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Chapter Text

Jiang Yanli cannot remember a time in which she was not angry.

In one of her earliest memories, perhaps her earliest, Yu Ziyuan looms over her in all her violet glory, surrounded by attendants and doctors.

She’s small enough that her head doesn’t come above her mother’s sword, which hangs from her waist. That’s why she can never recall her mother’s face in that memory, no matter how hard she tries. She simply never saw it.

Memory is a funny thing, especially when you’re young. Jiang Yanli doesn’t remember what time of day it was, or what color robes she wore. She cannot remember whether her father was there. What she remembers is this: 

The floorboards run perpendicular to the white boots of an attendant. Jiang Yanli follows the line with her eyes, then up, up, up, to the face of the young attendant standing there. He was probably young, in retrospect. To Jiang Yanli then, he was just another adult. 

Why is she looking at his boots? Jiang Yanli doesn’t remember. She probably spaced out again, something she had a habit of doing as a child. Airhead, her mother used to say, on her fonder days. Ditzy, she said, on her boring days. And on her bad days–

“Useless,” Yu Ziyuan snarls. “Not a scrap of talent, barely able to form a golden core, boring, ordinary–what a waste of an eldest child!”

Jiang Yanli remembers these words like background noise, the way a beach remembers the sound of crashing waves. The way they wash over her is so familiar she can’t remember if they break to fit her or if she’s been molded to fit them. Her focus is not on them, her focus is on the attendant standing next to the doctor. She remembers the words only because she’s heard them so often she knows to expect them. 

For once, her mother isn’t even upset that Jiang Yanli isn’t paying attention. She’s barely saying these words to someone at all. Yu Ziyuan cares not who hears her. 

“Yunmeng Jiang needs an heir,” Yu Ziyuan declares. “This will not do.”

It’s a long, long time before Jiang Yanli realizes that part of her mother’s theatrics was just to take the blame off herself, because it’s people’s natural reaction to blame the mother for any shortcoming in the child, and Yu Ziyuan’s pride will not tolerate this. She’s living in a marriage where her husband, one of the leaders of the five great sects, does not love her. It is her duty to provide a child with high enough cultivation to be Jiang Fengmian’s heir. She cannot afford to fail.

But at the time, Jiang Yanli is not old enough to know better, or to understand what she means. 

She doesn’t remember leaving the room, whether Yu Ziyuan ordered everyone to leave or chased everyone out. She doesn’t remember where she went after that, who she talked to, or going to sleep that night, or getting up in the morning and looking her parents in the eyes. 

What she remembers is watching the attendant file out after the doctor and the other servants, and the way he glanced back, briefly, and caught her eyes. What she remembers is the pitying look he gave her, and the inexplicable flush of shame that followed. Because Jiang Yanli was young enough to not understand what she’d done wrong, but old enough to feel the shame.

She’s pushed the shame down so deep she barely feels it, buried and suffocated in her core. But it burns in her every day she wakes up and watches the disciples practice, and beneath it, deeper still, runs a white-hot vein of anger. 

The day Jiang Yanli is no longer allowed to be a child is the day that Jiang Fengmian adopts Wei Ying. It’s on that day that she realizes she knows something that she can’t explain to Jiang Cheng, something he’ll have to realize and learn on his own. 

It’s a few weeks after she turns ten the night that she goes out looking for Wei Ying. Her little brother is his mother’s son, he thinks that a problem will go away if he shouts at it enough. He’s only eight. He can’t be expected to know better. Yu Ziyuan has been shouting all day. She’s been shouting at Jiang Fengmian that this is a disgrace that she cannot be expected to deal with, shouting at Jiang Cheng that Wei Ying is here to take his place, his rightful place as heir. 

Jiang Yanli learned long ago that shouting will not make her problems go away. It won’t make her more talented, only more noticed. And she knows what neither of her brothers will ever notice, nor her mother, wrapped up in her insecurities and neglect as she is. Jiang Fengmian didn’t adopt Wei Ying out of a sense of duty to his old friends, as he says, or out of love for Cangse Sanren as some people whisper, and as Yu Ziyuan accuses. He didn’t just rescue Wei Ying from the streets and take him in as a disciple, he adopted Wei Ying, made him a ward of the Jiang clan. 

Every sect needs an heir and a spare, and the Jiangs only have an heir. Yu Ziyuan will not be having a third child with Jiang Fengmian, though of course Jiang Yanli doesn’t realize why, specifically, at the time. They need a spare, and little Wei Ying already has a golden core. Jiang Yanli will never be the heir or the spare. Every time she watches her parents mount more and more impossible standards onto Jiang Cheng, she watches knowing that it’s because of her. Because she was never good enough to even merit their consideration. Wei Ying has talent, and Jiang Yanli has nothing. 

Yu Ziyuan harrasses Jiang Fengmian late into the night for something she’ll never get, Jiang Cheng shouts a childlike retort about dogs and sulks in his room, and Jiang Yanli comes out to mend the ties her father’s broken with his typical careless attitude. She comes with a smile and the gentle care that neither of these boys will ever see her parents; the sort of care she longed for when she was a child, and not ten years old, with two little brothers to raise. 

Yu Ziyuan rages, Jiang Cheng shouts, and Jiang Yanli, oh Jiang Yanli is her mother’s daughter. Jiang Yanli is the angriest of all.

Jiang Yanli is still ten years old the day she sees the ribbon dancer. She’s out in the busy Lotus Pier marketplace, perusing the many shops, when she sees her. Her parents leave her alone for most of the day, and her brothers are practicing their cultivation, which means she’s got nothing to do. 

It’s become a habit at this point for her to find something new to learn every time she feels stifled or bored, or just a little too useless. She might not be a talented cultivator, but she’s still the eldest child of a sect leader. If she just wanders around Lotus Hall long enough, she’ll find a master practicing their craft, and then she’ll sit and watch them. If they eventually ask her why she’s there, then she feels no shame in asking for them to teach her.

She’s a prodigy in many things. Her calligraphy is untouchable, her painting immaculate, and she’s quickly becoming a master with her xiqin. But none of that matters, when her cultivation is so low. On her other trips to town she’s found people willing to teach her porcelain-making and accounting, and from Lotus Pier proper she’s learning how to make silk. 

So this is not the first time she’s stopped and stared at a master at work, but something about this is different. Something about the ribbon dancer calls to her. Something about the quick step of her feet, the graceful arc of her arms, the mercurial fluttering of the ribbon; it draws Jiang Yanli until she can’t look away. It’s the graceful push and pull of the Jiangs, the quickly flowing rivers, but the ribbon flows up and out like a blooming lotus flower. It’s grace and elegance, and Jiang Yanli sees power in it, strength in the refined control, the precise movements, and she wants it.

It’s the way she knows that this woman has no golden core, no talent for cultivation, and still steps up on this stage and dances like a Jiang. The way Jiang Yanli thinks, despite her parents’ words to the contrary, I could do that to.

The woman dresses in deep blue and rich green, and her silk ribbon is pure white. There’s a small crowd gathered to watch her, so Jiang Yanli isn’t alone as she stops in the middle of her shopping to stare at her. The men and women behind her give her a little room. They recognize her purple robes, and they know her; the young lady of Lotus Pier. Jiang Yanli has never felt unsafe in Lotus Pier. It is her home, and these are her people, even if she’s never belonged.

