Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Banquets at the Nightless City aren’t Wen Qing’s favorite thing, but when she manages to avoid Wen Xu’s wife and any unwanted suitors, she can have a reasonably good time. She accompanies her uncle as they make their way through the hall, stopping intermittently to mingle with his guests. Wen Qing, distracted by a stimulating conversation over acupuncture techniques, doesn’t notice that she’s been spotted until a voice, playful but haughty, reaches her ears. 

“Qing-mei, I’ve finally found you!” 

Wen Qing turns to see Wen Qiuyue sauntering towards her and away from Wen Chao’s dejected wife. She must’ve grown tired of bullying Wen Xiaodan and come to bother Wen Qing instead.  

Wen Qiuyue - Wen Xu’s wife - is a short, deceptively delicate-looking woman dressed in some of the most ostentatious robes Wen Qing has ever seen. Her numerous hair ornaments jingle with each step and her painted lips curl into a pleased grin when they lock eyes. 

“Qingyue, you look well,” Uncle greets with a nod. 

She dips into a graceful bow, “ Gōng gong, it’s a pleasure to see you.” Her gaze slides back to Wen Qing. 

“You’re a hard one to find. I was afraid I was going to miss the chance to see you before you left the city. I’m glad I caught you~” She purrs. 

“I see. What was it you wanted?” Wen Qing asks. 

“Since Qing-mei is such an accomplished doctor, I thought I’d come to her for some medical advice.”

“You could have scheduled an appointment,” Wen Qing deadpans. 

“Ah but you’re here now aren’t you? And it’s only a brief inquiry, dealing with it will be quick. Won’t you spare some time for your family?” Wen Qiuyue pleads, giving her puppy dog eyes. 

“I am afraid I promised to accompany Shushu for the evening. I’m sure the palace physicians will be happy to assist you,” Wen Qing says. 

“It’s alright A-Qing,” Uncle assures her, “It appears a message has been brought for me. I’ll leave you and Qiuyue to your own devices. Come find me when you’re done.”

“Yes Shushu,” Wen Qing acquiesces. 

Her uncle and the other physician depart, leaving her with her cousin-in-law. 

“You look like someone spat in your tea,” Wen Qiuyue titters. 

“What do you want?” 

Wen Qiuyue shakes her head, “A-Qing, with an attitude like that it’s no wonder you haven’t managed to secure a good marriage yet. And even after all the trouble I went through to try and foster a match between you and Weisheng-xiong.”

Wen Qing frowns, remembering all the “coincidental” run-ins she’s had with the man during her previous visits. She’d been wondering who’d given him the details of her former schedule; now she had her answer.  Wen Qiuyue’s smile widens. Now that she’d gotten a reaction out of Wen Qing, she wouldn’t be leaving her alone anytime soon. Not until she got bored and went to look for fun elsewhere. 

“Careful Qing-mei, frowning causes wrinkles-“ 

A blur flies past them and crashes into a table behind them with a deafening bang! Wen Qing and Wen Qiuyue whip their heads in the direction of the sound, as does everyone else in the room. All goes silent, allowing Wen Qing to hear the high-pitched hiss of someone trying and failing to breathe properly. The blur - a servant, as denoted by their uniform - coughs up blood. He likely broke his ribs on impact. He could be suffering a collapsed lung too if a piece of rib was bent inward. 

A thick aura of killing intent covers the room, stifling any thoughts Wen Qing has of diagnosis and treatment. Her uncle stalks past her and Wen Qiuyue, sparing neither of them a glance. The two of them stare at his back, unable to look away. 

Wen Ruohan yanks the servant up by his hair, “I believe I misheard you. What was it that you wanted to tell me about my son?” 

His voice is calm, gentle even; a jarring difference from his white-knuckled grip. 

The servant’s high-pitched wheezing grows faster, fresh blood leaking from their mouth as they try to speak. He looks up at her uncle in unconcealed terror. 

“…s…sorry…” He stammers, voice laced with pain. 

“Of course you are, you wretched thing, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

“…he’s dead. Wen Xu is dead! ” He wails. It’s an awful, desperate sound. 

Wen Ruohan’s grip loosens and the man falls to the floor. He stays like that for a moment. Everyone else watches him with bated breath, waiting to see what he’ll do next. 

“Get out.” 

Wen Qing blinks. She and Wen Qiuyue share an uncertain glance. 

“GET OUT YOU IMBECILES! LEAVE ME AT ONCE!” He roars. 

Wen Qing and all the other occupants of the room scramble for the nearest exit, eager to be as far from their enraged sect leader as possible. Wen Qing doesn’t see the servant leave the room, but she hopes that he’s able to - if not without any further injury, then at least with his life. 

Outside the air is warm, but Wen Qing can’t help but feel cold. The loss of an heir is no small matter, but it is one made even worse by her uncle’s violent mourning. 

[linebreak] 

Her uncle orders the entire city to go into mourning. Robes decorated with red flames of the sun are put away in favor of white unadorned fabric. Wen Qing takes care not to wear any accessories other than the most basic hairpin she owns and gives her uncle as wide a berth as she can. A difficult task when he’s enlisted her to help with funeral preparations. 

It will be a lavish funeral - it has to be, in order to befit his status. Her uncle summons all sorts of feng shui masters and priests to determine the best burial location and funeral date and time. Wen Qing alternates between helping with preparations and helping her family deal with grief. 

Wen Qiuyue is beside herself with grief so strong it rivals Wen Ruohan’s. Initially, Wen Qing is taken aback by the intensity of emotion. She’d assumed Wen Qiuyue had only married Wen Xu for power and wealth, but she must’ve truly loved him since his death impacted her so. Gone were the snide remarks and backhanded compliments. Rather than attempt to pester or bully, Wen Qiuyue began to cling to her and Wen Xiaodan for comfort. 

How strange , Wen Qing thinks as she gently coaxes the widow to accept a bowl of congee (she wouldn’t eat otherwise), a few days ago I could barely tolerate you. Now all I feel is pity. 

The funeral is opulent. Everyone in the Nightless City is required to attend. Wreaths and sprays of lilies and chrysanthemums decorate the city in such a large quantity that the entire city is covered in a subtle earthy scent. Wailing people dressed in white line the streets, their cries growing especially distraught when the funeral procession passes them. Wen Qiuyue’s voice, rough from the constant sobbing, manages to stand out from all the other cries. Wen Ruohan, on the other hand, doesn’t make a sound. He marches at the front of the procession, right by the servants bearing the large portrait of the deceased. His head is held high and his face is dry. Even dressed in plain white, he looks every bit the sect leader he is. He appears calm, entirely in control of himself, but Wen Qing knows beneath that poised exterior, there must be a tempest raging underneath. She prays it dies down before reaching the surface. 

[Linebreak]

Wen Qing isn’t there when Wen Ruohan learns that yet another son has been taken from him, but she doesn’t need to be to know that something has upset her uncle terribly. She is in her room, drafting a letter to A-Ning to let him know her return home has been delayed when her table is rocked by the slightest tremor. Her ink sloshes and it is only due to her extensive experience in surgery that her hand remains steady, preventing her brush from making a mess. 

Tremors… are we experiencing a minor earthquake? She thinks, setting her brush down. Wen Qing seals her ink as another tremor rattles the room, this one more violent than the last. But as abruptly as it started, it stops completely. Odd, yes, but ultimately harmless, or so she thinks until a series of rapid knocks sound on her door.  Wen Qing answers the door, feeling a sudden sense of unease. Wen Xiaodan is at the door, cheeks flushed and appearing as if she’d run a long distance. 

“Wen Qing, come quick, please, it’s terrible , Wen-Zhongzhu, he’s flown into a rage and killed a servant and is trashing the throne room!” She explains between gasps for breath. 

“Catch your breath, then tell me what’s happened,” Wen Qing orders, going to fetch her medical supplies. If her uncle was this worked up, there was no telling who else would get hurt. 

“What angered him so?” Wen Qing asks as they make their way to the throne room. 

“It’s my husband, he…” She trails off, glancing down at the ground. After a moment, she finally mumbles in a tiny, anxious voice, “he’s dead.”

“I see.” That would certainly explain her uncle’s outburst. Losing one son was bad, but to lose both? A terrible misfortune indeed. 

As they draw closer to the throne room they see several servants and members of her uncle’s court fleeing. The grand double doors to the throne room are cracked open, and Wen Qing’s sharp senses can make out the sound of her uncle’s voice as well as something shattering. 

Wen Xiaodan comes to a halt, letting out a whimper at the sounds. Wen Qing leaves her behind. She’s always been meek and easily startled, so it would be best if she weren’t dragged into this any further. Wen Qing wasn’t keen on interfering herself, but the only alternative was to wait for her uncle to finish his outburst and hope no one else got caught in the crossfire. Unlikely, seeing as someone had already been slain. Wen Qing didn’t have the heart to sit back and allow her uncle to potentially maim or kill anyone else. 

Posture perfect and face schooled into an expression of neutrality, Wen Qing strides into the throne room. The room is in a state of disarray. Tapestries of the finest quality are ripped from the walls and strewn carelessly onto the floor below. Several pillars, painstakingly carved with exquisite designs are cracked or destroyed outright. Several feet from the throne, two broken bodies lay at her raging uncle’s feet. One is the servant Wen Xiaodan mentioned and the other is one of her uncle’s most trusted advisors. Wen Qing is unperturbed by blood, but such a display of violence is another matter. 

