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A Gentle Guiding Hand: Chapter 3 [MDZS]
Title: A Gentle Guiding Hand
Fandom: The Untamed | Modao Zushi
Pairing/Characters: Jiang Cheng & Wei Ying & Jiang Yanli, Jiang Cheng / Lan Huan, Lan Huan & Lan Zhan, background Wei Ying / Lan Zhan, background Jiang Yanli / Jin Zixuan
Rating: NR (probably T?)
Warnings:
Word Count: ~2k | Ch. 3 / 3 | Chapter Directory
Summary: It doesn’t take long for the two boys to understand the solution: if Jiang Yanli were the sect heir, no one would ever try to make her leave.
Notes: A nobody dies / everybody lives pre-canon divergent fix-it fic played on 3x speed.
Under normal circumstances, Jiang Cheng was no one’s first thought when it came to espionage. In fact, when discussing skills of subtlety and intrigue, they even went so far as to sometimes say, “You know, like the opposite of what the second young master would do in that situation.”
And yet, here he was.
“Young Master Jiang, welcome to the Cloud Recesses,” said Lan Xichen, smiling at him.
Jiang Cheng was horrified to discover that Lan Xichen’s smile was as affecting now at twenty as it had been when he had been fifteen and trying to hide his acne under his bangs. This seemed extremely unfair, especially given that he was fairly certain that spies didn’t get butterflies in their stomachs when handsome cultivators smiled at them.
“Zewu-jun, thank you for hosting me,” said Jiang Cheng gruffly in response. Perhaps a touch too gruffly, as Lan Xichen’s smile dimmed slightly, so Jiang Cheng added awkwardly, “It’s nice to see you again.”
He said the last quietly, embarrassed, but it was worth it to see Lan Xichen brighten again. Worth it for spy reasons, probably.
And it really was nice to see Lan Xichen again. Jiang Cheng hadn’t had the chance to spend as much time with him during the campaign, but now all of the memories of his gentleness and his sweetness and his surprisingly dorky moments when they were alone were coming rushing back. He was having trouble focusing on his mission, which is why it took him several days to realise that Lan Xichen was purposefully redirecting him whenever he brought up Lan Wangji.
This was suspicious and completely unacceptable. A-Jie had been clear—Wei Wuxian’s heart was at stake, here!
“And when did you say Hanguang-jun would be back?” asked Jiang Cheng.
Lan Xichen poured him more tea with only a flicker of his eyes to betray his displeasure. But Jiang Cheng was getting better at reading him, now, after spending so much time together in the past few days. That in itself was surprising—who would have thought that a sect leader would have so much time to spend on the third child of another sect leader?
“My brother keeps a very irregular schedule,” said Lan Xichen, still smiling. He handed Jiang Cheng his cup, and their fingers brushed together in the process, making Jiang Cheng’s fingers prickle, which was just stupid. Butterflies in the stomach was one thing, but who ever heard of anyone getting butterflies in their fingers? No one, that’s who. “It’s hard to say when he’ll be back.”
“I need to speak with him,” Jiang Cheng reiterated. “The matter isn’t immediately urgent, perhaps, but it’s of great importance to my sect.”
“Oh,” said Lan Xichen mildly. “Surely, as Wangji’s sect leader and the head of his immediate family, I can step in in this case?”
Jiang Cheng refused to shift uncomfortably, no matter how tempted he was to try to bleed off some of his awkwardness. “It’s related to marriage.”
Lan Xichen’s expression didn’t change, precisely, and yet somehow Jiang Cheng sensed that he was immensely displeased, which was… unexpected. Jiang Cheng knew that some people looked down on his brother due to the comparably lower rank of his biological parents, but he hadn’t thought that Lan Xichen would be one of those people. Lan Xichen always seemed to see the best in Wei Wuxian, and he had even seemed pleased by his glacial friendship with Lan Wangji. But perhaps he viewed the matter differently when it concerned a formal alliance rather than a casual friendship. Jiang Cheng’s fingers tightened on his teacup at the thought.