When the dance is over, the dancer paid, and the crowd dispersed, only Jiang Yanli remains. The dancer is still on the wooden stage, counting her earnings. Jiang Yanli is almost short enough that the dancer doesn’t notice her when she approaches, and she has to stand on her tiptoes to catch her attention. 

“Hello, young lady,” the dancer says. “Did you like the performance?” 

“Can you teach me?” Jiang Yanli asks.

The dancer looks at her. “What do you want to know?”

Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying never ask her what she’s done all day, or how she’s been. So she never tells them that she practices ribbon dancing for hours everyday. She doesn’t tell them what new crafts she saw in the market today, or what masters she convinced to give her lessons. She doesn’t tell that she’s been learning from the bladesmiths who forge the cultivation swords for Yunmeng Jiang disciples. 

Jiang Yanli is the one who taught Wei Ying to read and write. She gives Wei Ying painting lessons when he asks, and patiently helps both of them through their musical lessons, but neither of them ask if she knows anything else that she could teach them. Why would they? But she knows they know her. And she knows they care about her. 

“You’re always angry,” Jiang Cheng says. “Well, not at us.”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying agrees. “Whenever Madame Yu or Uncle Jiang are in the room you’re always angry. Your face does the thing.”

“A-Ying,” Jiang Yanli scolds. “Don’t say such things.”

“But it’s true!” Jiang Cheng pipes up.

Jiang Yanli presses one sleeve over her mouth, ostensibly to mime a gasp, but really to hide a smile. “I am not,” she protests, half-heartedly. “What would I be mad at Mother and Father about?”

The way they both look at her and stay silent suggests not that they can’t come up with anything, but that there’s too much to choose from, none of which they dare say out loud. 

“If jiejie says no then we should drop it,” Jiang Cheng says loyally, when the silence has dragged on too long.

Wei Ying gives him a dirty look but smiles for Jiang Yanli. She knows it’s her nervous habit when trying to keep the peace, so it’s natural that Wei Ying picked it up too, but sometimes she’s angry at herself for teaching him that he can hurt all he wants and not tell anyone, so long as he hides it behind a smile.

Well, all of the time she’s angry about it, but the anger is a dull simmer, ever-waiting to boil, so she ignores it. 

“Fine,” Wei Ying says grudgingly. “Only because jie–shije wants us too.”

Jiang Yanli smiles and moves onto a different conversation, but she’s angry. That her mother would forbid Wei Ying from calling her sister, and Jiang Cheng his brother, when he has all the responsibilities of a son of Jiang Fengmian, and arguably more. That her father cares so little whether Wei Ying feels like a part of his family, so long as he feels beholden to that family, that he doesn’t push the issue. 

Jiang Yanli smiles and insists that it’s not true, but it is. She stays quiet, she stays nice. She plays the dutiful daughter, and everyday, she picks up her ribbon and practices, or goes to the town and trains. She practices her calligraphy or her painting or her poetry or her xiqin, and no one sees it. She doesn’t ask for anything, and she tells herself that the day she does, the day she speaks up, they’ll listen to her. The day she speaks up and says stop. The day she says I have a problem, there’s something, I am something, they will listen.

Jiang Yanli smiles, and she’s angry.

The end of Jiang Yanli’s white ribbon brushes against her robes, and she stops, frustrated. The ribbon isn’t supposed to touch her at all. At least, if she’s doing it correctly, which she’s clearly not. Jiang Yanli gets into the starting position and begins again, dancing across the wooden floor. 

Liu Ahui kneels at one end of the pavilion, hands folded neatly in her lap, watching Jiang Yanli. They use one of the many pavilions of Lotus Pier whenever she teaches Jiang Yanli ribbon dancing. It’s a suitably secluded spot halfway in between town and Lotus Hall. No one has ever come by here in all the years that they’ve used it.  

Jiang Yanli whirls across the pavilion, but even as she starts she can tell that she’s moving too fast. Her arm movements are rushed instead of graceful and elegant, and her wrist begins to ache with the constant flexing required to keep the ribbon fluttering. Sometimes she feels like she’s wielding a softer version of her mother’s weapon. The ribbon arcs around her just like Zidian does around Yu Ziyuan, but Jiang Yanli’s is made of soft blue silk. Still, she moves into one of the circular patterns. Foot to the right, and twist, keep the ribbon level, foot to the right, and twist. She spins again and again, until she spins out of control and stumbles to the right, her ribbon falling from its spiral. 

“Stop,” Liu Ahui says when Jiang Yanli moves to start again. “You’re too aggressive today. You’re upset. What’s wrong?”

Jiang Yanli sets her ribbon down on the ground and then settles into a seated position as well, panting slightly. “An arranged marriage,” she admits. 

Liu Ahui knows she’s a young lady of the famed Jiangs, that much is clear from her robes and from her deportment, and the size of her money pouch. But she’s never asked for Jiang Yanli’s name, and for that she’s grateful. There’s something so freeing about the way Liu Ahui treats her, and something so freeing about ribbon dancing, so far away from all the troubles and the stigmas and the expectations that govern the rest of her life. 

“I see,” Liu Ahui says, pensive. “Is this arranged marriage…important?”

“Yes,” Jiang Yanli says, somewhat apologetically, like it’s her fault. It’s the one thing she can do to get her mother’s approval. Though it’s a little sad, at times, how obvious it is that Madame Jin likes her more than her own mother does. “Very.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to cry, just thinking about the events of Jin Zixuan’s visit today. Jiang Yanli didn’t cry in front of her family, because she can’t, and she doesn’t want to cry in front of Liu Ahui either. 

Jin Zixuan gets away with snubbing her because he knows, even at their young age, that her parents will not speak up for her, or defend her. Her brothers understand that too, and so they fight twice as hard to defend her. She loves them so much. They are proof that kind words and a gentle touch mean more than her mother’s harsh words and brutal touch. 

“Well then,” Liu Ahui says. “Let me teach you a different dance, one more suited to today. And, I think, more suited to you.”

Jiang Yanli picks up the stick and flicks the ribbon out, sending it behind her in one smooth motion. She tries again, and she makes the dance hers.

Yu Ziyuan is not strong. 

Jiang Yanli takes a long time to realize this, because of how Yu Ziyuan presents herself. It’s difficult to see past it, especially when Jiang Yanli’s lived under it all her life. It’s difficult because in this world, strength is seen as physical power, and Yu Ziyuan has never lacked for physical power. Her cultivation level rivals that of the great sect leaders. That’s why it’s hard to see that Yu Ziyuan is at her core insecure and powerless. That’s why it still comes as a shock to Jiang Yanli how easily her mother is swayed by Wang Lingjiao.

Jiang Yanli was supposed to go the Meishan and visit her mother’s relatives. She shouldn’t even be seeing this, but there was an outbreak of a rare illness in Meishan, so here she is, in the audience hall of Lotus Pier, watching her mother raise Zidian over Wei Ying’s obedient figure. Watching Wang Lingjiao smirk and look so at home in Lotus Pier, like it’s already her home, just because she’s Wen Chao’s concubine, and the Wens are so clearly angling for war. 

The Wens clearly do not believe that they’re saying. No one believes that a boy shooting kites caused the Wens any real offense. Not a single person in the room believes that the Wens will cease their aggression, or even satiate it. Yu Ziyuan certainly doesn’t. She’s not stupid. She just wants to whip Wei Ying. 

