's still a little shaken up from just a few moments earlier, though it's tempting to let the food serve as a distraction.]

I am, but...a moment still? I'm confused about something and don't want to spoil a meal because of it.

[Multiple somethings, but those are semantics.]

You sound so sure when you say we've met before, but that can't be. I left the mountain after...

[There really isn't a polite way to talk about someone's death to their face, is there? But Wei Wuxian has already alluded to it in previous conversation, so that makes this...easier?]

After your presumed death.

[He takes a breath. This is the harder point to speak of.]

I also don't know how you found out about...Song-daozhang. And if you somehow know, then who's to say that you're the only one? But I...it isn't something I necessarily wish to be common knowledge. I hope you understand.

( This pulls him up short, the confusion on his face leaking into his voice. )

I... because we helped Song-daozhang recover, after. I don't have reason to talk about him in general, but between him and living through A-Qing's memories—

( But he cuts himself off, shaking his head and clutching his potatoes like pearls. )

Shishu, you what? That doesn't make sense. I met you before the war, not long after leaving Gusu Lan. ( Another tick of a discrepancy he doesn't know is one. ) You'd been tracking down Xue Yang? Both you and Song-daozhong.

( Keeping to that address, following his martial uncle's lead. )

Qinghe Nie too custody after you captured him. Does none of that sound familiar? I wasn't—nothing happened for at least two years after.

audio | un: yiling patriarch

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when u suddenly learn: u don't share a timeline

all around me are familiar faces

worn out places, worn out faces

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