After a moment, Lan Xichen said, “All the better that we hold this conversation, then, as I am the one who receives any offers made for Wangji.”
“And doesn’t he have a say in that?” Jiang Cheng gritted out.
Lan Xichen appeared startled. “Of course, I wouldn’t make any decisions he’s against. But surely you understand, Jiang Wanyin, that it’s sometimes easier to share one’s true feelings on a personal matter through a trusted intermediary.”
Lan Xichen had, with permission, taken to using Jiang Cheng’s courtesy name. It did nothing to improve the butterfly situation.
But butterflies were nothing when compared to Wei Wuxian’s happiness.
Jiang Cheng snorted. “I don’t see Hanguang-jun as being the sort of person who has trouble giving decisive rejections. Or acceptances.”
“Be that as may be,” said Lan Xichen, not budging.
Jiang Cheng scowled down into his teacup for a long moment before sighing. “Fine, then. I’ll talk to you first, but I still intend to speak with Hanguang-jun on this subject.”
Lan Xichen hummed noncommittally, and Jiang Cheng’s scowl deepened. “When my siblings and I were studying here in the Cloud Recesses, Hanguang-jun’s behaviour seemed to indicate certain… feelings.” He paused here, but Lan Xichen’s face was a mask, showing no indication of whether or not he agreed with this interpretation of events. “Then, later, during the Sunshot Campaign, these indications solidified. My family has been expecting a letter proposing courtship for some time.”
“I see,” said Lan Xichen after a moment. His voice sounded dull. “And these presumed feelings are returned?”
“Wholly and absolutely,” said Jiang Cheng firmly. He knew people often thought Wei Wuxian was something of a player, given how flirtatious he was, but the truth was that he was as careful with his own heart as any other Jiang.
Lan Xichen closed his eyes. He seemed defeated. So, he really was against this marriage, then. Jiang Cheng could feel himself growing furious, but he worked hard to restrain himself.
“I will, of course, speak to my brother on this matter.” Lan Xichen’s voice sounded distant and formal. “However, I must tell you that I have not seen any sign of these feelings in my brother. I believe he is… otherwise attached.”
Jiang Cheng found it difficult to breathe through his fury for a moment. How dare Lan Wangji play so carelessly with Wei Wuxian’s heart? “I understand,” he said when he was able to control his voice. Even so, it came out as icy as winter. “In that case, I will be returning to Lotus Pier.”
Lan Xichen jolted. “So soon? But surely—”
“If what you say is true, what is there for me here?”
Lan Xichen flinched. It made Jiang Cheng’s heart hurt. This whole mess wasn’t really Lan Xichen’s fault if Lan Wangji really didn’t return Wei Wuxian’s affections. But it would take some time before Jiang Cheng would be able to view the situation with a calm mind. “Jiang Wanyin,” said Lan Xichen, some desperation leaking into his voice—though what he could be desperate for, Jiang Cheng couldn’t imagine. “Must it be my brother? Wouldn’t you consider anyone else?”
Jiang Cheng stared at him incredulously. “Switching one person for another isn’t an even exchange, not where love is concerned!” When Lan Xichen only looked miserably at him, Jiang Cheng added, “And anyway, what do my feelings have to do with this? It’s my brother’s heart at stake—see if you can bear to ask him so casually if he’ll consider someone else as his husband!”
Lan Xichen blinked stupidly at him, and Jiang Cheng definitely didn’t lose a minute getting caught in the way his long eyelashes fluttered. “Jiang Wanyin,” he said finally, the tension having disappeared somehow and a glimmer of amusement steadily growing around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. “I believe there’s been a miscommunication. Please forgive me. To be clear, you are suggesting that Wangji expressed romantic feelings for Young Master Wei, who reciprocates those romantic feelings for Wangji?”