“Shushu,” She calls, voice audible and firm. 

Wen Ruohan whips his head to her and she gives a formal bow, bending lower than she normally would, “I have heard the news. It is a terrible misfortune, but please, control your grief.”

“A terrible misfortune indeed,” He repeats to himself. The killing intent surrounding him subsides slightly before flaring up again. 

“Those wretched things,” He hisses, “I’ll wipe every last one of those pitiful excuses for a sect out. My A-Chao’s death will be repaid with an ocean of blood. Once I get my hands on Nie Mingjue and that Yiling Patriarch, I will give them a death so agonizing it will make the Hundred Holes curse seem merciful .”

“Of course,” Wen Qing placates, “but you cannot get revenge by lashing out like this.”

Cold, sharp eyes fix onto her. 

“I mean no disrespect, Shushu. You are more than capable of doing what you wish, but your enemies will take advantage of any perceived weakness - real or imagined - that they can.” 

His gaze softens and killing intent no longer floods the room. 

“A-Qing is correct of course. I am glad to have such a logical and filial niece.” He praises before letting out a sigh, “Come, we’ll need to begin funeral arrangements at once.” 

He struts over to her, carelessly stepping on the back of his once-respected advisor. Your favor is such a fickle thing . How long before she herself lost it? Hopefully, my fate won’t be the same. 

[linebreak]

Wen Chao’s funeral is no less lavish than his brother’s. Once again their funeral procession marches through the city as their people mourn the loss of yet another heir. In the span of two weeks, Wen Ruohan had lost all his descendants. 

Much like the last time, he walks at the front by the grand painting of his son. Wen Qing walks further back, next to her cousins-in-law. Unlike Qiuyue, Xiaodan is not overcome with grief. She silently marches along, eyes downcast as she tries to look mournful, as is expected of her. 

After Wen Chao is buried, there is a change in her uncle. Wen Ruohan has always been capricious, but the death of his son exacerbated it to new levels. People had hoped that, after a time, Wen Ruohan would return to his typical behavior, but this was not the case. He became disconsolate, always looking for a reason to lash out but punishing others even without one. Everyone, regardless of status, was subject to at least one outburst from him, ranging from a simple scolding to something as harsh as a flogging or broken bone. 

Wen Qing treated those who fell victim to her uncle’s wrath when she could, focusing predominantly on the lower-ranked who would have a harder time of seeking out treatment. Her heart ached for all of them, but even with her best efforts, there was little she could do to diffuse her uncle’s foul temper. It was nothing short of a miracle he’d yet to turn it on her. 

Wen Qing has always carried her uncle’s favor, something that was a blessing just as much as it was a curse. Others took note of it, and Wen Qing found herself being pressured more and more to go and handle her uncle when she wanted nothing more than to retreat to the safety of her home. 

A-Ning worries for her, as do the rest of her loved ones back at Dafan. They send her letters, pleading for her to write back regularly and come home as soon as she can. A-Ning even offered to come to the Nightless City himself, but Wen Qing was adamant he didn’t. The last thing she wants is for him or any of the others to be subjected to her uncle’s volatility. 

Weeks pass and Wen Qing finds herself firmly glued to her uncle’s side. Meals, war meetings, and any audiences he grants are done with her by his side. His advisors envy her and pity her in equal measure. Everyone wants to have her uncle’s ear, but few want to deal with the drawbacks of having it. Wen Qing bears it, biding her time until she finds an opportune moment to request a dismissal so she can finally go home, but any hopes of freedom are quickly dashed at her uncle’s latest meeting. 

With Wen Xu and Wen Chao dead, there’s no longer a clear line of succession. Such uncertainty never bodes well for a sect, so his advisors had pleaded for a meeting to put an end to such confusion. 

“Pardon us, Zhongzhu,” A short, soft-spoken man pleads. He must be new to court because Wen Qing has never seen him. “We do not mean to encroach on your grief, but for the good of the sect, we must deal with the issue of succession.” 

“You are pardoned,” Wen Ruohan replies, waving a hand dismissively. 

The man gives a small, dimpled smile, “Wen-Zhongzhu is too kind.” He bows and retreats back a few steps. 

“Zhongzhu, if I may be so bold, I would like to nominate my own son, Wen Weisheng,” Wen Guowei interjects. 

Murmurs break out amongst the advisors. Wen Qing is unsurprised by Wen Guowei’s boldness. He’s always been power-hungry. For him, this is an opportunity too good to pass up. 

“Weisheng is a gifted cultivator and has always done his utmost to serve you, Zhongzhu. He can never hope to replace the magnificent Wen Xu or the honorable Wen Chao, but he will strive to be worthy of the position.” 

Wen Ruohan considers his proposal. He lets out a snort. 

“Of course, Weisheng could never hope to compare to the likes of my sons. Who could? None of your sons are worthy to take their place.” He scoffs. 

The room falls silent. Wen Guowei is clearly displeased by the insult, but he is smart enough to hold his tongue, “Of course Zhongzhu is correct. Pardon my foolishness. I simply wanted to help find a solution to the issue we face.” 

“There is no need, for I have already determined who shall be my heir.” Wen Ruohan declares. 

All attention goes to him, as they all wait for him to reveal his new heir. Wen Qing finds herself leaning forward, curious. Wen Ruohan stated his displeasure with all their sons, so who does he think worthy to be crowned heir? 

Wen Ruohan turns to look at her. Everyone else mimics him so that all the eyes in the room are fixed on her. Wen Qing freezes. It can’t be. 

“Throughout these past weeks, Wen Qing has shown competence, selflessness, diligence, and great filial piety. I can think of no one better to take my son’s place.”

The room erupts into chatter. 

“A woman?! ”

“Has Zhongzhu gone mad with grief?”

“Zhongzhu, begging you to reconsider-“

“ ENOUGH !” Wen Ruohan booms. He pins them all down with a look that promises violence to anyone who dared act out of line. 

“I have decided Wen Qing will be my heir. I’ll accept no one else. Those who disagree with my verdict, step forward now.” He orders.

No one dares. 

He lets out a humph , “Then we are all in agreement.” 

“Shushu,” Wen Qing begins, feeling lightheaded, “it is an honor to be thought of so highly, but are you certain of this decision?” 

He turns to her, his gaze heavy, “It is as I have said. I’ll have you as my heir. I will accept no other.” 

[linebreak] 

Her uncle begins training her at once. Wen Qing is an accomplished physician, but she is a mere novice when it comes to running a sect. Her uncle knows this, and sees to it she has the finest teachers he can find, himself included. If she thought him clingy before, he is even worse now. Wen Qing is rarely allowed out of his sight. Free time and moments of solitude were rare before, but now they are nonexistent. Wen Qing is a quick study, but the sheer amount her uncle expects her to learn is overwhelming. 

Days, weeks, and eventually another month passes. Wen Qing spends every waking moment of the day learning about the intricacies of rule or following her uncle. Wen Qing has always had a good reputation and people, while not necessarily kind, had typically been civil to her. With her new status, they were nothing short of sycophantic, determined to gain any scrap of favor with her they could in the hopes of gaining more ground with her uncle. The fake smiles and empty praises irked her to no end, and Wen Qing sorely missed the days when she wasn’t held in such high esteem. Back when she only came to the Nightless City on occasion, and could quickly retreat back to her quiet home back on Dafan mountain. She’d hoped to make her uncle reconsider, but had had no such luck. If anything, his conviction that she was meant for the position only increased with the passage of time. The same could not be said for his health. 

Her uncle tried to hide it, but Wen Qing could see the signs clearly. He’d lost weight. Not only was he not eating enough, but he was refusing to practice inedia as well. His robes hid most of it, but Wen Qing could see the thinness of his wrists and the hollowness of his cheeks. She could see the beginnings of bags under his eyes and feel the imbalances in his qi. 

Wen Qing does what she can for him, recommending numerous foods and concoctions to help restore balance, but either he isn’t following her orders, or the medicine isn’t working, because he continues on his steady, increasingly perceptible decline. Wen Qing isn’t the only one to notice. His court, filled with scheming, power-hungry snakes, are quick to take notice. It makes her uncle’s temper worsen, and his paranoia grow. 

He sees treason everywhere, finding plots wherever he looks even when there are none. He dismisses advisor after advisor, slowly chipping away at the populace of his court. His health may be declining, but Wen Ruohan is a powerful cultivator, and he reminds them of it regularly; often through displays of violence. 

“You dare to conspire against me,” he hisses, staring down at the terrified strategist kneeling at the throne. 

“T-this servant wouldn’t dare!” He cries, “P-pardon this one’s ignorance Zhongzhu, he only wanted to help plan the downfall of the other great sects. He sees now that he has greatly overstepped and humbly begs for forgiveness.” The man bows, forehead touching the ground. 

Wen Ruohan sneers, “Great sects, what is so great about them? You think they can compare to the glory of the Wen sect?” 

“Of course not! This servant misspoke! Such lowly clans hardly qualify to be called as such. Begging your mercy and forgiveness!” 

Wen Ruohan has neither for him. His end is quick - the closest thing to mercy her uncle has to offer. His head, severed cleanly from his neck with one sword swipe, rolls a few feet before landing in front of the other advisors. The ones nearest are speckled with a few drops of blood. 

