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We walk in the footsteps of our ancestors.
Wei Wuxian had not understood these words very well as a boy; they left him feeling faintly uneasy in a way he didn’t like to examine too closely.
One thing he was all too well aware of was that they were never intended for him anyway, even if his presence was the cause for them. His ancestors weren’t ever much of a topic at Lotus Pier outside of the accusations Jiang-shushu and Yu-furen would be flinging at another. At the very most, the adults would be talking about his parents at him, never with him.
“What is it to me?” he had asked Jiang Cheng and laughed lightly the first time his shidi quoted these words at him in the same heavy tone of voice with which his parents would speak them to him back when they were still alive. Wei Wuxian had looked down at what had been a battlefield and was now only a graveyard; he felt only the chill of resentment where so many other feelings should be. “My parents are dead. I’m their son but I barely remember them at all.”
“How can you say that!” Jiang Cheng had demanded. In hindsight, Wei Wuxian could tell that he had looked hurt. Back then, young and foolish, still half-drunk on resentment from the battle, he had only seen the pride and bluster on the surface. “Your duty to your ancestors is more than what memories you have of your parents.”
Wei Wuxian had smiled and shaken his head. “For you, maybe. Mine would like me to live a life free of regrets and burdens of the past.”
Jiang Cheng had snorted and looked at him with something akin to pity. “There is no such thing,” he had muttered in disgust as he walked away.
Wei Wuxian distinctly remembered that it had been his turn to feel hurt, then.
We walk in the footsteps of our ancestors.
He thought of these words again as he bowed side by side with Jiang Cheng to the Jiang parents, and he was reminded that he never had had a place where he could bow to his own parents. It had bothered him, when he was younger, until he grew used to it and it became another thing he chose not to think about too closely. It would not do to let himself be weighed down, after all; his parents wouldn’t have wanted that for him.
The footsteps of his parents were very large. Cangse Sanren, a student of the immortal Baoshan Sanren herself. Bright and brilliant, a name still remembered so many years after her death. Wei Changze, kind and loyal, who had ultimately left Lotus Pier to follow his wife on new adventures (this was another thing Wei Wuxian chose not to examine too closely.)
“Come,” Jiang Cheng said, nudging him with his shoulder. “We have retaken Lotus Pier, but we still have a war to win. Don’t sit around and be lazy.” His cheer sounded forced; his voice choked with tears he wouldn’t shed.
“I know, I know!” Wei Wuxian laughed. His laughter sounded almost bright again, yet it left him feeling hollow in his chest.
He followed Jiang Cheng out of the ancestral hall, and back into a Lotus Pier that remained mostly burnt-out ruins. The task of rebuilding it seemed so insurmountable that it was hard to imagine ever finishing it even with all the time and money in the world, neither of which they had.
It must be hurting Jiang Cheng to see the hard work of generations burned to ashes.
They had calmed the ghosts and eased their passing, but he wasn’t sure if the smell of burnt flesh would ever fade.
Jiang Cheng’s hand found his, fingers tangling together and squeezing tight.
Wei Wuxian squeezed back and didn’t let go.
“Don’t worry, I won’t back down from a tough fight,” Wei Wuxian said easily, meeting the eyes of some mouthy guy in Jin robes who had spent all this meeting pointedly not insinuating that Wei Wuxian only knew how to fight easy battles. That he wouldn’t have the balls for the fights that weren’t a guaranteed victory, such as taking on Wen Ruohan himself. “How can I live in this world, as long as he does, too?”
“And what is this war to you, other than a cheap and easy way to gain glory with your wicked tricks?” Guy-Who-Didn’t-Know-When-To-Shut-Up sneered right back.
For a moment, Wei Wuxian simply looked at him and contemplated very calmly that it would be exceedingly easy to yank out his vocal cords. He knew how to pluck a man’s golden core out of his chest as easily as plucking a ripe tangerine from a tree; vocal cords couldn’t be any harder.
“You aren’t even a Jiang!”
We walk in the footsteps of our ancestors; he had heard all the time as a child.
Wei Wuxian wondered how it applied to him. He didn’t have an answer, he didn’t think he would have one anytime soon. He didn’t even know anything of his ancestors beyond his parents. Or, and this thought was enough to make him start in surprise, of any other distant relatives who may even now be alive. He brushed the thought aside as soon as it occurred to him; the middle of a war was no time to indulge in genealogy, but it was nice to think that somewhere in the world, there might be other people whose eyes or laughter would be familiar if he ever met them.
The Jin opened his mouth for the next jab, obviously upset that Wei Wuxian had been so caught up in his own thoughts he didn’t even think to insult him back. Before he could speak, a warm hand settled on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, giving him a firm squeeze both to steady and silence him.
“He is here for me,” Jiang Cheng said. He sounded calm; it was the kind of calm Wei Wuxian knew to be the precursor to an explosion. “Am I Jiang enough for you, Jin-gongzi?” Then he leaned in close to Wei Wuxian, lips brushing right against the shell of his ear as he whispered, “There will be no time to change your robes before we meet Jiejie.”