“Yes,” Jiang Cheng replied, bewildered. “That’s what we’ve been talking about!”
“...Ah,” said Lan Xichen brightly. “Yes. How lovely.”
Things after that went much more smoothly, and Jiang Cheng was feeling rather smug about the whole spying situation. It isn’t actually that hard to be a spy, he wrote to his siblings once the Lan elders’ internal betrothal discussions had begun in earnest. You just need to come out and clearly declare your intentions.
Good work, a-Cheng! Jiang Yanli wrote in her reply, and Wei Wuxian had taken the time to deface her letter with his own hideous scrawl, which read, Oh, didi, you’re so adorable. Never change.
Lan Xichen was very helpful with everything, now that he’d gotten over whatever confusion or misunderstanding had been plaguing him. Even with the added workload of preparing gifts and meeting with his elders to discuss adjustments to the current treaties between Gusu and Yunmeng, he still made the effort to spend many long hours every day with Jiang Cheng, accompanying him around the sect and introducing him to their extensive poetry library when Jiang Cheng confessed an interest in the subject.
“You sure have a lot of love poetry,” said Jiang Cheng as Lan Xichen presented him with yet another beautifully calligraphed collection. “I would have expected more poems about, I don’t know, trees and clouds and rivers.”
Lan Xichen’s cheeks were slightly pink. Was he cold, or was he embarrassed at the tastes of his sect’s hall masters, some of whom had passed on centuries ago? “I hope you’re not disappointed.”
Jiang Cheng snorted. “Good poetry is good poetry,” he said easily. “Regardless of the topic. Anyway, I like these. Love poems are often so depressing, but these ones have a really hopeful tone.”
Lan Xichen smiled at him, his cheeks having grown even pinker. Probably cold, then. Should Jiang Cheng sit a little closer to him to share warmth? It wouldn’t be proper, of course, but they had let several intimacies slide already.
“I agree,” said Lan Xichen finally. “And I especially enjoy reading these poems together with you, Jiang Wanyin. Listening to you read them… You really add something authentic to the experience.”
From anyone else, that kind of statement would be spoken mockingly, but Jiang Cheng could tell that Lan Xichen was entirely in earnest. And while Jiang Cheng doubted that Lan Xichen’s experience of reading the poems aloud to one another was quite the same as Jiang Cheng’s, he knew it would be difficult to give up the opportunity to hear Lan Xichen’s soft voice sweetly speak promises of eternal adoration. He wasn’t really making these promises to Jiang Cheng, of course, but just hearing the words coming from Lan Xichen was enough to fill him with—something. Not butterflies. This feeling was way beyond butterflies, an enormous outward pressure in his chest that made him feel like at any moment he might either explode or else simply float away on the spring breeze.
“‘Not until then will I part from you,’” read Lan Xichen, his eyes fixed on Jiang Cheng rather than the book before them.
“Thank you,” said Jiang Cheng. “That was beautiful.” Lan Xichen’s eyes travelled over Jiang Cheng’s face, perhaps weighing his sincerity. Though he couldn’t have exactly explained why, the air felt heavy for Jiang Cheng, and Lan Xichen’s scrutiny was too much for him to bear in that moment. “Do you ever write your own poems?” asked Jiang Cheng, and the intensity of Lan Xichen’s gaze ebbed away as he considered the question.
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “I’m afraid they’re not very good.”
Jiang Cheng scoffed. “I don’t believe that.” He hesitated. “Do you ever write love poems?”
There was a beat of silence in which Jiang Cheng was furious with himself for making it awkward, for invading Lan Xichen’s privacy, but then Lan Xichen said again, “Sometimes,” and the intensity that had faded earlier snapped back into place.
Jiang Cheng’s mouth was dry. “Will you read those to me, too?”