Jiang Yanli’s already angry. The Wens are here, in her home, so soon after they ordered both of her brothers to an indoctrination camp for a petty show of power. So soon after they nearly got every single young master killed. So soon after her brothers returned home from killing the legendary Xuanwu of Slaughter. She’s so proud of them her heart could burst, but of course there are her parents, arguing and shoving the brothers between them, barely able to focus on their victory for more than a second before involving Cangse Sanren somehow, like she hasn’t been dead for over a decade.

Jiang Yanli is already angry, and then her mother does this?

“Mother!” Jiang Cheng yells. “Please stop, you can’t!”

He’s being held back by their mother’s servants, because this isn’t the first time he’s tried to physically intervene. They can always rely on Jiang Cheng to take his mother’s preferred solution. His hands are curled into fists, and he shoves his shoulders against the women, trying to force them away, but he’d never actually harm them, which leaves him powerless as Yu Ziyuan stands over Wei Ying, and Wang Lingjiao promises revenge for all the ways Jiang Fengmian has wronged her.

Because Yu Ziyuan is not strong. She’d never get her revenge directly on Jiang Fengmian. Only those below her, those powerless against her. 

“Mother,” Jiang Yanli begs. “Please listen to me.” Then louder; “Mother.”

Yu Ziyuan ignores her. The servants ignore her. No one looks at her, because she’s unnoticeable, because begging and pleading and reasoning never works, because she’s the forgotten daughter of Lotus Pier, the overlooked heir, the weak, frail young lady of Yunmeng Jiang, the useless child of Jiang Fengmian, so useless she can’t protect her little brother from her mother, so useless all the Wens are going to witness the Head Disciple of Lotus Pier be whipped by its mistress for a family spat, so useless all she can do as watch as Zidian trails against the floorboards, then flies up, up, up–then flashes–then arcs down–

Crack.

Jiang Yanli snaps. 

Everything happens at lightning-speed, after that. Zidian flashes again, violet and furious, above their heads. Wei Ying flinches on the ground but doesn’t make a sound. Wang Lingjiao presses a fist to her mouth and begins to giggle behind it. Yu Ziyuan’s face twists in shock, but she doesn’t react soon enough to stop Zidian from coming down. And Jiang Yanli moves faster than she thought she could, feet dancing over the wooden floorboards, left arm coming up in one graceful, elegant arc.

Crack.

Zidian strikes again, but this time it wraps around Jiang Yanli’s raised arm.

“A-Li,” Yu Ziyuan says, her voice snapping harder than her whip, “what do you think you are doing?”

All the energy in Zidian releases, and it falls away from her arm. She still flinches at the movement, white-hot pain bursting across her forearm. But the adrenaline running through her veins is hotter still, fueled by the simmering anger that’s finally come to a boil.

“Mother,” Jiang Yanli says softly.  

“Move away,” Yu Ziyuan snaps. “I’m about to whip your father’s charity case.”

“He’s my brother,” Jiang Yanli says. She hears Wei Ying standing up behind her. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Yu Ziyuan sneers. “How many times must I tell you this? He’s not your brother." 

“Mother,” Jiang Yanli says again.

“Are you truly too dull to get it?” Yu Ziyuan continues, ignoring her. She draws Zidian behind her and steps forward, aggressively. 

Jiang Yanli takes a step forward too, angling her body to cover Wei Ying’s. “Mother,” she says, one last time. “I said LISTEN TO ME!”

The shout rings across the room for two beautiful moments, and Jiang Yanli looms large, taking vindictive pleasure in the shocked look on her mother’s face. Then time speeds up, and everyone is moving. The servants stop what they’re doing in shock, and Jiang Cheng, already straining to break free, easily pushes the two servants beside him aside and breaks into a dead sprint, his young face colored purple with rage. Zidian pools around her mother’s feet, and Jiang Yanli cradles her left wrist, wincing at the raw flesh that stings at every point of contact. 

Wang Lingjiao stands up, palms slammed down on the table. “Do the mothers–” Wang Lingjiao begins.

Then Jiang Cheng, still sprinting across the hall, fastens his hand around Sandu (so quick to draw, her brother) and plunges it straight into Wang Lingjiao’s throat. There’s an audible gasp of shock that rings across the room, from Wen cultivators and Jiang servants alike, because no one thought Jiang Cheng would dare. Jiang Yanli doesn’t think that Jiang Cheng thought he would dare.

A horrible gurgling sound emerges from Wang Lingjiao’s throat. Blood trickles down the sword wound, and down her beautiful robes.

“Go on,” Jiang Cheng snarls, in her face. “Finish that sentence.”

Wang Lingjiao never does.

“A-Cheng!” Yu Ziyuan shouts, and then Zidian whips around to stop Wen Zhuliu, whose core-melting hand is sparking red as he lunges for Yu Ziyuan. 

The Wens peel themselves off the wall, shocked out of their stupor by the sight of Yu Ziyuan and Wen Zhuliu clashing, only to be immediately stopped by the Jiang servants. 

“The Wens are attacking!” Someone shouts, and soon everyone is shouting. 

Almost instantly, both brothers are at Jiang Yanli’s side. 

“We have to get you out of here,” Wei Ying says. There’s no time to talk about what she’s just done.

Jiang Yanli agrees. She’s not trained to fight a bunch of Wen cultivators. The three siblings run out of Lotus Hall, leaving Yu Ziyuan and her servants behind to fight Wen Zhuliu and his men.

The fight spills out quickly, and within moments everyone in the main complex is running around screaming the Wens are attacking! without knowing what’s going on. The siblings run from hallway to hallway, unsure of where is safe when they don’t know where the danger is coming. But both of her brothers have gone into a killing mode; they see a flash of white and red robes emerging from the hall they left and Wei Ying kills them without even hesitating. Jiang Yanli is worried for them, but at the same time, her blood sings for revenge.

They leave the compound, and flaming arrows rain down from above. Jiang Yanli screams, and it goes unheard in the chaos outside. Jiang disciples are running and falling, desperately trying to defend against an invisible enemy that wasn’t there a minute ago. Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng look torn, unable to run and help without leaving her alone.

Lotus Pier burns.

Jiang Yanli doesn’t think she’s ever seen a night so bright before. The clouds are on fire tonight, and the air burns with screams. There’s no moon or stars tonight, only heavy gray clouds, painted midnight black by the sky. It smells of ash and spices, and there’s a bitter taste in Jiang Yanli’s mouth. She tastes salt and iron, and something old and deeply bitter. 

In the waters of Lotus Pier, three or more Wen ships, loaded with disciples and ready to kill, pull into the harbors and docks. 

“So the Wens were already planning to attack,” Jiang Yanli says bitterly. She can’t recognize her own voice. “And your display did nothing but tell the Wens that we are divided.”

“Do not disrespect me,” Yu Ziyuan snaps. She’s tired from fighting and still standing tall and proud. “Get in.”

“You disrespected Lotus Pier,” Jiang Yanli snaps back. 

Yu Ziyuan glares at her. It’s a narrow-eyed stare that used to have her shaking. Jiang Yanli glares back. She’s not being fair, and for once she’s lost all energy to care. For once she wants to be childish. 

“Mother,” Jiang Cheng cries behind her. 

Yu Ziyuan looks, and her face softens. “Shush, A-Cheng,” she says. “A-Li, get in the boat.”

