Chapter Text
Wen Qing returns to full consciousness the way she imagines babies emerge from the womb: bewildered by a rush of blurred shapes and incomprehensible sounds. She falls to her knees. The ground is soft green underneath her body. She takes long, shuddering gulps of air. A healthy infant would cry after birth; Wen Qing does not.
Eventually, her senses clear. She is on her hands and knees in lush grass. The sun is warm against her pale hands and the cheap gray weave of her robes. She hears running water in the distance. No part of her feels injured, although her feet and legs are the kind of sore she associates with walking a long distance. Wen Qing raises her head, breathing slower by now, and sees a familiar mountain presiding over her like a watchful ancestor.
"Dafan Mountain?" she whispers--or tries to. The words emerge as little more than a squeak. She hums a few notes under her breath, worried that there's something wrong with her voice, but it warms up by the second note. Just rusty from disuse, then.
The last thing that Wen Qing remembers is the Jin cultivators advancing on her, swords glinting in the sun.
She has to remain kneeling for a long time after that, breathing through a sudden spike of pain in her head and trembling in every limb. Even when the headache passes, the trembling remains, and her skin is cold to the touch. Wen Qing is not unfamiliar with the signs of shock. She should focus on the tangible, the now, and worry about the rest when she's in a place of safety. Wherever safety might be.
The riverside seems like a safe enough place to take brief inventory of herself. All of her limbs are in working order. Nothing hurts except for her muscles. She has ten fingers and toes, two eyes, and all of her teeth. Her golden core whirs inside her lower dantian, already at work soothing her muscle aches. Her robes and too-short cloak are not only cheap, they're coated in dust from what was clearly a long walk. Cheap clothing will help her blend in, especially when she pulls the hood over her head, but she needs a good river dunking to get rid of the unpleasant odor clinging to her skin. She sniffs her sleeve, trying to pinpoint the smell. Sweat, definitely, and mildew, and something metallic. Iron, perhaps.
She's alive, too. Whatever happened after the Jin swords, nothing made her a fierce corpse.
Her body did well to bring her to Dafan Mountain. One of the supply caches she left herself (or A-Ning, if he needed it first) might still be concealed here. She'll rinse herself off in the river first, then let herself dry as she searches. The supply caches were small, but they'll have a few coins. More importantly, they'll have a few of her needles and a small knife. Right now, she's helpless except for her hand-to-hand combat skills.
Having a list of things to do settles her mind and body. Wen Qing wades into the river up to her thighs without bothering to take off her clothes. The water is cold, as water that flows from the mountains tends to be. She squats in the water to give the rest of herself a brief scrub with her hands. This river is not historically dangerous to travelers, not at this time of year, but she almost drowned in a different part of it as a child. Best not to bring up additional frightening memories. The water removes the worst of the dust and smell. It will have to do for now.
The supply cache is still sealed with a Wen talisman that burns away when she touches it. There are even fewer coins than she remembers. The knife and needles are still sharp. There's an empty canteen for water. The small amount of preserved food is no longer edible, but Wen Qing has been hungry before. She can forage.
Wen Qing fills her canteen at the river, then sets her course for Dafan Mountain. If memory serves, the mountain base is no more than an hour's walk away. Traveling there could be foolish, if the Jin sect is looking for her, but she knows the area well enough to hide. People don't go to the temple since her uncle tore out the heart of the Dancing Fairy statue. She can at least be assured of a quiet place to plan her next steps.
When she hears people on the road, Wen Qing slips behind a boulder and crouches down. From her vantage point, she can't make out many details, but there's no mistaking those Lan headbands. They're a chatty bunch, for Lans, discussing the mysterious soul-eater that lives on Dafan Mountain. They sound so young, too, carefree in a way her generation never sounded after the Sunshot Campaign.
Wen Qing wonders, uneasily, just how much time has passed between her last memory and the present.