Right.
Wei Wuxian took a deep breath and shoved aside the thought of vocal cords dripping blood from his hand.
“You’re right, A-Cheng,” he said, voice all false cheer with a tremble underneath. There was an entire wasp’s nest buzzing under his skin. “Let’s not make Shijie wait.”
Jiang Cheng’s hand slipped down from his shoulder to his arm and then his wrist. Then he went one step further and entangled his fingers with Wei Wuxian’s, right there for everyone to see.
He didn’t know anything about his ancestors, he mused to himself as he held Jiang Cheng’s hand, but he liked to think his parents at least would have wanted him to fight for what he loved.
“It’s not so easy, Wei Wuxian! We should walk in the footsteps of our ancestors.”
“And yet you are here,” he shot back, a dig cruel to both of them even as he ran his fingers sweetly through Jiang Cheng’s hair.
The war was won, and they had returned. Broken and battered men where they had been naïve boys before, but they had survived.
“That’s not rebuilding your clan, is it?”
Jiang Cheng scowled and propped himself up enough to shoot him a proper glower. “Do you want me to leave?!”
Somehow, Wei Wuxian found the self-restraint not to point out that this was Jiang Cheng’s bed and if anything, he should be kicking out Wei Wuxian. That would have been another low blow, anyway. Jiang Cheng’s bed had been their bed ever since there were no longer any parents to punish them for it.
“I’m just saying, you are getting too worked up about pleasing the other sects. You will bring honor to the Jiang name by rebuilding your sect, not by bowing your head to pompous old men who don’t know what they’re talking about. They disapprove. So what? Let them criticize us, if they dare. I will handle them.”
“And I say you can’t fight the entire cultivation world!” Jiang Cheng snapped.
He would, though. He would fight them all for Jiang Cheng.
Somehow, he found the self-restraint not to say that, either. Jiang Cheng would either laugh at him or call him embarrassingly sappy or even worse, he would believe that Wei Wuxian was making fun of him. As if the depth of Wei Wuxian’s love for him, and the lengths he would go to for it, could ever be a joking matter. He might joke about everything else, but not about this. He had done both impossible and unspeakable things for Jiang Cheng and he would continue to do so for as long as it was needed. One day, Jiang Cheng would understand the full extent of his devotion.
“It won’t come to a fight. We just have to remain cautious.”
Which, fair enough, Wei Wuxian was bad at. He was better at taking quick, decisive action than thinking through all the possible consequences first.
“That’s what I have you for,” he added before Jiang Cheng could remind him of this flaw in his plan.
“You do?” Jiang Cheng shot right back, brows furrowed. “Since when do you listen to me when I tell you not to do something foolish?”
Now it was Jiang Cheng dishing out the low blows and this one was low enough that it made him want to flinch. He laughed all the louder for it.
“When have I ever not listened to my A-Cheng?!” he cried. He pouted, sulky lips and doe eyes and the whole deal, carefully hiding the genuine stab of hurt behind a theatrical mask. When had he not listened? Too often, maybe, but it had been different when they were younger. The stakes were higher now and he was trying his best. He genuinely was trying his best even on the days Jiang Cheng only saw his failure. It was just so hard some days when a thousand resentful voices were tearing and clawing at him; it got so hard then to remember where he ended and they began…
Annoyance flickered over Jiang Cheng’s face, then hurt to match the one Wei Wuxian had managed to hide – Jiang Cheng had never been as good as him at hiding his feelings – but finally he pressed his lips together and gave him a firm nod.
“We have to trust in another,” he said, sounding halfway between a plea and stating a fact.
“We won’t let anyone divide us,” Wei Wuxian offered, still a little tentative, a little wounded. But willing to trust, even if it was simply to trust that there would be no further hurt.
Jiang Cheng brushed a kiss to his lips, one Wei Wuxian knew to be a promise as much as an apology.
What did the footsteps of his ancestors even look like, Wei Wuxian wondered to himself as he lit three incense sticks.
“They would want me to live well,” he whispered to himself.
His parents would, anyway, and this was all he could say, they were the only ones whom he could know even through stories. He had no centuries-old legacy to uphold as Jiang Cheng did, no secret techniques passed on through the generations, and no stories of ancient heroism to live up to.
“They would want me to live well,” he repeated to himself, for he needed the reminder. They would want the weight of their expectations to be a mantle on his shoulders to warm and comfort him, not a burden under which he buckled. They would want it to be a hug that let him know he was loved.
They would want him to be righteous and free, to live the life he dreamed of, just as they had done.
He ran his fingers over the rich purple of his underrobes, flaring out between the swaths of black as he knelt.