They had started this peaceful afternoon poetry reading in this shaded glen sitting perhaps a little too close together for strict propriety. Nevertheless, Jiang Cheng was certain that they hadn’t started out this close. Jiang Cheng could feel the heat of Lan Xichen’s body pressed against him—how could Jiang Cheng have ever thought Lan Xichen was cold?—the line of his jaw searing as Lan Xichen stroked his fingertips slowly upward until he was cupping Jiang Cheng’s face. “Yes,” Lan Xichen whispered. Jiang Cheng could feel the puff of his breath against his lips. “If you’d like to hear it.”
“Yes,” agreed Jiang Cheng, and he tugged Lan Xichen the rest of the way forward.
Who needed propriety, anyway?
Somehow, it wasn’t until Jiang Yanli was a powerful political force, a wife, and a mother, reading Gusu Lan’s explanation of their proposal, that she really understood. Because when the Gusu Lan Sect sent their final, formal courtship letter to the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, it contained the proposal of two marriages rather than one.
She felt an embarrassing amount of belated sympathy for the children her baby brothers once were, those little boys who had been so horrified at the idea of their precious sister leaving them behind. She was not at all prepared to stomach the prospect of either of her brothers marrying out into a different sect. Their initial intention had been for second young master Lan to marry into the Yunmeng Jiang, not for her brother to marry out.
“See?” said Wei Ying miserably. “Shijie, see? It’s just as I predicted all those years ago! That man wants to steal our innocent didi away!”
Jiang Yanli was more surprised than she wanted to admit, and she was considerably less pleased than she let Jiang Cheng see. But she couldn’t deny the happy glow that surrounded Jiang Cheng now, and Lan Xichen at least seemed cognizant of her sacrifice, if his private message to her was anything to go by.
A brother for a brother? he’d written. I adore yours, and I’m assured that mine is likewise adored. I expect many visitations, just as, I’m certain, do you.
All in all, she decided, the situation could be far worse. After all, regardless of where they may end up, it would have been much more difficult to watch over her baby brothers as Madam Jin than it would be as Sect Leader Jiang.
Fandom: The Untamed | Modao Zushi
Pairing/Characters: Jiang Cheng & Wei Ying & Jiang Yanli, Jiang Cheng / Lan Huan, Lan Huan & Lan Zhan, background Wei Ying / Lan Zhan, background Jiang Yanli / Jin Zixuan
Rating: NR (probably T?)
Warnings:
Word Count: ~2k | Ch. 3 / 3 | Chapter Directory
Summary: It doesn’t take long for the two boys to understand the solution: if Jiang Yanli were the sect heir, no one would ever try to make her leave.
Notes: A nobody dies / everybody lives pre-canon divergent fix-it fic played on 3x speed.
Under normal circumstances, Jiang Cheng was no one’s first thought when it came to espionage. In fact, when discussing skills of subtlety and intrigue, they even went so far as to sometimes say, “You know, like the opposite of what the second young master would do in that situation.”
And yet, here he was.
“Young Master Jiang, welcome to the Cloud Recesses,” said Lan Xichen, smiling at him.
Jiang Cheng was horrified to discover that Lan Xichen’s smile was as affecting now at twenty as it had been when he had been fifteen and trying to hide his acne under his bangs. This seemed extremely unfair, especially given that he was fairly certain that spies didn’t get butterflies in their stomachs when handsome cultivators smiled at them.
“Zewu-jun, thank you for hosting me,” said Jiang Cheng gruffly in response. Perhaps a touch too gruffly, as Lan Xichen’s smile dimmed slightly, so Jiang Cheng added awkwardly, “It’s nice to see you again.”
He said the last quietly, embarrassed, but it was worth it to see Lan Xichen brighten again. Worth it for spy reasons, probably.
And it really was nice to see Lan Xichen again. Jiang Cheng hadn’t had the chance to spend as much time with him during the campaign, but now all of the memories of his gentleness and his sweetness and his surprisingly dorky moments when they were alone were coming rushing back. He was having trouble focusing on his mission, which is why it took him several days to realise that Lan Xichen was purposefully redirecting him whenever he brought up Lan Wangji.