She could turn around here, find another place to disappear. Her best chance for survival lies with avoiding the cultivator sects and listening for news of Wei Wuxian. Even for news of A-Ning, if he somehow survived as well. But these young disciples have no idea what awaits them in the temple, if the Dancing Fairy statue is active again. They might die for their ignorance.
Cursing herself, Wen Qing turns onto a hidden trail she barely remembers, more used by animals than people. She'll follow them at a safe distance and won't intervene unless they need help, she reasons. If they're so young, they won't recognize her. One of them might be willing to share food supplies as thanks for her assistance.
Her careful plans fall to pieces when the statue chases the same junior disciples out of the temple. There's a masked figure in black trying to direct the action, his gestures so painfully Wei Wuxian that the mask does nothing to hide his identity. Wen Qing struggles through the brush, trying to get close enough to call out, to throw one of her needles. Branches slap at her face; brambles tear at her freshly washed clothes.
Then Wei Wuxian uses his hastily made dizi to summon A-Ning. But what appears instead is the Yiling Patriarch's Ghost General, not her younger brother. This figure is wrapped in chains, his eyes entirely black with resentful energy.
Everything happens so fast after that. Someone shouts something about how the statue is not really a statue. Then the cultivators surround A-Ning, they're going to kill him, and the way he's fighting, he's fighting with killing intent. It's like Qiongqi Pass again. Wen Qing sobs as she flings herself forward, heedless of the underbrush. This time she's here, this time she can paralyze him with a needle, this time she can save him--
Her foot slips on an unexpected root as she throws her needle. It flies toward the young Jin cultivator, the one who fired so many arrows at the statue.
A whip of lightning flicks the needle out the air. Wen Qing's breath leaves her lungs.
At first she thinks that her needle will be a small, curious thing lost in the greater drama that unfolds. In the confusion, A-Ning leaps away, covering too much distance in a single jump for Wen Qing to hope to follow in her state. Lan Wangji grips Wei Wuxian's arm as though he will never let go.
Jiang Wanyin confronts the pair of them. Fury makes his face all the more angular, but it's age, too. He carries himself like a grown man, as does Lan Wangji. A significant amount of time has passed, then. After more angry words are exchanged, Jiang Wanyin whips Wei Wuxian with Zidian. One of the young Lan disciples proclaims that Sect Leader Jiang was the one who killed the Yiling Patriarch.
Wen Qing draws her cloak tighter around herself, seized by the same trembling panic as before. Was Wei Wuxian "executed" like she was? Is that why Lan Wangji stares at him as though he might disappear at any moment? How many people died who are no longer dead?
She'll talk to Wei Wuxian as soon as the rest of the cultivators clear out. The knowledge that her sacrifice, that her family's sacrifice, was not enough to save Wei Wuxian is a knife between her ribs. Something dreadful happened after her supposed death, and in the unknown number of years between then and now.
But Wen Qing doesn't get the opportunity to talk to Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji takes a now-unconscious Wei Wuxian with him, his junior Lan disciples trailing behind him like ducklings. The Jin sect cultivators are still in the clearing, the last people that Wen Qing wants to announce herself to. Jiang Wanyin lectures the archer about his recklessness, then orders the Jin and Jiang cultivators to take Jin Ling back to Lanling. They scramble to obey.
Jin Ling. Over a decade has passed, then, if that's the one-month-old Wei Wuxian was invited to celebrate. Wen Qing's heart pounds against her ribs like a prisoner beating on a cell door. Her vision swims; her breath is coming too fast. She has been dead for almost half her life.
If she cries out now, she will be dead again. She is a cultivator. She can put this new, horrifying realization aside long enough to survive.
Jiang Wanyin remains standing in the clearing, watching the other cultivators leave. When they disappear around the corner, he reaches down and picks up her needle. His eyes search the clearing, as soft as they were when he offered her the comb all those years ago.
Wen Qing bites the insides of her cheeks to keep from screaming. He knows she's here. Jiang Wanyin--no, Sect Leader Jiang--allowed her first death and A-Ning's second. According to the Lan disciples, he killed the man who loved him like a brother. She should trust no one except Wei Wuxian and A-Ning, the only two members of her family she knows are still alive. No one else has remained loyal to her.