“Impudent.” Wen Ruohan hisses, getting up from his throne. He flicks his wrist, shaking the blood off his sword. “You are all so impudent.” 

He stares at his advisors. Wen Qing cannot see his face but she doesn’t need to to know there’s murder in his eyes. He advances on his crowd of frightened advisors. Many shrink back in fear. 

“Wen-Zhongzhu is correct as always,” A soft voice says, daring to speak back. From the crowd, a young man who - judging from his robes - isn’t a Wen steps forward, face serene as he gives Wen Ruohan a respectful bow. 

“We must endeavor to be far more competent, like our Zhongzhu.” 

Everyone stares at him, wondering if his attempt at flattery will get him killed. But Wen Ruohan doesn’t lash out. Yet. 

Wen Ruohan sneers, “What is your name child?” 

“Meng Yao.” 

“And what do you think, referring to those others as ‘great sects’?” He asks. 

“It is as Wen-Zhongzhu says; they are unworthy of such a title. The Jiang were easily driven out of their supposed territories and the Lan barely did much better. The Jin are run by a philanderer and the Nie a complete brute. Only the Wen sect has all the qualifications needed to be referred to as a great sect.” Meng Yao answers readily, head bowed. 

Wen Ruohan chuckles, “Yes, I suppose if anyone were to know about Jin Guangshan’s lecherous behavior, it would be one of his bastards.”

Meng Yao’s head snaps up.  

“You think me so senseless as to not know just who is employed in my court?” Wen Ruohan sneers.

The cluster of advisors press closer to the walls in an attempt to place more distance between themselves and Meng Yao.  

“...Of course not. Wen-Zhongzhu is peerless and would naturally be well informed. This one has no intention of deception, rather a desire to… distance himself from such an immoral character.”

“I see, so you’ve come to me. But if Jin Guangshan didn’t want you, what makes you think I do ?” He mocks. 

Meng Yao swallows, considering his words carefully. “Since Wen-Zhongzhu keeps a firm watch on his sect, surely he must see what my father did not. I am an efficient and diligent clerk who has proven quite capable according to his supervisors. No task I’ve been given has ever been handled unsatisfactorily. Furthermore, with my true lineage revealed, I can now provide valuable information concerning the Jin. The Nie too, as I briefly served under Nie Mingjue himself!”

Several people murmur. Nie Mingjue was not a name brought up in front of Wen Ruohan. Not if one wanted to avoid his ire. 

“Hm.” Wen Ruohan makes a sound of interest. It would seem he didn’t know everything about Meng Yao then. 

“And how do I know your word is trustworthy and that you aren’t some spy sent to provide false information?” 

“Because I am a bastard,” Meng Yao admits, “Jin Guangshan didn’t want me. Nie Mingjue didn’t either. I tried so hard to make myself useful to them, to show that I was worth something , but they didn’t see it. They beat and mocked me, threw me down the stairs, and laughed. I am nothing to them, so why would I give them any loyalty!? I would be more than happy to see their downfall!” 

Wen Ruohan is silent for a moment before letting out a chuckle, “Such an angry thing you are. I can see in your eyes how deeply hatred fills you. Very well little bastard, I will give you a chance to prove yourself. See to it you don’t make the mistake of disappointing me.” Otherwise it will be your last goes unspoken. 

“Of course.” Meng Yao replies, offering a dimpled smile. His robes bear several droplets of blood, yet he ignores them, wholly unbothered by the life that had just been taken. He is not one to be trusted , Wen Qing thinks. 

[linebreak]

“You should marry,” Her uncle tells her over dinner. 

The chopsticks held near her mouth are lowered. 

“Shushu is worried about the line of succession?” 

“Securing the line of succession is important, but that’s not the reason.” He disagrees, “A-Xu and A-Chao weren’t able to give me a grandchild before they left this world.” He looks wistful, “I would like to become a grandfather.” 

“I see… Perhaps once I am further along with my studies we can discuss this further,” Wen Qing suggests, hoping to put such talk on hold. 

Wen Ruohan nods, “Such a diligent student. You make a fine heir. We’ll do our best to find a man worthy of your hand.” 

Wen Qing loses her appetite. 

[line break]

Wen Qing is unable to sleep, kept up by thoughts of an unwanted marriage, so she is one of the first to hear the screams. When the terrified shriek reaches her ears she stiffens, straining her ears to see if she can pick up any other sounds. There’s more yelling, this time accompanied by the crash of breaking wood. It’s closer now. Wen Qing ties her hair back and throws on an outer robe. She goes to press an ear to the door. Her fingers tight around her needles. 

More yelling. She can’t fully understand the words but she can feel the pleading from them, right up until they give way to anguished, wordless screams. Wen Qing summons her courage, opens the door, and peers into the hallway. Servants are running. Her uncle is there, sword unsheathed as he brandishes it about. 

“ TREASON!” He thunders, embedding his blade into the retreating back of a servant. 

“ TREACHEROUS SCUM, WHO PUT YOU UP TO IT?!?!” He demands, downing another. 

“Z-Zhongzhu I don’t k-know. I’d n-never betray you. Please!” A maid tearfully begs, clutching her wounded torso. 

“ LIAR!!! ” He sends her flying into a wall. “ I SAW IT WITH MY OWN EYES. MY CUP WAS POISONED. YOU VERMIN TRIED TO KILL ME. WHO PUT YOU UP TO IT? ” 

Several cultivators come running, drawn by the commotion. Wen Qing stays back, observing the situation. Who would dare attempt an assassination? 

“Zhongzhu, are you alright?”

“What’s happened?” 

Wen Ruohan slowly turns to them, his killing intent growing strong enough to reach Wen Qing. She tightens her grip around her needles. Her uncle’s qi, when used like this, never feels pleasant. It’s heavy, making you feel as though he could crush you with willpower alone (he probably could, given the strength of his cultivation). But there’s something different about it this time. It’s sharper somehow, jagged as if he didn’t have as much control. 

Wen Ruohan laughs. A terrible, icy thing that makes Wen Qing’s skin crawl. 

“So you’ve finally come to the Nightless City, Nie Mingjue,” he laughs. 

“Good. Finally, I will be able to avenge my A-Xu.” 

“Zhongzhu?” 

“What are you saying? There aren’t any Nie cultivators here-“ 

Their talking turns to shouts, then to screams, then to nothing more than choked, garbled sounds. Wen Qing silently shuts her door, heart pounding. Erratic qi. Hallucinations. Her uncle is in the midst of a qi deviation, and he is slaughtering everyone in sight. 

His footsteps echo down the hall. Wen Qing backs away from the door, but there’s nowhere to hide. There’s a window, but her room is so high up she’ll be lucky to survive the fall down. Even if she were to use her blankets as a makeshift rope (and had the time to do so), they weren’t long enough to mitigate the fall. She backs up against the wall beside the door. Heart pounding, she listens to his footsteps. 

He walks past, not even bothering to stop at her door. Wen Qing listens to his footsteps until he is well past her range of hearing. After several minutes of listening to just the sound of her rapidly beating heart, she grabs her medicine bag and stuffs in the few surgery supplies she has on hand before chancing a glance into the hall. He isn’t there, but the guards are. Wen Qing runs over to check if anyone is still breathing. 

One of the cultivators is still alive. He has a deep laceration to his torso and his sword hand is broken, but he is alive. 

“Hang on,” She tells him, pulling out her surgery supplies. 

He tries to mumble something but the words are drowned in blood. Wen Qing’s white sleeves are quickly stained with it. 

“Save your strength.” She chides. The wound is deep, worryingly so, but Wen Qing has dealt with worse. Once she’s finished sewing him up, she helps him hide in a nearby room. 

“Stay here,” she orders. 

He nods. His face is covered in sweat and scrunched with pain. Wen Qing wishes she had some analgesic to give him, but she has nothing. 

“I’ll send someone to help you soon.” 

With that, she runs off in the direction he went. Her uncle had entered a qi deviation. Fool girl, how did you miss the signs?! She berates herself. Now everyone in the palace is at risk. Wen Qing needed to find him, to treat him before he ended any more lives. But with him under the misconception that the Nie were in the Nightless City, this would be no easy task. She needed the help of cultivators. Unfortunately, most of the skilled ones had been sent off to battle. She prayed the palace guard still had enough left to help her. 

Wen Qing has no issue finding him - all she has to do is follow the sounds of screaming and metal clashing on metal. Along the way, she’s able to round up a few lone cultivators. Some are injured, but she patches them up well enough that they can still fight. 

“I can put a stop to his rampage, but in order to do so, I need you to immobilize him, just for a moment,” Wen Qing tells them. “Can you do that for me?”

The cultivators look at one another with uncertainty. 

“We’ll try.” One replies grimly. 

“That’s all I ask.” 

They burst into action, surrounding her uncle from all sides. Wen Ruohan is a mess, hair, and clothes disheveled, and bleeding from every orifice, but he is still a force to be reckoned with. No one wants to make the first move, so Wen Ruohan does it for them. He throws himself to the left, bringing his sword down so hard it causes a crack to form in his opponent’s blade. Everyone springs into motion, causing the fight to become a chaotic, jumbled mess. 