When Jiang Yanli still doesn’t, Yu Ziyuan puts her in the boat herself, then shoves the boat off. Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng nearly topple over, immobilized by Zidian as they are. Jiang Yanli catches them by the shoulders before they can, and looks back at her mother.

“Wei Wuxian,” Yu Ziyuan says, face no longer soft, “protect A-Li and A-Cheng. With your life. Swear it.”

“I will,” Wei Ying promises, eyes bright.

“No,” Jiang Yanli says, but no one listens to her.

She wants to tell Wei Ying that she will protect him in turn, but Jiang Cheng speaks first.

“Mother!” Jiang Cheng cries again, but this time with a sense of urgency. “Behind you!”

Wen Zhuliu flies down the dock, but Yu Ziyuan turns fast enough to parry him. Almost instantly she’s on the offensive. She can’t allow Wen Zhuliu to reach the children, not when they’re unable to defend themselves. The two cultivators disappear into a blur of violet and white, swords clashing again and again. They whirl around each other like dancers in a duet, and Jiang Yanli has never been more afraid.

“Mother!” Jiang Cheng screams, but he can’t move.

It’s obvious to all three of them that Yu Ziyuan is only buying them time. She doesn’t believe they’ll win this battle. If she did, she wouldn’t be sending them away. But Yu Ziyuan does not attempt the impossible. She is not a Jiang.

Jiang Yanli can’t explain why she dives out of the boat, but she thinks that might be a little bit why. The water is warmer than it should be, but Jiang Yanli won’t remember that by the time the night is over. She’s a Yunmeng native, so swimming is second-nature to her, but she’s still out of breath when she surfaces near the dock. 

Her head breaks the water’s surface, and the water clears from her vision in time to see Yu Ziyuan and Wen Zhuliu clash one last time. Wen Zhuliu’s core-melting hand is outstretched, his sword abandoned, but there’s a grim smile on Yu Ziyuan’s face as she pulls back far enough to straighten her sword, but not far enough to avoid his hand. And then they collide like two stars, the soft, sleek sound of Yu Ziyuan’s sword puncturing Wen Zhuliu from rib to shoulder balancing the red light that spills from Wen Zhuliu’s hand and into Yu Ziyuan’s chest. 

Jiang Yanli pulls herself onto the dock and stands up, and both of them fall down. Yu Ziyuan sinks to her knees, gasping softly, clutching her chest while her sword falls out of her grip. Wen Zhuliu lurches to the side and then collapses, blood pouring from the large, deep gash she’s torn in his torso. Jiang Yanli runs over, and before she knows what she’s doing, she picks her mother’s sword off the ground and walks over to Wen Zhuliu, and plunges it into his exposed throat. 

She looks back at her mother, and Yu Ziyuan is staring at her with the oddest expression on her face. It’s a blank stare that lacks recognition. It’s the stare you give to someone you don’t know. 

Jiang Yanli drops the sword. It’s barely light enough for her to carry. 

“Good girl,” Yu Ziyuan gasps out. “Give…Zidian…to A-Cheng. He deserves it.” 

Then she collapses onto the wooden planks, and Jiang Yanli doesn’t think she’ll wake up for a while. 

“Jiejie!” Jiang Cheng screams. “Behind you!”

Jiang Yanli turns, heart in her throat, and sees a trio of Wens coming up the docks. One of them peels off and turns back the way they came, but the other two are heading directly for her, and that’s two Wens that Jiang Yanli is not prepared to face. She may have just killed Wen Zhuliu, but on a technicality, and she doesn’t want to think about it right now, the memory of a man dying under her.

“Run!” Wei Ying shouts. “Swim! We’re coming!”

Zidian’s hold failed the moment Yu Ziyuan lost her core, and the two boys are desperately paddling the boat back to shore now. Still, Jiang Yanli looks at the distance between them and the distance between her and the Wens, and she knows the Wens will get to her faster.  

Here’s the thing: Jiang Yanli is not strong. She never had to be, so she never was. But strong isn’t what the Wen cultivators think it is. It’s not what Yu Ziyuan thinks it is. It’s not even what Jiang Yanli thinks it is. Because strength is not defined by what physical power you have. You can be the strongest cultivator in the world and still be weak, still be a coward if you only fight battles you know you’ll win. True bravery is to face what you fear the most. True strength is the decision that Jiang Yanli makes the night the sky burns. 

Here’s the thing: Jiang Yanli is angry. She looks at the Wens and her blood burns with rage. She burns with the desire to teach them a lesson about what happens to people who invade Lotus Pier, the desire to be strong enough to teach it herself. Yu Ziyuan lies on the ground behind her, and to the very end, her last sentence while conscious denied Jiang Yanli of her birthright. She burns with the desire to prove her mother wrong, and everyone else too, even her beloved brothers. She burns with the desire to earn Zidian, and make it hers. 

But the other part of Jiang Yanli’s birthright is one she’s never had to claim. Jiang Yanli is her father’s daughter. She is a Jiang. And she looks at the two Wen cultivators, Jiang blood on their white robes, her mother’s sword at her feet, and she doesn’t think of doing anything but staying and fighting. 

Here’s the thing about strength: sometimes, it is something a person can make for themselves. And Jiang Yanli is strong the moment she decides to fight despite being weak. She is strong the moment she fights because she is weak, not because of any sense of martyrdom, but because she’s so tired of always bowing her head. She’s so tired of not being heard, and if violence is the only universal language, then Jiang Yanli will speak it.

And then the Wens are upon her, and Jiang Yanli fights for her life. 

Jiang Yanli squats and fumbles around on the ground, keeping her gaze off of the blood and on the approaching Wens. The scent of blood assaults all of her senses anyway, and Jiang Yanli stops breathing briefly to repress the urge to throw up. The smell nauseates her, the thought that she did this makes her sick. Her hands skim over the hilt of her mother’s sword, but then brush against a dagger tucked away against Wen Zhuliu’s side. She doesn’t pause to think why he might have one, other than he seems like that sort of man, and yanks it out hastily.

Jiang Yanli rises to her feet jerkily, and brandishes her dagger. “Stay back,” she says, shakily. “I’m warning you.”

The Wens actually pause at that, but out of incredulity. “What should we do with her?” The one on the left asks.

“Maybe Wen Chao wants her,” the other says. “Keep her alive.”

Then they both lower their swords and advance up the dock, together. 

“Shije!” Wei Ying howls. “Run! Please run, shije please!”

She hears two identical splashes behind her and knows that both boys have given up paddling and are now swimming to the dock, but even still, she knows they won’t make it on time. Then the first Wen reaches for her, and she stops thinking.

Jiang Yanli flinches back through reflex more than anything else, and then she backs away, stepping over Yu Ziyuan’s unconscious body. The man chases her, stepping over Wen Zhuliu’s dead body, and they both corner her at the edge of the dock, hands spread to prevent her from making a run for it. Her heart beats so fast it could take flight. What is she doing? What was she thinking?

“Watch out, she sw–” one begins to warn the other, and Jiang Yanli strikes.

Her dagger is aimed wildly, without any true intention to strike true, but it achieves its intended purpose of making the man flinch to the left to avoid it, and she runs, narrowly sliding past him. 

“Get her!” The other Wen shouts.