"Wen-guniang?" Sect Leader Jiang's whisper is quiet enough that she would have missed it, but for the motion of his lips and a passing breeze.
She holds herself so still she stops breathing. She should have followed A-Ning through the brush. She feels so alone here, so exposed, and every passing moment makes her desperate for any kind of ally. Makes her want to trust Sect Leader Jiang. The impulse is a foolish one, based on hopes half expressed and never realized.
Agonizingly long moments pass. Sect Leader Jiang seems content to stand in the middle of the clearing, turning the needle over and over in his hand. "I'm sorry," he says at last. The terrible hope on his face is gone. Now his expression reminds her of when she returned the comb, grieving a possibility that had always been impossible.
The pain is too real to be a lie. She's seen him in so many degrees of it.
Wen Qing deliberately snaps a twig underfoot as she leaves the underbrush. She walks into the clearing the way she walked to her death: her back straight, her head bent neither too low nor raised too high. She does not smile, because A-Ning is not here. There's no one to be strong for except herself.
"Wen-guniang." Sect Leader Jiang takes a step towards her, one hand outstretched. If the emotion in his face were an open wound, she would cauterize it before it could bleed out. "I thought you were dead."
"So did I, until recently." Wen Qing ignores the thumping of her own heart and asks, steadily as she can, "Are you going to kill me?"
"What? No!" His outrage sounds the same as when he was lecturing Jin Ling, or similar to it. A band across Wen Qing's ribs loosens.
"Then I'm going to find A-Ning." Wen Qing swallows. "Who isn't entirely dead, either, but I don't know how or why."
She tries to walk past Sect Leader Jiang, intending to follow the road. He holds out his hand as she nears him, his palm facing upwards. Zidian is dormant around his wrist, but her gaze falls to it anyway.
"Please let me help you," he says. His proffered hand is shaking, an echo of her earlier shock. "Please."
Wen Qing looks at his hand. It's larger than her own, the fingers long and slightly blunted at the ends. There are thick calluses, more than an ordinary cultivator would have. Lotus Pier's leaders continue to work hard.
"I have a few conditions," she says.
"Of course," he replies.
Wen Qing doesn't take his hand. She remains where she is as she outlines the plan she's only shaping now, as she speaks: they must concentrate on finding A-Ning, no one else can be involved, and her identity must be kept secret. In return, she will take A-Ning and go live somewhere far away, where the Ghost General and Wen Ruohan's last living accomplice cannot trouble the cultivation world.
Sect Leader Jiang's jaw tightens at her conclusion, but all he says is, "I agree on all counts. Before we leave, let me take care of a few things with my nephew and my sect. You can rest, and get some food, and afterward I'll fill you in on the past thirteen years."
Thirteen years. She breathes for a moment with the number. No wonder Lan Wangji and Sect Leader Jiang looked so haunted.
The part of Wen Qing that remembers her old life flinches from what others will think of the unnamed, plainly dressed woman spending so much time in the close company of Sect Leader Jiang. She reminds herself that the dead do not have to be concerned about marriage prospects, and anyway the only person who has ever offered her anything like that is standing before her.
"Acceptable," she says crisply. For some reason, it makes him smile.
Wen Qing accepts a small amount of money from his purse so that they can arrive at the inn separately. She memorizes the directions and watches him alight upon his sword with professional pride. Wei Wuxian's golden core still burns bright within him, over a decade later. She should record her findings in a formal way, to be published after her second death.
She is distantly aware that she is not over her shock yet; has merely set it aside for the sake of getting through the next few hours. She'll pay that price when it comes.
*
It's not such a long walk to the inn, and it feels good to have a destination. As much as she wants to sprint after Wei Wuxian and A-Ning, she is certain Lan Wangji took them to Cloud Recesses--or at least he took Wei Wuxian. She doubts she could get an audience with Lan Wangji and she trusts no one else who lives there. Caution must be her watchword.