This was suspicious and completely unacceptable. A-Jie had been clear—Wei Wuxian’s heart was at stake, here!
“And when did you say Hanguang-jun would be back?” asked Jiang Cheng.
Lan Xichen poured him more tea with only a flicker of his eyes to betray his displeasure. But Jiang Cheng was getting better at reading him, now, after spending so much time together in the past few days. That in itself was surprising—who would have thought that a sect leader would have so much time to spend on the third child of another sect leader?
“My brother keeps a very irregular schedule,” said Lan Xichen, still smiling. He handed Jiang Cheng his cup, and their fingers brushed together in the process, making Jiang Cheng’s fingers prickle, which was just stupid. Butterflies in the stomach was one thing, but who ever heard of anyone getting butterflies in their fingers? No one, that’s who. “It’s hard to say when he’ll be back.”
“I need to speak with him,” Jiang Cheng reiterated. “The matter isn’t immediately urgent, perhaps, but it’s of great importance to my sect.”
“Oh,” said Lan Xichen mildly. “Surely, as Wangji’s sect leader and the head of his immediate family, I can step in in this case?”
Jiang Cheng refused to shift uncomfortably, no matter how tempted he was to try to bleed off some of his awkwardness. “It’s related to marriage.”
Lan Xichen’s expression didn’t change, precisely, and yet somehow Jiang Cheng sensed that he was immensely displeased, which was… unexpected. Jiang Cheng knew that some people looked down on his brother due to the comparably lower rank of his biological parents, but he hadn’t thought that Lan Xichen would be one of those people. Lan Xichen always seemed to see the best in Wei Wuxian, and he had even seemed pleased by his glacial friendship with Lan Wangji. But perhaps he viewed the matter differently when it concerned a formal alliance rather than a casual friendship. Jiang Cheng’s fingers tightened on his teacup at the thought.
After a moment, Lan Xichen said, “All the better that we hold this conversation, then, as I am the one who receives any offers made for Wangji.”
“And doesn’t he have a say in that?” Jiang Cheng gritted out.
Lan Xichen appeared startled. “Of course, I wouldn’t make any decisions he’s against. But surely you understand, Jiang Wanyin, that it’s sometimes easier to share one’s true feelings on a personal matter through a trusted intermediary.”
Lan Xichen had, with permission, taken to using Jiang Cheng’s courtesy name. It did nothing to improve the butterfly situation.
But butterflies were nothing when compared to Wei Wuxian’s happiness.
Jiang Cheng snorted. “I don’t see Hanguang-jun as being the sort of person who has trouble giving decisive rejections. Or acceptances.”
“Be that as may be,” said Lan Xichen, not budging.
Jiang Cheng scowled down into his teacup for a long moment before sighing. “Fine, then. I’ll talk to you first, but I still intend to speak with Hanguang-jun on this subject.”
Lan Xichen hummed noncommittally, and Jiang Cheng’s scowl deepened. “When my siblings and I were studying here in the Cloud Recesses, Hanguang-jun’s behaviour seemed to indicate certain… feelings.” He paused here, but Lan Xichen’s face was a mask, showing no indication of whether or not he agreed with this interpretation of events. “Then, later, during the Sunshot Campaign, these indications solidified. My family has been expecting a letter proposing courtship for some time.”
“I see,” said Lan Xichen after a moment. His voice sounded dull. “And these presumed feelings are returned?”
“Wholly and absolutely,” said Jiang Cheng firmly. He knew people often thought Wei Wuxian was something of a player, given how flirtatious he was, but the truth was that he was as careful with his own heart as any other Jiang.
Lan Xichen closed his eyes. He seemed defeated. So, he really was against this marriage, then. Jiang Cheng could feel himself growing furious, but he worked hard to restrain himself.