Their footsteps pound after her, and she runs even faster. A hand grasps at her hair and she stumbles. She tries desperately to keep on running, and flails her dagger behind her without looking to keep the Wens away. But a hand twists around the hems of her wide sleeve and pulls, yanking her off-balance until she trips over her own feet and falls. Jiang Yanli’s right arm is still being pulled behind her, so she curls her left arm protectively over her middle and lands on her side. Her right sleeve slips out of the Wen’s grip on the way down, and she brings both elbows in front of her as she attempts to scramble to her feet. 

But a hand fastens around her ankle and pulls. Jiang Yanli shrieks and turns over, her back grating against the boards of the pier as the Wens yank her back to Wen Zhuliu’s body. 

“That bitch Spider died trying to kill Wen Zhuliu,” one snarls. “You’re next.”

Jiang Yanli blindly stabs up, and the Wen on the right catches her right hand by the wrist. She twists the dagger and the tip tears into the vital veins of his wrist before he lets go.

The Wen howls and staggers back, blood pouring from the gash down his hand in rivers. It’s a deadly wound. “Fuck,” he gasps, “fuck, I’m dead.”

The other Wen leans down and grabs Jiang Yanli’s right arm with both hands, and twists her arm until she screams and drops the dagger. Her left arm flies up at the same time, hand curled into fist. She punches him in the jaw with all the strength she has, all of her body put into it, her upper back lifting off the ground to throw the punch.

He doesn’t look very hurt, but he still looks shocked that she’s actually fighting him, and Jiang Yanli scrambles over Wen Zhuliu’s body while he’s stunned. Both men grab her ankles this time, and she thrusts her hands into the wide crack between boards and holds on with all her might. More footsteps come running up the dock behind them, and they slow when they near the fight.

“Help us,” says the Wen to the left of her. “Forget bringing her to Wen Chao, just kill her!”

They let go of her legs finally, and the hiss of swords being drawn grates loudly on her ears. Jiang Yanli screams mindlessly in terror and pulls herself further down the dock with her hands, trying in vain to get away. 

She reaches the end of the dock and her brothers pop to the surface, terror in their eyes because Jiang Yanli wouldn’t just run away. Jiang Cheng is the first to reach the dock and his hands land on the edge, and Jiang Yanli can’t look away, because there’s Zidian, sitting snugly on the base of his finger. 

There’s several Wens behind her about to kill her, and the scream of Lotus Pier citizens split the burning air, and all Jiang Yanli can think is: he’s not even fully-grown yet.

Jiang Yanli reaches for his hand to help pull him up, and her skin brushes against the smooth, cool metal of her mother’s lightning ring. It doesn’t respond to her. Because even unconscious, Yu Ziyuan is still trying to deny Jiang Yanli her birthright. But hasn’t she fought for this? Hasn’t she earned this? Didn’t she stay and fight against the odds? And Jiang Yanli is still so angry she could split the sky herself, set it alight with her own screams, set it ablaze and watch it burn, and oh, Jiang Yanli has always been her mother’s child just as much as Jiang Cheng is.

Zidian sparks to life, little white sparks dancing across the surface. A moment later the air is showering purple sparks, blinding everyone present, and Jiang Yanli is moving before she knows what’s happened, before she can even think. 

Foot to the right, and spin. The movement follows like it’s been waiting her whole life for her to do this. Her arm flies out in a graceful, elegant arc, and Zidian whirls around in a brilliant semi-circle, every inch of its arch sparking with violent violet light, and then it collides with the two Wens closest to her with all the force of the unstoppable tide, tearing into their sides. Their bodies are tossed like ragdolls off the dock, and Jiang Yanli doesn’t even wait for the splash before she moves again. 

Foot to the right, and spin. One motion into the next. She keeps Zidian steady, and it flies in a beautiful arc above her brother’s heads. The Wen cultivators duck, and Jiang Yanli pivots with her right foot and flicks her wrist. Zidian flows like the Yunmeng rivers and lashes into their sides, until the air splits from their screams and Jiang Yanli tosses them off the pier as well. 

Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng clamber to their feet behind her and stand by her side. 

“Jiejie,” Jiang Cheng breathes. “I didn’t know you could do this.”

“I didn’t know either,” Jiang Yanli admits. 

“That was amazing,” Wei Ying says.

And Jiang Yanli grins. “I know,” she replies. “Aren’t I?”

Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng both draw their swords, and then they look to her, because she’s been their role model all their life and they’ll follow her example even now. She flexes her wrist, and Zidian snaps out smoothly, its length unfurls across the dock. It feels natural in her hand, light and ready to fly at her command. And Jiang Yanli is ready to command. She’s ready to go toe-to-toe with the best of the Wen sect, ready to lead her brothers into battle, ready to wield Zidian, ready to fly in a rage, ready to explode, ready to fight. 

“There’s three ships,” Jiang Yanli says, calm despite her furious heart, “and three of us.”

There’s no stars in the sky the night that Lotus Pier doesn’t burn. There’s no moon either, just trails of fire against cloud cover, hazy clouds of ash, plumes of flames rising from buildings, and flashes of white and blue and red from cultivators all across Lotus Pier. Liu Ahui is somewhere in the city, as are the civilians that Jiang Yanli sees on her everyday route.  

“Sounds like a plan,” Wei Ying agrees, and he grins, teeth starkly white in the night. 

Jiang Cheng nods on her other side, mouth curled into a vicious smile. He shifts his grip on Sandu. Above them, the cloud cover finally breaks. The heavens splinter, and rain pours out. Wind howls, whipping fires into the sky, and the torrents pour gallons and gallons of rainwater onto the burning buildings, the tiny lines of fire trailing across the sky, and the Jiang siblings standing on the edge of the dock. Beneath the roar of human voices and the screams of humans dying, thunder rumbles across Lotus Pier; a first warning. Then the piercing cries of humans are completely drowned out when the sky splits in two and a fracturing bolt of lightning races down from the heavens; a second warning. 

  Jiang Yanli, Jiang Cheng, and Wei Ying start to run back home. Lotus Pier is swarming with Wens. It’s time someone kicked them out. 

Thunder rumbles, and there goes Jiang Cheng, brutal and vicious as a viper. Thunder growls, her brilliant, violet-born boy. Lightning flashes, and there goes Wei Wuxian, Suibian shining silver and flying faster than wind. Lightning strikes, her sun-bright boy. Thunder growls, lightning strikes, and there’s Jiang Yanli, a whirlwind, Zidian spinning in a small cyclone. The thunderstorm of Lotus Pier. 

When Jiang Fengmian arrives hours later with a group of their senior disciples, Lotus Pier is barely burning. The storm has calmed, and it only rains lightly on those still standing. Plumes of ash and smoke have replaced the heavy rain clouds, and the underlying scent of dew mixes with the stench of blood and burning flesh. 

Jiang Fengmian arrives to find his wife coreless, and his three children leading the rallied disciples of Yunmeng Jiang in a final effort to sweep out the remaining Wens. The Wens far outnumbered the Jiangs, but they lacked leadership after Wen Zhuliu died so quickly into the battle and Wen Chao refused to set foot in Lotus Pier until it was safe for him to do so. 