The innkeeper looks askance at her bedraggled robes, but she's not carrying so much money that she's suspicious. Wen Qing lowers her eyes and makes up a story about a foolish walk in the woods and a long tumble through thick brambles. Would the innkeeper happen to know where she might purchase some new clothing, after a proper bath and a meal?
The plausibility of her explanation softens the innkeeper further. "I have a daughter about your height," he says. "Head full of daydreams, but she's made a good marriage and doesn't need her old robes."
Wen Qing thanks the innkeeper and retreats to her room. After the bathwater is brought up, she strips and examines herself all over: no new scars, no bruising, no aches where none existed before. The skin of her hands is a little tauter, while the curves of her hips and belly are a little rounder. Her center of gravity has moved a fraction closer to the ground, a subtle sign of aging. Her body has been aging during all this time she can't remember. Another horror to set aside for now.
It's only when she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear that she notices a small, healing scab behind the top of her ear. It's the only mark on her body she doesn't remember from the day of her death. She touches it, but senses no resentful energy.
"A scrape," she says aloud, and steps into the bathwater before it gets cold.
Her desperate dunk in the river washed away the smell clinging to her skin and clothes, but it was no replacement for a proper bath. Scrubbing away all the dirt is pure heaven. Accepting Sect Leader Jiang's help is worth it if only for the sensation of finally being clean again. She washes with brisk efficiency, but allows herself to soak until the water grows lukewarm.
By now, her meal has arrived. Wen Qing dresses herself in the innkeeper's daughter's robes, exactly the plain sort of outfit she needs to pass unnoticed. She orders a simple, digestible dinner: rice, pickled vegetables, and steamed preserved meats. The smell of the food when it arrives still makes her mouth water, and Wen Qing has to force herself not to scarf it down. She is reminded, painfully, of the bread that Wei Wuxian made her eat before they left to retrieve Wen Ning. That plain fare had tasted just as good.
Halfway through her meal, there's a knock at the door.
"It's me," Sect Leader Jiang says unnecessarily. "Can I come in?"
"Go ahead." Wen Qing continues eating as he enters the room.
Sect Leader Jiang hovers, clearly unsure where to sit. His two options are the bed or directly across from her at a table built for one, so she can understand the dilemma. At last, he opts to sit in front of her. "So, would you like to hear about what's happened since you've been gone, or would you like to finish eating first?"
Wen Qing sets aside her chopsticks, her appetite diminished. "Since I've been gone," she repeats.
"Well, you're not dead!" Sect Leader Jiang flushes. "I assume you were in hiding, or exile, or something. What happened?"
Wen Qing remembers squeezing A-Ning's hand and offering him a final smile as the executioners walked towards them. His hand slipped from hers, a hand that still seemed as though it should be smaller, tucked securely underneath her fingers.
Then there is pain, but it's not a memory. Blinding agony explodes through her temples. She bites her own tongue and tastes blood. The rest of her body might as well no longer exist; she can't feel anything besides her own skull. There is no beginning and no end to the pain, only its unending, unbearable presence.
Gradually, she becomes aware of another sensation. Warmth like the softest, thickest fur wraps around her, shielding her from the worst of the pain. She is braced against something solid, and someone has two fingers pressed against the inside of her wrist. The warm sensation is this person's qi flowing through her, a healing effort as powerful as it is clumsy.
Wen Qing tries to blink and is unsurprised when her eyelashes stick together. There are dried tear tracks on her cheek currently facing upright; the fabric underneath her other cheek must have absorbed the rest. Or is she sitting up, instead of lying down? There's wooden flooring beneath the lower half of her body. Disorientation makes her recent meal rise in her throat, but the steady flow of qi resettles her stomach before she gags. This inexperienced healer is going to drain themselves.
"I'm all right," she croaks. "You can stop."
As her cheek moves against fabric, Wen Qing realizes two things: it's Sect Leader Jiang who is the inexperienced healer trying to help her, and it's Sect Leader Jiang's chest she's braced against.