Wen Ruohan is bold and aggressive, meeting each blow head-on. Even weakened as he is, his swordsmanship is something to behold. He’s outnumbered fourteen to one, but Wen Qing can’t say for certain if it will be enough. The fight rages on. Three more men die. 

Wen Ruohan’s moves become sluggish and he has to pause more often to hack up blood. In doing so, he grants Wen Qing the chance she needed. The cultivators pile into him when he’s distracted, their combined weight bringing him to his knees. A pair of hands wrench her uncle’s head to the side, exposing his neck. Wen Qing doesn’t waste the opportunity. Needles at the ready, she flicks her wrist, embedding several of them into his neck. His struggling ceases. 

“Move,” She orders, shoving her way through to her now motionless uncle. She checks his pulse. Nothing. Wen Qing tries his other wrist before moving to his neck. Nothing. He’s not breathing. She can’t sense the flow of his qi. Wen Qing runs through the motions of treatment, but deep down, she knows it is futile. Her uncle ran amok for too long. There’s no saving him now. She puts her needles away and closes his eyes with blood-soaked fingers. 

Wen Ruohan is gone. 

Chapter Text

Twenty-six fatalities, most of them servants just trying to do their jobs. Twelve injured. Those who’d managed to survive had all been cultivators who would all make a recovery, thanks in part to their golden cores. Wen Qing would have examined them all personally if not for her own situation's urgency. With Wen Ruohan gone, there was a power vacuum, and everyone would be attempting to seize whatever they could. Although the line of succession had technically been resolved, Wen Qing knew she had precious little ground to stand on compared to some of the senior members of the court. She was no war hero, no cultivator of renown. Her reputation was good, but a good chunk of her political strength lay in having her uncle’s favor. With him gone, she’d lost her most powerful supporter. 

No doubt the others are looking for excuses to deny my title as Zhongzhu, Wen Qing thinks. Still, my uncle had a few members who were genuinely loyal to him. They should back me if only to honor his wishes. Still, I cannot rely too heavily on this. I need to garner supporters of my own. She’d have to act quickly.

Wen Qing summons a servant. “Gather all the members of the court. We shall have a meeting to discuss the current state of affairs in three incense sticks time.” 

Not a lot of time to prepare, but every moment she delayed would be another for her enemy to plot against her. 

“Understood. Will that be all?” The servant asks. 

“Tell Wen Qiqiang to report to me at once,” Wen Qing decides. The servant slips away; finally alone, Wen Qing lets herself sag. She looks down at her hands, still covered in her uncle’s blood. I couldn’t save him. She didn’t know whether that was a blessing or a curse. The blood had begun to dry, leaving her fingers sticky. Wen Qing itched to wash off the remnants of the slaughter but made no move to cleanse herself. Instead, she fixed her hair and adjusted her robes, smoothing out the wrinkles and ensuring every drop of blood was visible. 

A knock at the door. Wen Qing corrects her posture. “Come in.”

Wen Qiqiang steps into the room and bows. He straightened, face blank but body tense, no doubt from the pain of his broken arm. 

“The Zhongzhu didn’t make it?” He says the question like a statement of fact. 

“He was too far gone,” Wen Qing states. Wen Qiqiang nods solemnly. 

“A tremendous loss for our clan.” Wen Qiqiang says and means it. Wen Rouhan did not have peers, only subordinates, but of those, Wen Qiqiang had always been a favorite. Steadfast, powerful, and above all loyal, Wen Qiqiang had not once wavered in his dedication to her uncle, even in his turbulent final days. Her uncle didn’t fully trust anyone in the weeks leading up to his qi deviation, but even then, Wen Qiqiang had never been too far from his side. Wen Qing would do well to keep him on her side. 

“A void that cannot easily be filled,” Wen Qing acknowledges, “But we must persist regardless. Our sect’s position is precarious. Uncle could never rest peacefully if the sect should come to ruin.” 

“What would you have me do?” Wen Qiqiang asks. 

“I have called for a court gathering. The future of our sect must be secured, and that begins with the line of succession. I will honor my uncle’s wishes and fulfill my duties as heir. As our leading military strategist and one of our strongest cultivators, I would have you offer me Wen Ruohan’s xiaoguan in a show of support.” Wen Qing observes him, carefully watching for any sign of disapproval. After a pregnant pause, he bows to her, much deeper than the previous one. 

“My loyalty to Wen Ruohan is absolute. Without question, I will see to it his final wish is carried out,” Wen Qiqiang swears. “I will do as you see fit.” 

Wen Qing stands ramrod straight, hands clasped in front of her as she watches the remaining sleep-addled cultivators stumble in. The air is thick with panic and confusion; everyone aware of Wen Ruohan’s rampage if not the current state of the man himself. 

“Wen Ruohan is dead,” Wen Qing announces without preamble. She pauses, allowing the words to sink in. Intermittent whispers pass through the crowd. Wen Qing raises a bloodied hand, silencing them. 

“He suffered from a qi deviation. It struck swiftly, claiming the lives of not only our Zhonzhu but several other clansmen; all will be dearly missed.” Wen Qing allows a flicker of grief to show before schooling her features back into solemn resolve. Let them see her mourn, but keep a tight grip on her composure. 

“Of course, we will take the time to mourn our dead, to pay them the final respects they are rightfully owed,” She continues, “But we must control our grief. We cannot show weakness or division to the other sects. The Wen must persist as a unified front.” Wen Wing steps forward, holding out her hands, still covered in the blood of the fallen. 

“Wen Ruohan declared me as his successor,” She declares with certainty. “With his passing, he has entrusted the future of our great sect to me. I will honor him and his final wish. Will you all do the same?” 

The room erupts into noise. 

“The Zhongzhu dead? How can this be!?” 

“First his sons and now Wen Ruohan himself?”

“What will we do? Once the other sects learn of this, they’ll become even more vicious!” 

“Wen Zhongzhu is pivotal to us conquering the other sects. What will become of us now!?”

“Calm yourselves!” A voice cuts through the others, “What would Wen Zhongzhu say if he saw you? Such lack of decorum, he’d roll in his grave!” The crowd silences, all eyes locked onto the figure who separates himself from them. Wen Guowei stands in front of the crowd, back brazenly turned to Wen Qin. 

“Our loss is great but not wholly insurmountable,” Wen Guowei says. “We cannot focus solely on loss; we must speak of the future as well.” Many nod and murmur in agreement. 

Wen Qing wracks her brain for how to regain the crowd's attention. She needs to do something, say something, but she must consider her next step wisely; anything less than recapturing everyone’s attention would cause more problems than it would solve. However, allowing Wen Guowei to successfully snatch control of the situation and continue to ignore her would be disastrous. Wen Qing steps frowards, still behind Wen Guowei (moving to be beside or even in front of him could set a damning precedent), and opens her mouth, to say what she isn’t sure, only to be spared the dilemma by Wen Qiqiang. He strides forward until he is standing level with her opponent, body angled in a way that allows him to face her without completely turning his back on the crowd.

“Wen Zongzhu made his expectations clear,” Wen Qiqiang booms, “Respecting his wishes is paramount; failure to do so equates to treason.” The hand holding his sword tightens its grip. “Just as I have dealt with treachery against the Zhongzhu in the past, I will not hesitate to do so again.” 

The crowd recoils. Even Wen Guowei remains silent. Wen Qiqiang commands great respect and even greater fear. It was for good reason he bore a title gifted by Wen Ruohan himself: Junli. Without pity. 

“It is Wen Ruohan’s will that Wen Qing take the mantle of Zhongzhu.” At these words, the crowd refocuses on her. 

“Some of you may have reservations,” Wen Qing says, “But know this: my uncle had faith in me to lead the sect in his absence. No one could compare to him; this is without exception. Still, I vow to carry the sect forward. I will guide us through our strife and see to it that our sect emerges with its head held high. If you do not yet trust in me, then trust in our late Zhongzhu. Wen Ruohan would not appoint less than the best.” 

Wen Qing makes eye contact with the crowd, unflinching. Daring anyone to speak against her. When no one does, Wen Qiqiang kneels in front of her, offering her uncle’s xiaoguan. A symbol of the Wen Zhongzhu. 

“Wen Qing, are you prepared to bear the weight of leadership?” He asks. 

“I am.” Despite the tremors of her soul, Wen Qing’s hands are steady as always. She plucks the xiaoguan from the still kneeling Wen Qiqiang and raises it for all to see. 

With this, I can change things. Heavens, Ancestors, and whatever else may be listening, please let me succeed. Please help me protect my family. 

Wen Qing lowers the xiaoguan onto her topknot, hair unadorned for this precise moment. With blood stained fingers, Wen Qing smoothly slides the hairpin into place. Despite his injured arm, Wen Qiqiang kowtows, head pressed to the floor. Helpless to do anything else, the rest of the crowd follows suit. Even Wen Guowei. He locks eyes with Wen Qing as he lowers himself before her, eyes burning with a cold rage. 

Wen Qiqiang rises, stepping closer to Wen Qing. Hunches down and whispers low enough for only the two of them to hear, “I’ll hold you to that, Zhongzhu.”

Chapter Text

Wen Qing assists with preparations for a funeral procession for the third time in not so many months. The appearance of utmost filial piety is an essential aspect for legitimizing her rule, but it is far from the forefront of her mind as she is presented with her uncle’s finished funeral tablet. She handles it as carefully as any scalpel when making an incision. But there is no arrow to remove, no bone to set, no medicine to prescribe for this ailment. 