Jiang Fengmian arrives, and he leads the senior disciples in an assault against Wen Chao’s ship, devoid of cultivators except for Wen Chao himself and a couple of servants, none of whom manage to save Wen Chao from the Jiangs’ wrath. Then he returns to the path of devastation his children have wreaked across Lotus Pier, down the boardwalks and courtyards until he finds them. Wei Ying, flying up and down the rooftops quicker than the eye can see. Jiang Cheng, battering through the Wens at his sister’s side, violet robes drenched in red and still so furious. And Jiang Yanli at the center of the storm, Zidian whirling around her and feet dancing lightly across the ground of Lotus Pier, aglow with violet lightning like she was meant to do this. Like she was born for this.

The storm ends, and the three siblings gather in the courtyard, drenched in rainwater and blood and sweat, exhausted and so very alive. Jiang Yanli bears only one scar from the battle, and it’s the star-burst line wrapping around her wrist and part of her forearm. 

“A-Li,” Jiang Fengmian says. “A-Cheng. You should’ve left.”

“We didn’t,” Jiang Cheng says, bluntly.

“We won,” Wei Ying adds. “Shije won. Did you see her, Uncle Jiang?”

Jiang Yanli lowers Zidian but holds her father’s gaze. She won’t bow her head this time. She won’t give up Zidian. She’s finally old enough to understand what she’s done, and old enough to not care. Jiang Yanli smiles, and she’s no longer angry.

Jiang Fengmian looks at his eldest child, and beneath the quiet look of wonder there’s a vacancy to his eyes. It’s a blank stare that lacks recognition. It’s the stare you give to someone you’ve never seen before. 

“Yes,” he says. “I did.”

Ah, Jiang Yanli:

mother of radiance, mother of gentle rains, mentor of thunder and lightning and all things small. how bright you shine. how fearless, how kind. what strength ran down your spine like lightning that moonless night, O lady of lotus pier. these mortal men of bone and blood teeth could never hope to rival. thunder rumbles, her violet-born boy; the first warning. lightning strikes, her sun-bright boy; the second warning. then cometh the storm: jiang yanli, the thunderstorm of lotus pier, she who arrives at night, she who weathered the storm and made it her own, she who held back the tides and made the clouds weep for her. ah, what beautiful anger split the night that the piers didn’t burn. what terrible grace you wield. what a story you are, dear soul, dear lovely lady of lotus pier. 

you were not born to be forgotten.

Chapter Text

Yu Ziyuan opens her eyes to a living nightmare. She wakes on familiar blue blankets, her head propped up carefully on soft pillows. A headache throbs faintly in her temples. It swells when she sits up to observe her bedroom, whiting out her vision. When the throbbing fades, she finds her room unchanged from the events of yesterday. Outside, the storm, screams and raging fires have stopped. It is the start of a new day, the sun is shining scarlet and gold, and it is clear that the Jiangs have won.

Yet Yu Ziyuan presses one hand in between her ribs, right below her heart, where her golden core should be, and she’s living a nightmare. 

She dresses, because the simple action soothes her, and makes her way to her private dining area. This, too, is untouched by yesterday’s battle; yet more evidence that they have won. Perhaps her husband returned sooner than expected, or perhaps he and the senior disciples were less useless than she had anticipated. Whichever way the battle was won, its outcome implies her decision yesterday to force the children away might have been wrong. Even the thought sparks rage. She is hardly ever wrong. Never about something this serious. But if her husband came back to a war and reclaimed their city, only to find the children missing, he will be furious. If–once–he finds out the disciplinary decision she made yesterday, he’ll be even angrier. Yu Ziyuan weighs her possible responses. It is true that her decisions yesterday amounted to little use, but they were the best decisions she could have made, given the information she had, the powerful enemies she faced, and the lack of support she had. Fury, then; fury always. How dare he judge her for trying to protect their children. How dare he find more anger within himself for her actions towards the servant who is not even his child. Already, anger from this imagined argument comes coursing through her veins, veins that run dry and dead for the first time since her long-forgotten childhood. The subtle, invasive reminder of what she has lost in defense of Lotus Pier only sparks more fury. 

A breeze blows the lotus banners hanging from the wooden columns. Sweet incense, spice, and burning, rotten flesh swirl through the open air. Yu Ziyuan stops pacing the dining area and stalks to the low table in the center of the room. There she sits, closes her eyes, and quietly compresses her fury into diamond dust. 

Quiet footsteps drag her attention away from the deep breaths distilling her fury into nothing. When she opens her eyes, fury surges within her once more. It is Yanli, dressed in her loveliest lavender and periwinkle silks, carrying a tray with a single large bowl on it. No doubt it is that damned lotus and pork rib soup. Yu Ziyuan doubts she could eat it. She is sick with anger. The morning after a battle for their home and their own lives, and all her daughter can think to do is play dress up and deplete the kitchens’ resources to make soup any servant could make better. Is she truly so lacking in intelligence? (Has Yu Ziyuan truly failed, as her mother?)

“How are you, Mother?” Yanli sets the tray down on the table and kneels on the other side. That soft smile of hers is infuriating. What does she have to smile about? Her people, dead and injured; their homes, burned; her mother, rendered powerless forever to protect her and her brother. Yet Yanli smiles thoughtlessly all the same. She’s no doubt come to apologize and make amends for her behavior yesterday. As if Yu Ziyuan could ever forgive being disrespected so publicly. Knowing her, she’s also come to whine about Yu Ziyuan’s treatment of the servant. Yanli wouldn’t understand acting for the greater good if her life depended on it, and just yesterday, it had. Yet still, she’ll complain on behalf of that entitled, disrespectful brat of a servant. Again and again, Yu Ziyuan has faced this humiliating truth: there is no teaching Jiang Yanli. The girl is simply too stupid to learn. 

The memory has Yu Ziyuan’s left hand reaching unconsciously for Zidian, to twist it around and around while she contemplates her next move. It’s a nervous habit she picked up when she first moved to Lotus Pier. But her fingers freeze once they touch her right hand. The ring isn’t there. Yu Ziyuan’s gaze zeroes in on the flash of purple peeking out from Yanli’s long sleeves. There’s Zidian, Yu Ziyuan’s most prized possession. On the hand of the wrong child.

“Why are you wearing Zidian?”

Yanli’s left hand goes to twist the ring around her finger. The thought that they share the same nervous habit sends Yu Ziyuan into a silent rage. She wears Zidian as a constant reminder of the power she wields. She will not share this with Yanli, who never thinks, never speaks up, and never managed to measure up even a little to the legacies of her parents. (Yet, a cruel voice reminds her, she currently has more power than Yu Ziyuan, who as of yesterday has nothing–)

Yu Ziyuan forces the flush of fury down her throat and attends to the smile that dropped off her daughter’s face like it was never there. “Did something happen to your brother?”

Yanli smiles again, bashfully. It’s unbecoming of her status. “No, he was magnificent yesterday, Mother, I wish you and Father could have seen him.” She lifts her chin a little. “Both of my brothers were.”

The nerve of the girl to invoke that servant when her mother is injured and she ought to be making abject apology after abject apology. She must have been born without brains. “How dare you call him that in my presence.” Yu Ziyuan slams a fist down on the table. Just a day ago she could have broken the table clean in two if she so chose. The reminder coils her words into a lightning whip she’ll never wield again. “Apologize.”

Yanli bows her head. “I am sorry you will never acknowledge him as such. I am sorry for all the hardships Father put you through.”

Hardships–?! Now she wishes to acknowledge the outrageous indignities Jiang Fengmian put Yu Ziyuan through? Does she lack even the most basic intelligence? Yu Ziyuan would have preferred an unfilial child over an eldest daughter this stupid. 