Her muscles don't obey when she tries to push herself away, but she's at least able to tilt her head up. He looks younger when he's worried, young enough that it presses on a bruise in her heart she had thought long since healed.
"You looked like you wanted to say something, and then you clutched your head and collapsed." Sect Leader Jiang's eyes are still huge and dark, and his face is far too close to hers. "I've never seen anyone turn so pale. I thought you were dying."
"It felt like it," Wen Qing admits. She's soaked with sweat, enough that she'll need to order another bath and wash her borrowed clothes. So much for being clean.
She should get a more detailed description of what her episode looked like while Sect Leader Jiang's memory is still fresh. She says nothing. She was dead until today, and her body just had some kind of spontaneous episode that made her feel worse than dead.
"Would you like some tea? Or help lying down?"
"Tea," Wen Qing says, less because she thinks she can sit up on her own and more because the idea of Sect Leader Jiang tucking her into bed--well. It doesn't bear thinking about. The amount of spiritual energy he gave her should be enough to keep three cultivators upright.
"I don't have a medical bag," she realizes as Sect Leader Jiang pours her the promised tea. It's still hot; her strange spasms couldn't have lasted for too long. "There are supplies I should buy before leaving town."
"You can give me a shopping list, unless you need to look at the items yourself." Sect Leader Jiang's eyes flicker to her hands, which shake with the effort of lifting the small cup of tea, but he says nothing. Ah, but he has a sister who is often sick. This must be familiar territory for him.
"I'll write a list for you." Wen Qing attempts a smile, aware that it must look dreadful. "Apparently I can't remember where I've been all this time. Why don't you tell me what I've missed?"
What follows is a tale of enormous loss. The slaughter did not end with the Dafan Wen giving themselves up, as Wen Qing had hoped. Dozens upon dozens of cultivators died battling for the Stygian Tiger Seal, including Wei Wuxian himself. Sect Leaders Nie and Jin are dead. Sect Leader Jiang's voice cracks when he informs Wen Qing that his sister died not long after Wen Qing made her final, supposedly fatal journey to Carp Tower.
Wen Qing makes a brief, choked sound and covers her mouth. So many from their generation are dead. Jiang Yanli, she can grieve without complication. She and Sect Leader Jiang both pause to wipe their eyes. He drinks a cup of tea before he continues.
Wen Qing listens for the parts of the story Sect Leader Jiang leaves out as well. He never says it outright, but his tone of voice makes it clear that he does not like Jin Guangyao, who has somehow risen to Chief Cultivator. He has rebuilt Yunmeng Jiang to be strong enough that it can handle the unexpected departure of its leader for an unspecified length of time. And--a realization that Wen Qing does her best to forget as soon as it occurs to her--Sect Leader Jiang cannot be married. He loves his nephew with the sort of ferocity Wen Qing knows all too well: Jin Ling is the only family he has left in the world.
Family. Her eyes burn. She'll put paper money on the shopping list for Sect Leader Jiang. Years and years, and no one to remember her dead, save that she once numbered among them.
"You haven't asked whether I think Wei Wuxian has returned," Wen Qing says, after they finish the last of the tea.
Sect Leader Jiang looks off to the side, his jaw clenched so tight that it must hurt. "That had to be him," he says at last. "Not possessing someone, but brought back somehow. Like you, Wen-guniang."
"Why are you helping me instead of him?"
Wen Qing imagines her question as a talisman traced in the air, burning deep red before consuming itself down to ashes. The history between Sect Leader Jiang and Wei Wuxian is soaked in bad blood, but Wei Wuxian was still once the first disciple of Yunmeng Jiang. She is still the last living member of the sect who burned his home and murdered most of his sect. By rights, he should take her back to Lotus Pier and finish what Lanling Jin could not.
Sect Leader Jiang's gaze is like a physical sensation, as vivid as his fingers pressed against the delicate skin of her inner wrist. "I couldn't help you back then, but I can help you now."