“One after the other,” Wen Xiaodan sighs. “It feels endless.” 

Wen Qing nods. “I will see to it personally the tablet is delivered to its resting place after the procession.” The responsibility would have normally gone to Wen Ruohan’s sons, had either of them been alive to do it. 

“How are you able to handle it?” Wen Xiaodan asks. “Aren’t you overwhelmed?”

Of course I am. Not that she has the luxury of showing it. 

“It doesn’t matter, these things still need doing.” Wen Qing responds with more certainty than she feels. 

“Our unflappable Wen Qing.” Wen Xiaodan smiles ruefully. “He always admired that about you.” She ducks her head, “Forgive me, you must be sick of hearing condolences. I know I was after Wen Chao’s passing.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Wen Qing replies. “Will you be able to handle the remaining arrangements?”

“Of course. You have more than enough to worry about. I’ll take care of this.”

“Thank you, Xiaodan.”

Wen Xiaodan bobs her head shyly in acknowledgement, an action reminiscent of Wen Ning. I hope he’s doing okay back home. It must be busy without me there to help with the patients. Wen Qing would have to find time to write to him and inquire about the status of her patients. I’ll have A-Ning see to it their needs are attended to. There are other capable doctors in Qishan; no sense in having anyone postpone treatment to wait for my return. Wen Qing tries not to dwell on how long it’ll take for that return to happen. 

“Greetings, Wen Zhongzhu,” A gentle voice calls from behind. Wen Qing turns to see a slight figure bowing in deference. 

“Apologies for intruding. I was instructed to deliver this to you.” Meng yao smiles softly, eyes downcast in a show of bashfulness as he holds out a letter. Wen Qing remembers the heat in his voice as he declared his desire for Jin Guangshan’s downfall and feels instant unease. 

“I see,” She acknowledges, taking the offered parchment. A vie for her attention disguised as an invitation for tea. Wen Qing would have liked nothing more than to turn on her heel and ignore the missive and its messenger altogether, but one did not secure allies without taking pains such as these. So, instead, she says:

“Thank you. Please inform him of my acceptance.” 

Meng Yao bows once more, his voice still gentle and sweet. “It is my pleasure, Zhongzhu.” 

Meng Yao walks to his post, pace measured and face serene. He smiles and nods to anyone who acknowledges him, as few as there are. Servants and scribes, mostly. Unassuming but useful people to know. Meng Yao makes certain to know them all. 

Take the young woman in front of him, for example. Wen Biyu is a bubbly yet absent-minded young woman. Often seen with a daydreamy expression as she fantasizes about the love stories she reads to herself and to any illiterate servant girls interested in that sort of thing. She’s humming tunelessly, her mind elsewhere as she delivers some missives for her lady, Wen Xiaodan. It’s an envious position, to work for someone so highly ranked. Meng Yao imagines quite a few of her friends resent her for it. 

It’s easy, unobservant as she is, to nudge a rock into her path. Predictably, Wen Biyu stumbles. It’s easy to catch the unsteady figure in his arms, adjusting her carefully and giving her a worried once-over. 

“Oh my, are you alright?” He keeps his voice soft and soothing, ensuring his touch is feather light. 

Wen Biyu stares at him, eyes wide and cheeks pink. It’s like a scene from one of her romance novels, the handsome male lead rescuing the pretty maiden. It’s been remarked that Meng Yao takes after his mother; on one occasion a drunken whoremaster even lamenting that he weren’t born a girl, as he wouldn’ve made the man very rich with his ‘adventageous’ facial features. All this to say that when Wen Biyu blushes and stammers an apology, her flustered state isn’t solely due to her perceived clumsiness. 

“Ah, t-thank you so much,” Wen Biyu nods in appreciation. 

“It was nothing,” Meng Yao replies. “It wouldn’t be right of me to just let a girl like you fall.” 

Wen Biyu flushes darker, “A girl like me? You flatter me, you’re too kind.” 

“Nonsense.”

Wen Biyu preens under the attention, oblivious to the loss of one of the letters cradled in her arms. 

“I-I’ve got to go! Thanks again!” Wen Biyu scampers off, this time more attentive to where her feet land. 

Meng Yao resumes his walk. Easy. 

Wen Qing joins Wen Qingshan for tea. He is one of the many trying to seize her attention. Still, unlike most, who attempt to hide their ulterior motives behind flowery words and suggestion, Wen Qingshang has theーshe can’t call it decencyーwillingness to get straight to the point. 

“You took us by surprise, Zhongzhu.” Wen Qingshan smiles as he pours her tea. “Truly, I was shocked. Tell me, was that really your uncle’s blood on your hands?”

Wen Qing bristles, “If you mean to imply some form of culpability in his death or any deception on my part, this conversation will end here.”

Wen Qingshan’s smile never falters. “Of course not, Zongzhu. I merely meant it in the literal sense. I wasn’t privy to all the excitement and am simply curious. No disrespect is intended. The opposite. I can’t recall the last time I saw Guo-mei so upset.” 

Wen Qing studies him as he sips his tea. Despite having nearly a decade on Wen Guowei, Wen Qingshan looked much younger than his brother, a testament to the differences in their cultivation. One of the many things that fueled the feud between them, according to her uncle. “A leader must always possess awareness of their subordinates,” Wen Ruohan had once explained. “Think of your clansmen like your medicinal garden. You must remain vigilant, always ready to prune the unnecessary leaves.” 

“My baby brother is prideful, Zhongzhu. You’re going to need help dealing with his tantrums. Luckily, I am more than capable of taking care of that.” 

“What’s the caveat?” Wen Qing demands. 

“Always straight to the point. That’s a novelty in these parts.” He hums, refilling his cup. “When our parents passed, they left me and Guo-mei in charge of a wealthy estate. I must give credit where credit is due: Guowei got the better of me there. All I want is what belongs to me in the first place.” 

Reclaiming the family estate. It doesn’t sound like much at first, but Heavens know it can’t be that simple. Wen Qing grits her teeth. How on earth did Uncle get anything done with all this scheming underfoot? All this time wasted dealing with false pleasantries and ulterior motives, yet I haven’t secured a single person in my corner. 

“Please consider it, Zhongzhu.” He scratches his chin. “Ah. I’m sure you’ve heard that at least a hundred times today.”

“And with better tea,” She sniffs. 

“Hah!” Wen Qingshang bursts into the first genuine laugh she’s heard all day.  

“Apologies, Zhongzhu. Tell me your favorite, and I’ll only ever serve you that hereafter. Well, I’ll spare you my spiel about how Guo-mei is the biggest threat to your position, but please, do consider my offer. I hold a lot more sway than those small fry you’ve been dealing with.” 

“And a greater propensity for trouble,” Wen Qing retorts. It wasn’t uncommon for meetings to go awry because of Wen Qingshang goading his enemies (his brother especially) into squabbles. With Wen Guowei barely attempting to mask his desire to become Zhongzhu, siding with his rivals makes sense. Even so, Wen Qingshang will be difficult to reign in. Is the benefit worth the cost? 

“You can’t catch as many fish without first stirring the water, Zhongzhu,” He advises, face serious. “Guo-mei has a lot of support. Like it or not, you’re going to have to side with someone eventually. I won’t pretend to have your best interests at heart, but I’ll at least do you the courtesy of being up front about it.” 

Only for as long as it’s convenient for you. She frowns. 

“I’ll consider it.”  

He claps his hands, smile returning in full force. 

“Excellent! Now that that’s out of the way, I had a servant prepare lunch. As a show of gratitude for taking the time out of your busy day to chat with me, I’ve taken measures to ensure you won’t be bombarded by anyone else for the next hour. Now you can properly enjoy your meal, right Zhongzhu?” 

Wen Qing is preparing for bed when she grants her final audience for the evening, more so for the benefit of the cultivator tasked with guarding her chambers more than anyone else. Wen Qiuyue strides past the thoroughly bullied cultivator, who wastes no time returning to his post. 

“You’re going to wipe out those other sects, aren’t you?” Wen Qiuyue demands. Her posture is perfect, her robes pristine, but Wen Qing could still smell the traces of plum sake lingering on her breath and see the lingering redness that came from crying. Uncle would often drink plum sake; he didn’t care for alcohol, but when he did drink, he always made sure it was sweet. The thought comes to Wen Qing unbidden. 

Wen Qing sets down her hairbrush but does not leave her vanity table. “I intend to do what is best for the sect.”

“Eradication of our enemies is the surest way to prevent them from ever standing in opposition to us,” Wen Qiuyue declares. Wen Qing watches her reflection in the mirror, taking in Wen Qiuyue’s stiff posture, flushed cheeks, and burning eyes. “I won’t let my husband’s death go unpunished. As the Zhongzhu, you shouldn’t either.” 

“I’m sure the Nie Zhongzhu felt a similar rage when he took your husband’s life. I’m sure most of the people who’ve taken life because of this war felt something like that at one point or another. Everyone wants to avenge their fallen. Like reopening a wound in the hopes of teaching it a lesson,” Wen Qing says. 