“I will, of course, speak to my brother on this matter.” Lan Xichen’s voice sounded distant and formal. “However, I must tell you that I have not seen any sign of these feelings in my brother. I believe he is… otherwise attached.”
Jiang Cheng found it difficult to breathe through his fury for a moment. How dare Lan Wangji play so carelessly with Wei Wuxian’s heart? “I understand,” he said when he was able to control his voice. Even so, it came out as icy as winter. “In that case, I will be returning to Lotus Pier.”
Lan Xichen jolted. “So soon? But surely—”
“If what you say is true, what is there for me here?”
Lan Xichen flinched. It made Jiang Cheng’s heart hurt. This whole mess wasn’t really Lan Xichen’s fault if Lan Wangji really didn’t return Wei Wuxian’s affections. But it would take some time before Jiang Cheng would be able to view the situation with a calm mind. “Jiang Wanyin,” said Lan Xichen, some desperation leaking into his voice—though what he could be desperate for, Jiang Cheng couldn’t imagine. “Must it be my brother? Wouldn’t you consider anyone else?”
Jiang Cheng stared at him incredulously. “Switching one person for another isn’t an even exchange, not where love is concerned!” When Lan Xichen only looked miserably at him, Jiang Cheng added, “And anyway, what do my feelings have to do with this? It’s my brother’s heart at stake—see if you can bear to ask him so casually if he’ll consider someone else as his husband!”
Lan Xichen blinked stupidly at him, and Jiang Cheng definitely didn’t lose a minute getting caught in the way his long eyelashes fluttered. “Jiang Wanyin,” he said finally, the tension having disappeared somehow and a glimmer of amusement steadily growing around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. “I believe there’s been a miscommunication. Please forgive me. To be clear, you are suggesting that Wangji expressed romantic feelings for Young Master Wei, who reciprocates those romantic feelings for Wangji?”
“Yes,” Jiang Cheng replied, bewildered. “That’s what we’ve been talking about!”
“...Ah,” said Lan Xichen brightly. “Yes. How lovely.”
Things after that went much more smoothly, and Jiang Cheng was feeling rather smug about the whole spying situation. It isn’t actually that hard to be a spy, he wrote to his siblings once the Lan elders’ internal betrothal discussions had begun in earnest. You just need to come out and clearly declare your intentions.
Good work, a-Cheng! Jiang Yanli wrote in her reply, and Wei Wuxian had taken the time to deface her letter with his own hideous scrawl, which read, Oh, didi, you’re so adorable. Never change.
Lan Xichen was very helpful with everything, now that he’d gotten over whatever confusion or misunderstanding had been plaguing him. Even with the added workload of preparing gifts and meeting with his elders to discuss adjustments to the current treaties between Gusu and Yunmeng, he still made the effort to spend many long hours every day with Jiang Cheng, accompanying him around the sect and introducing him to their extensive poetry library when Jiang Cheng confessed an interest in the subject.
“You sure have a lot of love poetry,” said Jiang Cheng as Lan Xichen presented him with yet another beautifully calligraphed collection. “I would have expected more poems about, I don’t know, trees and clouds and rivers.”
Lan Xichen’s cheeks were slightly pink. Was he cold, or was he embarrassed at the tastes of his sect’s hall masters, some of whom had passed on centuries ago? “I hope you’re not disappointed.”
Jiang Cheng snorted. “Good poetry is good poetry,” he said easily. “Regardless of the topic. Anyway, I like these. Love poems are often so depressing, but these ones have a really hopeful tone.”
Lan Xichen smiled at him, his cheeks having grown even pinker. Probably cold, then. Should Jiang Cheng sit a little closer to him to share warmth? It wouldn’t be proper, of course, but they had let several intimacies slide already.
“I agree,” said Lan Xichen finally. “And I especially enjoy reading these poems together with you, Jiang Wanyin. Listening to you read them… You really add something authentic to the experience.”