Wen Qing grips her knees through her robes and wishes she had another cup of tea to lift to her mouth. Something to hide her face, something to do with her hands. She clears her throat.
"I'd like to go to sleep soon," she says to the wall just beyond his left ear. "If you have paper and ink, I'll write you a shopping list."
He fumbles in his sleeves and pulls out writing materials. "Never know when you'll need to write something down," he says in response to the surprised arch of her brows.
She remembers that while sect leaders often have multiple secretaries, he came into power with no one but himself and his siblings to manage everything. Wei Wuxian is brilliant at many things, but his notes are always for himself alone, a strange shorthand that makes sense only when he is there to explain it. Jiang Yanli must have helped with the paperwork, but she married out while Yunmeng Jiang was still tottering back to its feet.
As Wen Qing writes her list, he mutters about needing to check on something in his rooms. A knot of tension inside her eases at his departure. With the loosening of the knot come the tears: for Wei Wuxian who met a horrifying death after she tried to save him; for Jiang Yanli who has not returned from the dead, as far as they know; and for her sweet A-Ning, who is out there somewhere in the night, believing that his older sister is dead.
Wen Qing tilts the paper so that her tears won't stain it. Writing a list of medical supplies is comfortingly familiar, even with joss paper added to the list. She considers the current quality of Sect Leader Jiang's clothing and his close ties to Lanling Jin, then adds a few more items. If something she requests is too expensive, Sect Leader Jiang can always decide not to buy it.
By the time Sect Leader Jiang returns, a servant has cleared away the remnants of her meal and left a fresh pot of tea. He doesn't try to sit down at her table again, just takes the list from her hand.
"If you need anything, let the innkeeper know. I'll take care of any expenses." Faint color rises in his cheeks. So Sect Leader Jiang is not immune to imagining what the people will say about this situation--though they will take care to say it out of the great sect leader's hearing, of course.
Wen Qing stands up and bows without any pain or dizziness. "In my opinion as a doctor, all I need is a good night's sleep. Thank you, Sect Leader Jiang."
He nods and tucks her list into his robe. "Then rest for as long as you want. I'll buy what you requested in the morning."
It's a tidy little interaction, far less fraught than any of the others they've had today. Still, it saps the last of Wen Qing's energy. She crawls into bed without undressing. Right before she falls asleep, it occurs to her that she should feel more disturbed about the long gap in her memory. But she's even too tired to hold onto that thought for long, and sinks down into a deep and dreamless sleep.
*
Wen Qing wakes later in the morning than she likes, but not so late the morning is wasted. She orders another bath and does her best to get the wrinkles out of the clothes she fell asleep in. She got used to caring for worn clothes in the Burial Mounds. She draws the line at asking Sect Leader Jiang to buy her some women's clothing--or even worse, asking a member of his sect to do it discreetly.
She inventories her own memories while she works, careful to skirt the edges of any memory that causes a twinge of the pain she experienced yesterday. She discovers that trying to think of anything between her supposed execution and her return makes her vision shimmer with warnings of pain to come.
Instead, Wen Qing ruminates over her last days in the Burial Mounds, and everything that happened to Wei Wuxian in the aftermath of her "death." Whatever Sect Leader Jiang thinks, the first thing she's going to do when she sees Wei Wuxian is apologize for being unable to save him after all. Ultimately, her clan died to satisfy the cultivation world's thirst for revenge rather than save the man who bought them a year of life. The knowledge is ashes in her mouth. She scarcely tastes the breakfast the innkeeper brings up at si hour.
These thoughts do not make for the best mood. When Sect Leader Jiang knocks on her door and announces himself, she snaps, "Come in."
Sect Leader Jiang has a bulging shopping bag and a self-satisfied air. The latter only irritates her further. "I found everything on your list," he announces. He sets the bag on her bed, the only surface large enough. "There's also a bag inside this one. It's not for doctors specifically, but it has lots of pockets sewn into the sides. I thought it would help with all the little bottles and things."