It is almost impossible, but Yu Ziyuan chokes on the anger and sets the matter aside for now. She must not be distracted. 

“Give the ring to A-Cheng. It is his. He has earned it.” 

Yet again Jiang Yanli shocks her mother by lifting her chin and looking her right in the eyes. “Haven’t I?” Even now, her voice wobbles.

So transparently insecure. How pathetic. Yu Ziyuan would never allow herself to be so weak, and it disgusts her that one of her children is. Yet she is, now, even weaker, and again the reminder burns her throat and boils her blood. “Don’t be stupid, A-Li,” she dismisses. “Give it to A-Cheng. If I cannot use it–” and here she swallows bile–“It is only right that he is the next owner.”

“Aren’t I your daughter?” Jiang Yanli demands. 

Who taught her this audacity? It wasn’t her mother. If she were even the smallest bit more like her mother, they wouldn’t be in this position. Yu Ziyuan laughs in her face. “You,” she seethes, “are a disappointment. You are lucky that Madame Jin wants you as her daughter-in-law. No one else in her position would. Now stop whining, you idiot girl, and give Zidian to your brother before I lose my temper.”

Yanli’s chin trembles. Her hands, folded neatly in her lap, stop twisting the ring and press into the silk layers of her clothes. “No.”

No? Yu Ziyuan’s vision whites out in anger. The demon, shrieking in rage and clawing at her skin all this time, finally breaks free. Her arm lashes out, catches the curve of the soup bowl and sends it across the small table. The lotus and pork rib soup sloshes on Yanli’s face. Bits of food stick to her hair. Broth seeps into her silk clothing. The bowl rolls in Yanli’s lap once before it falls to the floor; a dull thud that goes ignored by both women. Drops of brown liquid run down her cheeks and drip off her chin, one after another, drip, drip, drip, and all the while Yanli says nothing and does nothing. 

“Did you say no to me?” Yu Ziyuan chooses her tone the way a hunter chooses a bow. Wields her words the way she uses everything; like a weapon, ready to maim or kill on a second’s notice. Pours in enough poison to fill the piers. She might be weak now, might be powerless, but she’ll be damned before she’s ever defied by anyone, much less her weak, powerless daughter. 

Yanli carefully lifts one soaked sleeve to her face and wipes her mouth uselessly. The sleeve falls as she moves her arm away, revealing Zidian in all its violet glory. The ring sparks like it always does when its wielder is angry. But Yu Ziyuan studies her daughter’s trembling mouth, her large, wet eyes, and fails to find any trace of anger. 

“Yes.” Jiang Yanli cries as she defies her mother. It’s both pathetic and unfilial. Infuriating. “Zidian is my birthright. A-Cheng agrees.” She sucks in tears and snot, smoothes over her quivering voice, but it’s too late. She’s already disgraced herself beyond forgiveness. “You’re a fool, Mother.” That trembling smile curls, teeth over lip, into a sneer. “To think throwing soup and temper tantrums and awful words could change a-anything.” 

Jiang Yanli rises to her feet. It’s insulting, how gracefully she does it. As if she is unaffected. As if Yu Ziyuan cannot see the tears streaming over the sticky soup broth and down her cheeks. As if that shaky, sloppily-affixed smile reveals her true nature. Yu Ziyuan stands too, unable to tolerate being looked down upon. 

Despite her blinding anger, Yu Ziyuan senses somewhere in her haze that she is losing. “Yanli.” Just the name ought to be enough. Danger and an insult, rolled into the name she gave her. “If you walk out of that door, you are no longer my daughter.” 

“Was I ever?” 

Yu Ziyuan recognizes that emotion. It’s like hearing an echo: bitterness, steeped in her morning tea and her favorite insults. Bitterness at the dinner table and the practice halls. Swimming in the lazy summer lakes between the pink and white lotuses. Knifing her from behind, a betrayal from her frail and spineless daughter that she never could have forseen. For once, she is fully at a loss for words. 

Jiang Yanli delicately side-steps the soup puddle on the floorboards and the fallen bowl. “And if you don’t wish to lose your son as well as your daughter, then you should apologize.” Who gave her those accusing eyes, welling over with tears? Who gave her the right? “He won’t forgive you if he knows what you said about me.”

“Jiang Cheng is a filial child,” Yu Ziyuan says unthinkingly.

“Yes,” Jiang Yanli admits. “And you love him. And he won’t ever disobey you like I have.” With each sentence the bitterness brews stronger. She licks salty tears and savory soup off her lips and looks Yu Ziyuan dead in the eyes. “But he loves me more than he fears you.”

Yu Ziyuan stares into her daughter’s gray eyes, and she does not recognize the sweet and stupid child she raised. Isn’t she like her father, those fickle and ever-changing Jiangs? Why does she stand proud and keep her chin up? What makes her spine suddenly so unbending after twenty-three years of bowing? Who made her so unbreaking?

(Don’t you know, Yu Ziyuan? Don’t you see?)

“Although you did not ask,” Jiang Yanli says. “We won. Lotus Pier is safe because my brothers and I stayed and fought.” She swallows visibly. “Lotus Pier is safe despite you.”

It is not until the spite thrown her way that Yu Ziyuan sees herself reflected in her eldest daughter. It is not until her proud profile and the bitterness that buries and the sneers that sting that it finally occurs to Yu Ziyuan: Ah. She is my daughter. 

But it is finally, finally, too late. Jiang Yanli sails out of her mother’s private rooms, head held high despite the soup that slips down her scalp. Despite the lotus root-scented indignity dripping in her wake. All the grace Yu Ziyuan could never be. All the strength she never found–to be brave when facing her worst fear, to soldier on despite her streaming tears, to wear such furious, lashing power and hold it back. To be kind.  

(what terrible grace you wield)

(what strength ran down your spine like lightning that moonless night)

(what beautiful anger split the night that the piers didn’t burn, dear lovely lady of lotus pier, dear daughter of bitterness, rage & unimaginable mercy)

(you will not be forgotten)

-oOoOo-

Hissing, sparkling, and violent purple lightning trails over the boardwalk. One flick sends it flying overhead and into a smooth, circular motion, whipping around and around but never touching. Liu Ahui watches the famed Zidian fly through the motions of a ribbon dance, modified to serve as a sort of shield, and she can’t quite believe her eyes. Especially when she lifts her gaze from the lightning whip to its bearer. 

To think that the girl she trained since childhood is the Lady of Lotus Pier. To think that not so long ago Liu Ahui had planned on offering her a a job at her side, performing ribbon dances all over Yunmeng! Yes, she knew her student to be of noble status, but the girl was so plainly unhappy that Liu Ahui truly believed she would accept. Especially if her brothers were as supportive as she claimed. Surely they’d not argue with their sister seeking happiness as a traveling performer, no matter how unconventional the idea. 

“My lady, I must confess,” Liu Ahui begins respectfully, “that I do not understand why you are here.”

Jiang Yanli retracts Zidian into the violet ring on her finger. Liu Ahui eyes it, though she tries not to. Every story she’s ever heard about the Violet Spider and her infamous spiritual weapon play through her mind. To think she had occasionally gossiped about her with her own daughter! Embarrassment flushes Liu Ahui tomato red. She forces her hands to remain still on her lap. She will not apologize until she understand exactly what Jiang Yanli is mad about, if she is indeed upset at all. The girl she knew was kind.