From anyone else, that kind of statement would be spoken mockingly, but Jiang Cheng could tell that Lan Xichen was entirely in earnest. And while Jiang Cheng doubted that Lan Xichen’s experience of reading the poems aloud to one another was quite the same as Jiang Cheng’s, he knew it would be difficult to give up the opportunity to hear Lan Xichen’s soft voice sweetly speak promises of eternal adoration. He wasn’t really making these promises to Jiang Cheng, of course, but just hearing the words coming from Lan Xichen was enough to fill him with—something. Not butterflies. This feeling was way beyond butterflies, an enormous outward pressure in his chest that made him feel like at any moment he might either explode or else simply float away on the spring breeze.
“‘Not until then will I part from you,’” read Lan Xichen, his eyes fixed on Jiang Cheng rather than the book before them.
“Thank you,” said Jiang Cheng. “That was beautiful.” Lan Xichen’s eyes travelled over Jiang Cheng’s face, perhaps weighing his sincerity. Though he couldn’t have exactly explained why, the air felt heavy for Jiang Cheng, and Lan Xichen’s scrutiny was too much for him to bear in that moment. “Do you ever write your own poems?” asked Jiang Cheng, and the intensity of Lan Xichen’s gaze ebbed away as he considered the question.
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “I’m afraid they’re not very good.”
Jiang Cheng scoffed. “I don’t believe that.” He hesitated. “Do you ever write love poems?”
There was a beat of silence in which Jiang Cheng was furious with himself for making it awkward, for invading Lan Xichen’s privacy, but then Lan Xichen said again, “Sometimes,” and the intensity that had faded earlier snapped back into place.
Jiang Cheng’s mouth was dry. “Will you read those to me, too?”
They had started this peaceful afternoon poetry reading in this shaded glen sitting perhaps a little too close together for strict propriety. Nevertheless, Jiang Cheng was certain that they hadn’t started out this close. Jiang Cheng could feel the heat of Lan Xichen’s body pressed against him—how could Jiang Cheng have ever thought Lan Xichen was cold?—the line of his jaw searing as Lan Xichen stroked his fingertips slowly upward until he was cupping Jiang Cheng’s face. “Yes,” Lan Xichen whispered. Jiang Cheng could feel the puff of his breath against his lips. “If you’d like to hear it.”
“Yes,” agreed Jiang Cheng, and he tugged Lan Xichen the rest of the way forward.
Who needed propriety, anyway?
Somehow, it wasn’t until Jiang Yanli was a powerful political force, a wife, and a mother, reading Gusu Lan’s explanation of their proposal, that she really understood. Because when the Gusu Lan Sect sent their final, formal courtship letter to the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, it contained the proposal of two marriages rather than one.
She felt an embarrassing amount of belated sympathy for the children her baby brothers once were, those little boys who had been so horrified at the idea of their precious sister leaving them behind. She was not at all prepared to stomach the prospect of either of her brothers marrying out into a different sect. Their initial intention had been for second young master Lan to marry into the Yunmeng Jiang, not for her brother to marry out.
“See?” said Wei Ying miserably. “Shijie, see? It’s just as I predicted all those years ago! That man wants to steal our innocent didi away!”
Jiang Yanli was more surprised than she wanted to admit, and she was considerably less pleased than she let Jiang Cheng see. But she couldn’t deny the happy glow that surrounded Jiang Cheng now, and Lan Xichen at least seemed cognizant of her sacrifice, if his private message to her was anything to go by.
A brother for a brother? he’d written. I adore yours, and I’m assured that mine is likewise adored. I expect many visitations, just as, I’m certain, do you.
All in all, she decided, the situation could be far worse. After all, regardless of where they may end up, it would have been much more difficult to watch over her baby brothers as Madam Jin than it would be as Sect Leader Jiang.