Qiuyue’s eyes widened before she let out an amused huff. “How poignant of you, Qing-mei. Tell me,” She drawls, leaning over Wen Qing’s shoulder. The cloying fragrance of plum assaults her qi-enhanced sense of smell. “Do you intend to go to your court, preach some such niceties, and expect everyone else to fall in line?” Her humorous exhale tickles the shell of Wen Qing’s ear, “They’ll eat you alive, meimei.” 

“Not at all,” Wen Qing replies cooly, restraining herself from pushing Wen Qiuyue away from her. “That doesn’t mean I can allow this conflict to continue.” 

“You know, you might be the first person to put my Xuxu’s ambitions to shame,” Wen Qiuyue titters, “Other than our late Zhongzhu, of course. But ambition can only take you so far. The same goes for this.” She flicks to the xiaoguan with a well-manicured finger. 

“Though I will admit, you made quite the impression back there,” She acknowledges. “The looks on those geezer’s faces when you crowned yourself isn’t one I’ll soon forget.” She leans back to a more respectful distance. “There hasn’t been a female zhongzhu in any of the great sects since Lan Yi. I don’t think we’ve ever had one at all.” She sighs, “It would be an embarrassment if our first lady zhongzhu couldn’t hold onto power for more than a few days. Not to mention the inconvenience for me if one of those other cultivators became the zhongzhu instead. They aren’t as respectful as they should be to widows like myself.” 

“So Qiuyue will throw her lot in with the pacifist instead?” Wen Qing arches an eyebrow. 

“The lesser of two evils,” She deadpans. Wen Qing stifles a snort of amusement. 

“Such a pretty smile,” Wen Qiuyue sighs. “Poor Weishheng-xiong, I won’t be able to play matchmaker for the two of you anymore.” 

Wen Qing frowns. She already knew Qiuyue was the culprit behind that particular mischief, but still. 

“The others will expect me to marry,” Wen Qing states. The news of her uncle’s passing was still a great shock to everyone, but she knew it was only a matter of time before the opportunists starting flocking to her as suitors. 

“I hope Qing-mei doesn’t have her heart set on anyone,” Wen Qiuyue warns, wagging a finger. “Marriage is one thing we absolutely cannot allow.” 

Wen Qing didn’t need the reminder. Any husband could easily siphon power from her, leaving her zhongzhu only in name. 

“The line of succession must be secured,” Wen Qing murmured, knowing her political opponents would think the same thing. 

“You’ll have to name an heir, there is no getting around that, I’m afraid.” Wen Qiuyue paces back and forth. “Unfortunately, your brother isn’t worth his salt as a cultivator, though it would be amusing to see him test his luck in court politics.”

“I won’t involve A-Ning in this,” Wen Qing states firmly. “Now leave him be.” 

“We don’t want anyone that politically inexperienced anyway. We’ll address this matter further once I’ve had time to think,” She dismisses with a wave. 

“You’re adjusting to this…quickly.” Almost suspiciously so, Wen Qing thinks. 

“One who hesitates loses, Qing-mei. Surely, Gong gong taught you that much.” 

Chapter Text

The funeral procession is the largest one yet. Wen Qing leads the march of mourners,  a tide of white flowing through the city. Xiaodan and Qiuyue stand to her left, Wen Qiqiang at her right. Her clansmen line the streets, fires burning heaps of joss paper and shrines piled high with lilies and wine. Wen Qing leads the march all throughout the Nightless City, her uncle’s funeral tablet cradled in her arms all the while. Eventually, Wen Qing and the mourners arrive back at her uncle’s estate. Servants set the casket down, at last relieved from their burden, and step back. 

Wen Qing hands the tablet off to Wen Xiaodan and approaches the casket. Priests burn incense and utter prayers for the deceased, just as they had done for the sons lost before him. Wen Qing kneels before the casket and bows, the rest of the procession following suit. Once, twice, thrice. She rises. 

The priests gather around, doing a final check on the seals of the casket. With a death as violent as his, every precaution is needed; Wen Qing shuddered to think of the calamity that would be Wen Rouhan’s resentful spirit. 

“Are you ready for the burial, Zhongzhu?” The eldest priest asks softly. 

Wen Qing nods. The priest gestures for Wen Xiaodan and Wen Qiuyue to come forward. As the closest remaining immediate family members, they were responsible for completing the final burial rites. The priests gather the casket, raising it once more. 

“Come,” The eldest priest says, leading their little group to the final resting place of the Wen’s leaders: the Tomb of the Setting Suns. 

Wen Qing shivers as she descends the stone steps of the crypt, the temperature plummeting with each step she takes. The crypt is a grand cavern, the walls painstakingly carved with the history of her sect, the ceiling bearing a massive sun. Torches line the walls, illuminating the entire space. Protective talismans are mounted high, the priests taking every precaution against resentful energy. Wen Ruohan’s casket is placed between that of his sons, all three resting on a stone bier covered by a crimson cloth. 

Wen Qiuyue steps forward, placing lilies on her father-in-law’s casket; all but one, which she saves for Wen Xu. Wen Xiaodan pointedly does not look at her own husband’s casket, keeping her eyes firmly glued to the floor. 

“Although it was sooner than any had hoped, the father is finally reunited with his sons.” The priest declares, face solemn. “May the heavens watch over his spirit. May the path ahead be one of serenity. And may the winds of fate guide him, as they do us all, through the cycles of reincarnation.” The priest bows his head. 

Wen Xiaodan takes Wen Qing’s hand, giving her a quick squeeze. Wen Qing squeezed back, the gravity of the situation pressing down on her with renewed intensity, her stomach twisting in knots. 

“As is tradition, the new Zhongzhu shall enter a period of reflection,” The priest states. After the old Zhongzhu is buried, the new Zhongzhu is to spend the night in meditation here, in the crypt, paying respects to the leaders of the past and praying for their clan’s future. 

Wen Xiaodan moves back, slim fingers sliding from Wen Qing’s hand. The priests offer Wen Qing a final nod before guiding the two widows from the chamber. 

“I will return for you at dawn,” The eldest priest promises. And then he is gone, taking every other living person with him. 

Wen Qing sags to the ground, the coldness of the stone seeping through her too-thin layers. She barely notices, too focused on the caskets in front of her. 

“What did you go and do that for? How are you supposed to meet any grandkids of yours now?” Wen Qing asks. As much of a tyrant as you could be, she thought, you had always been kind to kids. Wen Qing laughs, the sound high and thin. Those hands spilled so much blood. Those same hands had also scooped her up, setting her on his shoulders when she was little and too tired to walk. Hands that caused so much pain and yet wiped away her tears when she’d fallen and scraped her knees. Wen Qing laughs, only for it to come out as a sob. Only her own hands could wipe away her tears now. 

“Qing-mei needs an heir,” Wen Qiuyue announces, smacking her fan against the palm of her hand. 

“And who do you suggest?” Wen Qing responds. 

Wen Qiuyue sighs, “A son born from either Xiao-mei or myself would have been ideal, but unless Xiao-mei has any children we don’t know about running around, that’s out of the question.”

Wen Xiaodan frowns, replying, “My husband’s sights were set elsewhere.”

Wen Qiuyue clicks her tongue, “That’s right, he was very interested in that servant of yours. Honestly, Xiao-mei, I don’t know why you didn’t kick her out when you had the chance. Unfortunately, she died right along with him, so that’s another dead end.” 

“Qiuyue,” Wen Qing chides. “That’s enough.” Wen Qiuyue isn’t chastised in the least. 

“There is always the option of adoption,” She says, “Though you’d have a hard time dealing with everyone trying to saddle you with one of their own.”

“If you adopt someone’s child, it could help cement an alliance with them,” Wen Xiaodan admits, though she looks far from pleased at the prospect. 

“Possibly. It could also encourage them to try and usurp my position,” Wen Qing worries. Give a handspan and they’ll want the entire limb. 

“A risk, yes, but not everyone wants to be in the hot seat. I can think of a few who’d be happy attempting to pull strings from the sidelines,” Wen Qiuyue says. 

“You’d know plenty about that,” Wen Xiaodan mutters. 

“What was that, Xiao-mei?” Wen Qiuyue leans forward, voice sharp, “You’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t think I heard you correctly. Would you care to repeat that?” 

Wen Xiaodan tenses, caught between her anger and her aversion to her sister-in-law. 

“Stop it,” Wen Qing hisses. “We have more important things to worry about.” 

“ Hmph. Very well.” Qiuyue flicks open her fan. “Wen Chang has a son. He’s still a junior disciple, so he hasn’t been sent off to help with the war effort. Since he’s fairly young, he should be more tractable. You’d have to keep him close and away from his father’s influence.”

Wen Qing grimaces at the thought of separating a parent and child. “What other options do we have?”

“Wen Zhu has two grandchildren, both at the age where they’ve started to develop their golden cores,” Qiuyue responds. “You’d do well to snatch him up before Wen Guowei does.” 

Wen Qing shakes her head. “Our relationship has been strained at the best of times. He’d want to stab me in the back the moment the opportunity arises.” For as long as she’s been a doctor, she’s been subject to Wen Zhu’s scrutiny. Her fellow physician had always been bitter that Wen Ruohan sought her medical counsel over his. 

“All the more reason to keep an eye on him,” Wen Qiyue replies, “But he’s not my first choice either. Fortunately, we have one more option.” Her lips curl into a pleased grin. 