The girl she raised smiles just the same as always. “Your teachings helped us win the war. I’ll have no other teacher.”

So, not upset, then. It still seems to Liu Ahui that no matter how good her teaching or how helpful it accidentally became, there still ought to be people better able to teach Jiang Yanli the art of war than a ribbon dancer. But her response gives Liu Ahui enough tentative confidence to ask one of her many, many burning questions. “So about the boy trouble…?”

Jiang Yanli laughs, truly and delightedly. “Yes, my former fiance was the heir of the Lanling Jins.” 

She sits down across from Liu Ahui. They’re in a private pavilion, somewhere deep in the halls of the Lotus Palace, but still Jiang Yanli looks every direction to make sure no one is around before leaning in, a precious little smile on her face. It’s so stupidly endearing. Liu Ahui finds herself smiling helplessly.  

“To tell the truth, I saw him giving me second glances, on the front lines.” Jiang Yanli ducks her head, but a timid smile peeks out. “Do you think he’s…interested?”

Jiang Yanli has also noticed his awkward behavior around her, whenever Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng allow him to get close, which is almost never. They’re not impressed by his sudden change of heart. Secretly, she thinks it’s sweet. She does not regret at all her decision to fight alongside her brothers and their disciples. But sometimes she believes she’ll never find someone who’ll see her in her finest silks and powders and call her beautiful, and see her with her mother’s bloody whip and kiss her just the same. She thinks this someone is Jin Zixuan. She hopes it is.

(If it is, she’ll be fulfilling the one dream her mother retained for her, the one job she thought Jiang Yanli capable of. She tells herself that it’s because of Madame Jin, who always treated her well, that she hopes for Jin Zixuan’s interest and growth as a person. But it is her mother, the Violet Spider, who skitters in the back of her mind every time she catches Jin Zixuan’s eye. She’s only human, after all. She was raised to be a good daughter. If there is a way back into her mother’s good graces, she does not know it. But she dares to dream. And sometimes, just occasionally, just once in a full moon, her dreams taste like revenge).

Liu Ahui shakes her head in disbelief. She’s being asked to gossip about Jin Zixuan’s romantic interests by Jiang Yanli, based on observations she made while in battle against the Wens, using Liu Ahui’s ribbon dancing lessons as a basis for using her mother’s lightning whip. Nothing about this feels real. “Dear, I haven’t the faintest idea.”  

Jiang Yanli sighs. Her shoulders slump. “I understand. But…” She twists her ring around and around. “Aren’t you upset?”

Liu Ahui blinks twice. “That?”

“That I didn’t tell you who I am,” Jiang Yanli finishes meekly.

Bright laughter peals out of Liu Ahui. It rings around the pavilion and the boardwalks and lotus ponds around it. The ridiculousness of this girl! To be concerned whether Liu Ahui is mad at her when Liu Ahui is still worrying whether she’s offended the lady of her sect at some point in the past thirteen years. “I never once asked you to tell me your true identity, why should I be upset?” 

“Oh.” A thrilled smile blossoms on Jiang Yanli’s face. “Oh,” she says again, stupidly. 

Yes, oh, you silly girl. Liu Ahui can’t help but smile back. “Forgive me, my lady,” she says, “but does your family know about…” She gesture in one steady, sweeping motion to their pavilion and the lightning whip. “This?” 

Jiang Yanli’s smile fades like sunshine in a storm. “They do now.” She tries to bring back the smile, but it cracks at the edges and wavers from the visible effort she forces into keeping it fixed on her face. It’s painfully fake. “Most took it well.”

“Your mother?”

Around and around goes the ring. “I deal with it day by day.” A polite dismissal. 

Well, Liu Ahui isn’t adverse to a little badgering. She didn’t raise this child just to be brushed away so easily. It’s apparent that though Jiang Yanli has no use for a ribbon dancing lesson or sparring practice, she needs Liu Ahui more than ever before.  

-OoOoO-

Steam and laughter rises out of the Lotus Pier kitchens. The distinctive cadence of Wei Ying’s high, bright laughter rises above the rest. Jiang Yanli picks up her pace, the prospect of joy pulling her onwards. Jiang Cheng is the first to spot her. Is that a mushroom slice in his hair? Jiang Yanli speeds up into a brisk walk. 

“Shije! I mean–” Wei Ying’s endless enthusiasm glows even brighter. “Jiejie! We’re making soup!”

He’s massacred too many scallions into green and white confetti. Jiang Yanli smiles fondly. 

“He’s massacred the scallions,” Jiang Cheng says grumpily.

Jiang Yanli grins. “And you have mushroom in your hair,” she teases.

Wei Ying bursts into laughter while Jiang Cheng flushes beet red and angrily grabs the offending fungi out of his hair. Jiang Yanli slides into the middle of it as easily as breathing. She gently nudges Wei Ying out of the way and assigns him the job of watching over the pot, which he fails at as enthusiastically as he attempts everything else. 

“He won’t shut up about Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Jiang Cheng informs her, a plea hidden in his plain words: Jiejie, do something.  

“No I won’t!” Wei Ying protests. He’s not watching the pot. “I mean yes I will! I don’t even know if he likes me! He didn’t like me when we were staying in the Cloud Recesses.”

Jiang Cheng takes a knife to their future beef shank. His scarred hands stain pale red. “You were an annoying little shit in the Cloud Recesses,” he points out unhelpfully. 

“Rude! Uncalled for! Untrue!” 

Jiang Yanli adds star anise and cinnamon sticks to the bubbling pot. She’ll have to get Jiang Cheng to help her make the noodles. There’s no way Wei Ying will be of any help in this state. Perhaps she should get him to cut the meat? But she’ll have to get Jiang Cheng to give up the job without upsetting him, which is really quite easy. He’s very sensitive, her little brother. “Well,” she offers, “what’s more likely? That he suddenly took an interest in the boy that annoyed him a couple years ago, or that he’s concerned because he likes you?”

“If he does, he has a funny way of showing it,” Wei Ying mutters. 

At this, Jiang Yanli can’t help but agree. She’d point out the similarity of Lan Wangji’s confusing actions to Jin Zixuan’s behavior, except that would upset both of her brothers. Speaking of boy troubles. She’ll have to sort out that mess between Wei Ying and that Lan Zhan of his. The gods know he won’t do it by himself. 

“Perhaps A-Cheng and I should give him a good talking to,” Jiang Yanli muses. 

“Jiejie!” Wei Ying wails. 

“Oh, definitely.” Jiang Cheng tries to dump the chopped meat into the pot. Jiang Yanli stops him with one outstretched arm, without even looking in his direction. He’ll never learn, her little brother. He always tries to put it ingredients early. Jiang Yanli is so helplessly fond of both of them. 

“Nooooo,” Wei Ying moans.

“What’s the matter?” Jiang Yanli asks innocently. “Don’t you think he’ll listen to me?”

“Oh, he’ll listen, that’s the problem,” Wei Ying grumbles. “Everyone’s in awe of jiejie. You know, they’re calling you the Thunderstorm of Lotus Pier.”

The Thunderstorm of Lotus Pier. It’s so–extravagant. And loud, and violent, and a dozen other things that Jiang Yanli is not. But she’s easily pleased. She blushes, and her brothers tease her about it until the soup is finished cooking. 

Jiang Yanli cannot remember what it feels like to be angry.