For his father, carving his own path had been having the freedom to choose to leave. For him, it had been the freedom to choose to stay; even when there was a part that wondered if leaving wouldn’t be better for Jiang Cheng. Maybe it wasn’t about any footsteps at all, maybe they were both simply selfish men making selfish choices and forcing the rest of the world to deal with the consequences.
Yes, that was far more likely than that he was following in anyone’s footsteps. Following in the footsteps of his ancestors had always been Jiang Cheng’s concern. The only footsteps Wei Wuxian cared about were Jiang Cheng’s but even then, he would rather walk at his side.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the tablets, “I don’t know if you would be proud of me. But with every choice I make, I promise I’ll be righteous and live without regrets.”
The years had not been simple and oftentimes not even kind.
Vows were broken, friends became enemies and enemies became allies, but no matter how hard the times, there was one promise they had never forgotten: They would not be divided, not turned against another, no matter who or what stood in their way.
Lotus Pier stood proud now, carved to new, old, greater glory by the labor of many years.
“I no longer remember the smell of ashes,” Wei Wuxian mused as they walked through the lively compound, larger now and livelier than it had been before the war.
The first decade had been grueling, sometimes even more so than the days of the war. The second had been when they often felt tired of the struggles that just wouldn’t end. But if there was anything they had in spades, it was stubbornness.
Jiang Cheng hummed his agreement as he knelt by the edge of the walkway. He leaned over the water to pluck a flower – though not without a warning of, “Don’t even think of throwing me in!” thrown over his shoulder.
Wei Wuxian laughed; hands raised in playful surrender. “I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t! I’ll be good.”
“You’d have to be possessed for that,” Jiang Cheng grumbled. He rose to his feet holding a pink lotus bloom and glared at Wei Wuxian. “Hold still,” he told him and glared harder when Wei Wuxian froze comically mid-motion. Despite the glare, his hands were gentle as he tucked the flower into his still unruly hair. “There,” he said, a self-satisfied little grin flickering over his lips. “Now you’re going to smell only lotus flowers wherever you go.”
Wei Wuxian leaned in close and stage whispered, “It’s okay, you don’t need excuses. I always knew my A-Cheng is a secret romantic.”
It was worth it for the sight of Jiang Cheng, wizened sect leader that he was, huffing and puffing like the easily flustered boy he had once been. That he was still effortlessly driven to blushing in Wei Wuxian’s capable hands was one of the things he liked best about him.
“Do you want to die!” Jiang Cheng snapped, so very predictably.
“Maybe,” Wei Wuxian laughed, letting himself swoon against his husband, arms wrapped around his neck. He batted his eyelashes at him. “It depends. Will you kill me with pleasure?”
“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng shoved him off him, now even more charmingly red-faced. He stomped ahead, muttering indignantly that he didn’t even know why he bothered.
He followed with a breezy laugh, his chuckles softening to something deeply fond when Jiang Cheng’s steps slowed to let him catch up.
He slipped his hand into Jiang Cheng’s.
“Look at them, they are tiny,” he marveled as they passed by the river’s shore, where one of the older teenage disciples was teaching swimming to their youngest. “Were we ever so small?”
“When you arrived, you were tiny and scrawny.”
“I guess I was,” he agreed ruefully, his voice turning bittersweet with memories he didn’t like to think back on. It had been many years, but he still didn’t like to remember the years between losing his parents and arriving at Lotus Pier. Some wounds would heal to scars but never fully fade. “But don’t distract me! I was trying to tell you that you can be proud of yourself.”
“You make it sound as if I rebuilt Lotus Pier by myself. Stupid.”
“Aiyah!” Wei Wuxian cried and smacked him with the dizi made from purple-marbled stone that never left his side. Jiang Cheng had gifted it to him many years ago when Chenqing was shattered. “Don’t be such a cranky old man!”
“If you don’t want me to be cranky, stop saying stupid things!”
“We can be proud of ourselves,” Wei Wuxian corrected himself. He flashed him a brilliant grin. “Better?”
At his side, Jiang Cheng nodded. “Better.”
They kept walking.
The largest training field was filled with rows upon rows of eager disciples in their rich purple robes. Their swords gleamed in the sunlight.
Another generation of Yunmeng Jiang was in the making. Time flowed, like the river.
They kept walking.
They approached the ancestral hall but Wei Wuxian tugged at Jiang Cheng’s hand, pulling him past it when he caught sight of children wielding bows and arrows. The juniors were rushing in the same direction they were walking. They would have to hurry. too, if they wanted to make it to the very first kite-shooting contest of the new archery class.
“Do you remember what you used to tell me all the time?” Wei Wuxian asked cheerfully as he pulled Jiang Cheng past the doors to the ancestral hall, wide open on this sunny day so that even the most sacred place in Lotus Pier could partake in the joy of the lively pier. “We did it, we walked in the footsteps of those who came before us.” Laughter shone in his eyes at the pleased scowl Jiang Cheng was sporting, “And now we are adding our own.”