“I’ve received word from Qingshan’s mistress that he has the most adorable nephew. The mother has fallen ill, so the child is staying with him for the time being. With little A-yuan’s ties to both Guowei and Qingshan, even your enemies wouldn’t object to him becoming your heir.” 

“Can’t we find someone else?” Wen Xiaodan pleads, “Surely we don’t need to involve anyone so young.” 

“A-yuan is the perfect candidate! Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if Qingshan suggests the same thing! He’s already approached you with an offer for an alliance. He’s Wen Guowei’s biggest rival. We can’t afford to turn down his support, not with that old geezer so dead set against you.”

Wen Xiaodan fiddled with the hem of her sleeve. “If he already wants to ally with you, then why not adopt a different child and try to secure someone else’s support? Given the circumstances, I’m sure no one would object to you adopting an older disciple.” 

Wen Qiuyue wags a finger. “A-yuan is our best bet. Wen Qishang’s mistress answers to me . She’ll be able to keep a close eye on the child and rein her lover in.”

Wen Qing frowns. “I hold a lot more sway than those small fry you’ve been dealing with.” His voice echoes in her head. Dealing with Wen Qishang would be nothing short of a massive headache. Nevertheless…

“I’ll do it.” 

Wen Xiaodan makes the face of someone who’s swallowed an especially bitter medicine. Wen Qiuyue nods in approval.

“Excellent.”

The five Great Sects aren’t all that different from each other. Meng Yao sits with the other scribes, his brush at the ready. Of them, he is the only one not adorned in the red and white robes of the clan. An outsider. Worse still, an illegitimate one. Lineage and power were everything to the Great Sects, and Meng Yao had neither. 

Envy and Meng Yao have long been familiar with one another, but the intensity of his jealousy as he watches the Wen Zhongzhu address the court has him nearly blinded by hate. Wen Qing, a provincial doctor, respected but not of great political importance-until she became the Zhongzhu. It was masterfully done, Meng Yao can admit. No one had seen her grasp for power until it was already clenched tightly between her blood-soaked fingers. Meng Yao’s fingers twitch; for a moment, it’s his hands sliding the hairpin into the xiaoguan, fiery gaze forcing the rest of the court into submission. 

Seizing power is one thing, but keeping hold of it is another. And this is where the doctor stumbles. Wen Qing, for all her skills, lacks the sheer presence of her predecessor. Wen Qing stands tall and speaks in a clear voice that leaves little room for argument, but where she demands respect, Wen Ruohan had seen it as a given. He was the center of gravity, and the world bent around him. Next to that, what was one mere healer? 

“A-Yuan will be my heir,” Wen Qing announces with finality.

Wen Qishang doesn’t bother attempting to mask his pleasure. Although the court bows to Wen Qing and voice their acceptance of this decision, it is to Wen Qishang they truly look to. Careful, Zhongzhu, Meng Yao thinks with bitter amusement, your power will be snatched right out from under you. And when it was, Meng Yao would seize every advantage he could. 

“Welcome back,” Han Fenhua greets. “Your visitor is waiting for you in the garden.” 

“Understood, I’ll be with him shortly. How is A-yuan?” Wen Qishang asks. 

“The little darling is taking a nap,” She informs him. 

“My, you’ve taken such a strong liking to A-yuan. Is my Fenhua finally considering becoming a mother herself, hm?” He pulls her close, “I would be more than happy to oblige~” 

She laughs, playfully smacking his arm, “And be subjected to the wrath of your wife? One assassination attempt was plenty, thank you. Now, don’t keep your brother waiting. If he breaks one of my teacups in anger again, I’ll be cross with both of you.”

Wen Qishang huffs a laugh, “If I don’t keep him waiting, then how else is he supposed to learn patience?” 

“See how quickly I unlearn it if he throws a tantrum,” Han Fenhua threatens. “Now off with you.” 

After being dismissed with a peck on the cheek, Wen Qishang strolls into the garden. His brother sits near the pond, watching the koi fish. 

“That infernal cat of yours killed another one,” Wen Guowei complains. 

“Jiji needs to eat,” He shrugs. 

“Then feed it something else,” Wen Guowei snaps. 

“Now now, let’s not get so worked up,” Wen Qishang laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. 

Wen Guowei clenches the teacup in his hand, no doubt wanting to chuck it at his elder brother’s head. Ah, he really was too easy to rile up. It would annoy Wen Qishang if it didn’t make him so easy to anticipate. 

“So, how is that nephew of mine?” Wen Qishang asks. 

“Weisheng continues to fight admirably on the front lines. Word has not yet spread of Wen Ruohan’s death, but it is only a matter of time,” Wen Guowei says. 

“It’s incredibly inconvenient of our former Zhongzhu to up and die on us like that,” Wen Qishang shakes his head. “He could’ve at least finished off the Lan or Jiang before his passing.” 

“You should not speak so ill of the dead,” Wen Guowei chides. 

“I’ll be sure to burn some joss paper in apology,” He replies with a dismissive wave. “Now then, how are things with Wen Zhu?” 

“It’s taken some doing, but he’s finally fallen in line. Stubborn fool.” 

Wen Qishang has to bite back a laugh at Guowei of all people calling someone stubborn. Though Zhu certainly is a fool. If you want to guide the wagon, why would you go for the horse harness over the reins? 

“And the other would be usurpers?” He asks. 

“You give them too much credit,” Wen Guowei huffs. “No one of any real capability stood behind him.” 

“You don’t always need to be skilled,” He counters, wagging a finger. “Just lucky. Take our Zhongzhu, for instance.” At the mention of Wen Qing, Wen Guowei scowls. 

“You must be quite pleased with yourself, getting her to agree so readily to your choice of heir.” Wen Guowei grumbles. 

Wen Qishang grins, “Guo-mei, why so cross? He’s your nephew, too. You should be happy, I’ve given you that much more influence in the court.” 

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” Wen Guowei snarls, slamming his hands down on the table. “You think I don’t keep in touch with my niece? That I never visited her and her kids? I know the boy isn’t hers. Where did you get that child, Qishang? Just what are you planning!?” 

Wen Qishang raises a finger to his lips, teeth bared in a vicious grin. 

“Hush, Guo-mei, you never know who’s listening~” 

“It was loud. It was painful,” The ghost girl sobs. “I kept calling for Papa, but he never came.” 

“I’m sure he would have come if he could,” Wei Wuxian soothes. “It was scary, but you were so brave. I’m sorry it hurt, but it doesn’t have to hurt anymore. Not ever again.” 

The ghost wipes her incorporeal face with her sleeve. “You promise?” 

Wei Wuxian offers her a sorrowful smile, “I promise. Are you ready, An?” 

The ghost girl takes one last look at the remains of her village before giving Wei Wuxian a solemn nod. With that, he raises Chenqing to his lips and plays a melody for rest. 

An’s spirit sighs, her meager resentful energy drifting away, the visage of the little girl in tattered robes dissipating alongside it. Wei Wuxian lowers his dizi. 

Oh, Wen Rouhan, just you wait.

Chapter Text

“You summoned me, Zhongzhu.” Wen Qiqiang bows. 

“I wish to discuss the upcoming strategy meeting,” Wen Qing states.

He nods, having expected this. “Zhongzhu, if I may speak freely?”

“By all means,” Wen Qing gestures for him to continue. 

“The late Wen Zhongzhu left us prematurely. He did not have time to see to the more militant aspects of your education. I am well-versed in the art of war. From the outset, I have supported the late Wen Zhongzhu in his efforts to expand our territory. Please permit me the authority to advise you throughout this campaign. I will see to it that the other sects are brought to heel in your name.” 

Wen Qing cringes inwardly at the thought of such a conquest, but keeps her face neutral. 

“Your knowledge and experience would be most welcome. As for our strategy,” Wen Qing sends an unspoken plea to the Heavens, “It would be best if we halt our expansion for the time being.”

Wen Qiqiang stands motionless, face carved from stone. 

“By now, news of Uncle’s death will have spread. It is only a matter of time until word reaches outside our sect. Regardless of our might, this will revitalize the other sects. A reallocation of troops is necessary. We must prioritize the protection of Qishan,” She states. 

Wen Qiqiang considers this. “I understand your thought process, Zhongzhu. I cannot say that I wholly agree with it.” He pauses, as if half-expecting her to lash out at anything less than total compliance, but when she doesn’t, he resumes. 

“Halting our efforts can send a message of weakness to the other sects. They will mistake your caution for weakness. They will see a sect leader with no knowledge of war and assume you are easily cowed. We should press forward, let them know that, like your predecessor, you are not to be trifled with.” 

Wen Qing pretends to think it over. Expansion is one of the last things I can allow. Such an act of aggression will only fan the flames. Still, she couldn’t afford to alienate Junli-not yet. With such a fearsome reputation, he’d have no issue carrying out a coup should he find her lacking. 

“We need to strengthen our borders,” Wen Qing insists. “Expansion does us no good if we cannot hold onto it.” Although the fallback of cultivators would be ideal, halting expansion under the guise of stabilizing our ‘territory’ is an acceptable compromise. 

“This is true,” Wen Qiqang acknowledges. “If that is your will, then I will see to it that it is carried out.” 

“Xiao Furen, it is an honor to share your company,” Wen Shihan gives her a slight bow, and the two women accompanying her do the same. 