Pockets are useful, but less important than a bag constructed from stiff enough material that everything stored in it can stay upright. Wen Qing bites her tongue lest she point that out in a tone far harsher than a sect leader would be used to hearing. Sect Leader Jiang's offer of help is genuine. Her thanks should be as well.
Wen Qing opens the shopping bag. Surprise douses her lingering bad mood, like a pail of water thrown over embers. The bag he found to serve as her doctor's kit isn't a twin of the one she carried Cloud Recesses, but the resemblance is close enough that they could be cousins. He neglected to mention the small boxes that slide into some of the pockets, more like drawers than pouches. This will do nicely. As for the rest of the supplies, he clearly spared no expense.
Now that she's examining the supplies, Sect Leader Jiang looks more anxious than self-satisfied. It reminds her of A-Yuan showing her his freshly washed hands. Did I do a good job?
"Thank you." The words feel wholly inadequate. Sect Leader Jiang has given her the means to do the work of her heart again. There were plenty of small hurts and lingering colds to tend in the Burial Mounds, but they couldn't afford proper medical supplies. Wen Qing clears her throat and busies herself with organizing the new purchases. "Once I have everything sorted here, we can head out. After we decide where we're going, I suppose."
Sect Leader Jiang makes a disgusted noise. "That Hanguang-jun took Wei Wuxian to Cloud Recesses, so your brother can't be far behind. We'll have to go to Gusu. The Lans will take their time about allowing me into their precious compound, even if I say that it's for official sect business. You're sure you have no other way of reaching your brother?"
That question deserves the withering stare it gets. "If I could contact A-Ning on my own, I would have no need for your help," Wen Qing says.
And somehow, that earns her a short, quiet laugh--but a real laugh, one that brightens his face despite the drawn curtains in her room. "I deserved that. Have you eaten yet? You should have some food before we leave."
In fact, the innkeeper himself brought up Wen Qing's breakfast earlier, probably hoping for gossip on the woman Sect Leader Jiang has taken such an interest in. Wen Qing thanked him with her blandest smile and volunteered no information to even the most leading questions.
"There are still people who might remember me here. I'll have lunch upstairs," she says, and then surprises herself by adding, "You're welcome to join me if you like."
"I would," he says at once. "Last night I thought of more things you should hear about the past."
"Thirteen years is a long time," Wen Qing says. Over half of the lifetime she remembers, and isn't that a strange thing to contemplate. Her body is thirty-one years old, but she has only eighteen years worth of memories. She doesn't feel young anymore, but that final year in the Burial Mounds was enough to age anyone by at least a decade.
They take lunch in Sect Leader Jiang's room, which is much more spacious than her own. Let people say whatever they're going to say. Wen Qing has had worse said about her, much of it deserved. The staff is wise enough not to express any surprise under Sect Leader Jiang's scowling eye.
"How are you feeling today?" He gestures toward his own head.
"Much better. I feel fine as long as I don't try to remember anything after Carp Tower." Wen Qing's temples give a warning throb, as if on cue. "I don't sense any resentful energy in my body and there are no unusual marks on my skin. If this is a curse, it's virtually undetectable."
"Someone doesn't want you to remember why you're alive and what you've been doing all these years, that much is clear." Sect Leader Jiang's free hand curls into a fist on his lap. Zidian, worn on the hand holding his chopsticks, gives a single spark of purple. "It can't be an accident that both you and your brother escaped destruction."
"The question is whether the person responsible was someone affiliated with the Jin sect," Wen Qing says. "I could also see the Jin sect keeping quiet out of humiliation if someone managed to spirit away the last prominent figures of the Wen." She closes her eyes. The only people who died that day were the innocent people she had sworn to protect, Granny and Uncle Four and A-Yuan and every other soul who had never spied for Wen Ruohan, much less raised a hand against the other sects. How many times can a heart break before it becomes pulverized?
"Wen-guniang." He says her name like the brush of a cool hand over a fevered brow. "There's something else that you should know."