“The pleasure is mine,” Xiaodan demurs, taking her place among them. As the highest ranking one (even if only in title), she is given a seat right next to the hostess, Wen Shihan. She sits on a plush cushion, and her servant brings her things for embroidery. The other women share a glance, clearly having a silent conversation, and Xiaodan has to fight the urge to squirm. 

She’s never been good at these sorts of things, preferring to remain on the sidelines rather than be at the center of it all. But Wen Qing asked a favor of her, and although she is far from adept at politics, she wants to help her cousin where she can. That and the fact that she didn’t want to resort to Qiuyue’s methods of gathering supporters. Always pushing people around. Wen Xiaodan hated being pushed, almost as much as she hated her sister-in-law. Unfortunately for her, life lately has been nothing but a series of pushes and pulls, like a tide doing its best to drag her under. 

With hands less steady than she’d like, Xiaodan takes her needle. It’s a piece she’s already started on, a sparrow taking flight with her young. As she falls into a familiar rhythm, she regains enough courage to speak. 

“How is your family, Lady Shihan?” It’s not the most subtle redirection of conversation, but Wen Shihan goes with it.  

“Kai has grown considerably, both in skill and stature. His father trains him well,” Wen Shihan answers. 

“You must be proud,” Wen Xiaodan keeps her gaze on her needlework, “Perhaps worried too…”

“What should the lady worry about?” One of her companions demands, voice deceptively light. 

Not the best way to begin this conversation. Biting her lip, Xiaodan hastily replies, “Forgive my presumption. Truthfully, I came here because I wish to confide in someone who shares the same worries. I don’t wish to cast judgment of any kind; merely confide in someone of similar mind.” 

“And what similarity is that?” Wen Shihan asks idly, her needle never halting its movement.

“It is no secret your counsel is held in high regard by your husband-that in matters of the sect's affairs, you are of one mind. Of everyone in the court, it was only Wen Cheung who had the courage to voice his opposition to the expansion.”

“No,” Wen Shihan sighs, “He was the only one not killed for it.” One of her companions places a comforting hand on Wen Shihan’s shoulder. 

“What do you hope to accomplish here, Xiao Furen?” Wen Shihan sounds tired. “If it is political power you want, you’ve come to the wrong place. My husband is reviled as a coward; he cannot aid you or anyone else in swaying the court.” 

Xiaodan wished, not for the first time, that Wen Qing was with her. She’d know how to turn this situation around. Of course, her cousin had more than enough on her plate, having the entirety of the sect to contend with. 

“Wen Cheung is not the only one to condemn this expansion,” Xiaodan tries, “He might not have his position in the court, but he has far from lost all respect, surely you know of others who would rally for an end to the war. I do not presume to instruct, only to ask—if there is a path to peace, would you and your husband help illuminate it, as only you both can.” 

Wen Shihan sets her needlework aside, “Even with our support, how does the Zongzhu mean to end the war? Although I oppose this conflict, ending it at this stage is not without its problems. The other sects will want their pound of flesh. Who will be offered up to satiate their appetites?” 

Wen Xiaodan bites her lip. In the privacy of her own mind, she could admit that she worried the same thing. With that, Wen Shihan resumes her needlework, and the conversation is over. Xiaodan can only hope things are going better on Wen Qing’s end. 

“Zhongzhu, this one humbly begs you to consider,” Wen Hanzi bows, “Our forces are on the cusp of claiming Qinghe farmland; an army marches upon its stomach. Without the extra rice, we may be unable to feed our cultivators.” 

“Our fight is against the Nie, not the people of Qinghe,” Wen Qing argues, “Taking this land from its people will only provoke resistance.” 

“Does the Zhongzhu have so little faith in our cultivators, to think they can be bested by mere farm hands?” Wen Guowei demands. Several voices murmur their agreement. 

Wen Qiqiang frowns, shifting his grip on the hilt of his sword. Wen Qing shakes her head, wordlessly ordering him to back down. I’ll handle this. 

“A scorched field feeds no one,” Wen Qing warns. “You may seize one plot of land at the cost of the destruction of the remainder.” 

“So you’d have us leave it in enemy hands?” Wen Hanzi cries. “We may as well supply the enemy ourselves!” 

“Surely Zhongzhu is not suggesting we let our clansmen starve?” A voice demands, earning several cries of support and pleas for her to reconsider. 

Wen Qiqiang’s frown deepens, as if to say, ‘You consider this handling it?’

“Aiya, is this one plot of land truly enough to unravel us?” Wen Qingshan makes a face of mock horror. “If so, our sect’s position is far more fragile than I thought. Never mind all our farms and stores and trade routes.” 

Several people shift, the murmurs falling silent. Wen Qingshan offers her a grin. “There’s more than one way to feed an army. Qishan suffers no lack of resources; we just have to be clever about how we’re distributing them.” 

Wen Qing holds back a sigh of relief as the conversation comes back under her control. She motions for two servants to come forward, both unfurling a map highlighting the current trade routes of Qishan. 

“Our southern lands have been blessed with a generous harvest, with more than enough to spare. Rather than grasp for more land, we must focus on improving what we already have. Investing in our infrastructure will strengthen our supply chains, benefiting not only our army but the Qishan-Wen as a whole,” Wen Qing proposes. Briefly, she thinks of her home in the country, well removed from any major supply routes. Granny would have to make trips to stock up on joint medication, so she’d have just enough to make it through the winter. Of how once, when the winter came early, she’d been forced to do without. 

Having no rebuttal, Wen Hanzi lowers his head, “Zhongzhu is correct, of course.” 

The rest of the strategy meeting, thankfully, passes by with little issue. Wen Qing can scarcely leave the meeting fast enough. Her freedom is short-lived, as not more than a few minutes later, a servant comes bearing a message for her. 

“Zhongzhu,” She ducks into a quick bow, “I have a request for an audience with you. Should I turn them away?” 

Wen Qing considers it. I’ve scarcely had a moment's peace since this all started. “Who is it?” She asks wearily. 

“Your brother, Wen Qionglin. He arrived at the Nightless City earlier this morning.”

A-Ning is here? “Take me to him.” 

“Jiejie!” A-Ning barrels over to her, scooping her up in a hug that almost lifts her off the ground entirely. Foregoing any decorum that might be expected of her, Wen Qing hugs back just as tightly. A tension she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying in her jaw and shoulders loosens, and for the first time since she’s come to the Nightless City, Wen Qing finds herself able to relax. 

“I’ve missed you,” She murmurs. 

“I was worried when we s-stopped getting regular letters from you. I didn’t know what to expect, b-but you b-becoming Zhongzhu was n-not one of them,” he laughs a little at that. 

Trust me, I wasn’t either. Aloud, she says, “I don’t think many people did. Tell me, how are things back at home?” 

There’s an ever-growing list of things to do and people demanding her attention, but Wen Qing ignores it. For now, she can spare a few minutes catching up with her brother over tea. 

“Please don’t kill me!” The cultivator wails, dropping to his knees. His red and white robes are disheveled, and he has a leaness to him indicative of more than a few missed meals. He presses himself against the corner of his cell, as though desperation alone could fuse him into the wall and away from Wei Wuxian and the fierce corpses surrounding him. 

Wei Wuxian stares at him, face expressionless as the man continues to plead for his life. He turns to his deceased companions, “Was this man one of the ones responsible for the deaths in this village?” 

Lao She offers a memory of the man in front of him being caught attempting to flee from the battlefield rather than join his kin in the slaughter; a deserter but no murderer. Wei Wuxian plays a sharp note on Chenqing, and Lao She breaks the cell open. The man curls into a fetal position, eyes shut as he waits for the inevitable. 

“Get up,” Wei Wuxian orders. “I have some questions for you.” He gestures for Lao She and the others to give the man space. The Wen gulps, rising on shaky knees, hands making a gesture to ward off evil. 

“This village was abandoned,” Wei Wuxian states, thinking of the food left untouched over dying fires and stolen valuables carelessly discarded. “Why?” 

“Huh?” The man blinks, working his mouth until the words finally tumble out, “They left after…after,” He swallows, “Zhongzhu. He’s dead. The Zhongzhu is dead. He’s dead, and we can’t win without him.” 

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen in surprise. The shock is short-lived, replaced by something too sharp to be satisfaction but not bitter enough to be disappointment. 

“When the others learned of who was appointed to take his place, they lost faith and ran. What country doctor could hope to lead like our Zhongzhu did!?” 

It couldn’t be…could it? Stranger things have happened. 

“Who took Wen Rouhan’s place?” Wei Wuxian asks, repeating every interaction he’s had with a certain healer in his head, searching for anything that could’ve foreshadowed this. 

“W-Wen Qing. A favored niece. I-I never met her, I swear! On my parents’ graves, I never met her! I don’t know anything more. Please!” He trembles, waiting with bated breath, fearful his words may have just sealed his fate. 

“I see,” Wei Wuxian taps his cheek with Chenqing, “You’re going to deliver a message for me. But first,” Wei Wuxian reaches into his sleeve, and the man winces, shielding his face, only to look up in shock when he sees what is being offered to him: a meat bun. He looks at Wei Wuxian, the fear overshadowed by hunger. 

“Eat. You’ll need your strength for the journey.”