Wen Qing picks up her cup of tea and braces herself for whatever he's going to say next. She has no desire to drink it, but the warmth seeps into her bones through the porcelain. Fine porcelain, for a small inn. Perhaps Sect Leader Jiang brings his own porcelain when he travels, as the Jin do.
"I promise I'm not trying to give you false hope." He winces and scrubs a hand over his face. "A child, a boy, appeared in Cloud Recesses shortly after... after everything that happened with Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji went into seclusion after Nightless City, but it's rumored that Lan Xichen personally oversaw the care of the child. The love child of one of the Twin Jades, or so the rumors said." Sect Leader Jiang snorts. "But... the boy is the right age to be Wen Yuan."
Wen Qing sets her tea down so abruptly that hot drops spatter on her hands and the table. "A-Yuan might be living among the Lan disciples," she says. Her voice sounds high and strange. None of the Lan disciples she glimpsed yesterday looked like A-Yuan--but of course she's thinking of him as a bright-eyed boy of four, not the seventeen-year-old youth he would be now. "Was he at Dafan Mountain yesterday? What's his name?"
Sect Leader Jiang lowers his eyes as he refills her tea. "What will you do if I tell you, Wen-guniang? Will it change your plans?"
Angry tears prickle her eyes. She sniffs them away. "If the boy is A-Yuan, I'll offer him the option of living with A-Ning and me in exile. I would never rip him away from the life he has, but he should have the chance to be with his family." Her voice breaks on the word family.
Sect Leader Jiang does not comment on the tears tracking down her cheeks, but he does give her a handkerchief from his own pocket. "Of course. I didn't mean any criticism by asking."
Wen Qing dries her face. The handkerchief smells lovely, green and watery and floral all at once. She is all too aware that crying makes her nose red. "I still need to find A-Ning first. And, I suppose, cure whatever is affecting my memory. He would be able to assist with that." Her gaze flicks to Sect Leader Jiang, carefully contemplating his own tea. "And the name of the boy who might be A-Yuan?"
"I believe he's called Lan Sizhui. The Lan's most promising disciple in this generation, according to those stuffy mountain dwellers." Grudgingly, Sect Leader Jiang adds, "I've met him only in passing, but he was polite and well-spoken."
"I'm sure you're unbiased about which sect has the most promising disciples," Wen Qing says, both for the refuge that humor provides and the opportunity to change the subject. She pulls out her doctor's kit to organize it, grateful that bringing it to lunch has given her something to do with her hands.
Sect Leader Jiang rises to the occasion with a detailed account of Yunmeng Jiang's latest crop of disciples. He is sharp with his criticism and scant with his praise, but his pride in his sect shines through every word. He knows the name of every disciple, even the ones who joined a few months ago. Wen Qing notes how each generation of disciples includes more names. Yunmeng Jiang is not only rebuilt, it is thriving. Wen Chao and his lackeys burned it without breaking its spirit. The thought brings a smile to her face, tremulous but real.
And A-Yuan, the only living Wen of his generation, might be alive. Alive, and raised by two of the greatest cultivators of this age.
"We should get going soon," Wen Qing says reluctantly, even though she could lose herself like this, in the rhythmic clicking of bottles and boxes arranged in her doctor's kit, in learning the names and personalities of children who have never known war. It's another dangerous thought. This one doesn't hurt like the strange condition affecting her memory, but it aches all the same.
Now it's Sect Leader Jiang's turn to clear his throat. "Ah, I also brought a sword for you to carry. Some of the roads are dangerous nowadays. Just keep the hilt wrapped to avoid any questions."
Wen Qing is too surprised to do anything but hold out her hand for the sword and murmur her thanks. The plain cloth wrappings on the hilt cover any identifying details. She draws the sword just to feel it in her hands. The blade is plain, but it's a beautifully balanced blade, clearly the work of a master craftsman. Wen Qing sheathes it. She prefers her needles, but the weight of the sword against her side is reassuring.
"Well, I'm packed," she says, gesturing to her new doctor's bag. "Let's go to Gusu."