Xichen watches Wanyin with worry as his gaze drifts to his nephew and back. He sees him move, the tension as he covers his mouth. "Wanyin, are you alright?"
The man recovers but Xichen still feels worry; knows the pain he suffers though he has not revealed his own.
The worry remains but melts into something else when Jiang Wanyin speaks, explains himself and makes Xichen's heart ache even more. He feels nauseous with, like he cannot breath. He forces himself to take a deep breath again, shakes his head. "You are right, that Gusu also suffered at the hands of the Wen and we have also rebuilt. But that rebuilding was eased by how much was saved, by support from Lanling and Qinghe that I am forever grateful for."
He knows that Lanling only offered their support because of Meng Yao, but he doubts the man would have attempted to sway his father to support Yunmeng even if Wanyin had asked.
"Even as I raise my nephew, it is with the help of many, including a man who I know has barely enough time for himself and has achieved what I am struggling to do with many standing ready to aid me all on his own.
The feat is not diminished because you're not the only that's walked the path, and as someone who has been on this journey beside you, I am awed at what you've accomplished all the same."
Jiang Cheng has to let his hands rest on his throat, touching the skin there, as if he could feel the thorns pushing through to cut into his fingertips. It's not something that Lan Xichen hasn't seen before - the symptoms were familiar and he'd been forced to share it when he had first come begging for the archives - but he doesn't want to make more of a show of it. He doesn't want the other Sect Leader to recognise the flowers and who they belong to.
It's a conversation he simply cannot let himself have, knowing the rejection could quite literally kill him.
Instead, he waves off the concern, forcing his hands back down to his lap, letting his eyes drink in the children. It's comfortable, seeing his a-Ling play around with other children his age. Maybe he should take him out of Lotus Pier more often, away from the peering gazes of Guangyao's spies and the weight of knowing too much about how painful his future will be.
"I'm fine," he shakes his head. "And I don't need your compliments, I assure you. I know what Yunmeng has achieved." Bowing his head, he forces himself to swallow back the pain in his throat, the way he can taste the metallic echo of blood on his tongue. He's not sure how much longer he can do this, how much longer he can survive before his lungs cannot draw in air.
Jiang Cheng closes his eyes and allows himself to be painfully honest.
For a moment, Xichen's hand comes to rest on Jiang Wanyin's shoulder. He does it before he thinks, hopes to provide steadiness and comfort when he sees the man is in pain. It makes him hurt, his insides twist to know that there is nothing he can do.
That it is not his place to do anything to help him, not in the way he wishes that he could.
"It is what you have achieved, Wanyin," he says soft but firm, meaning it. He will not back down on that, even if it something that the younger man will fight him on. He is learning, slowly, that Jiang Wanyin sees his accomplishments as not his own -- not as accomplishments but expectations. It hurts to see it, but it also awes Xichen in a way. This is a man who has overcome so much, who has accomplished it and has not lost himself to pride and hubris. There is much to be admired in that.
His throat burns when the younger looks up, when his voice sounds so torn and raw. "We will find the answer. I will not let anything happen," he says with the same firmness, speaking the words before he realizes he's let them slip out but knowing that they are true.
Jiang Cheng shakes his head, feeling the pain in his throat and the agony in his chest - he feels on edge, sharply so, and he knows it is coming. He knows that he doesn't have much time left, he doesn't know how many days there are before it'll be ripped away from him, and he doesn't want to spend it dwelling or in agony. He wants to be okay, but there's no promise that he'll achieve that.
That he'll get it.
Letting his hands drop down to his lap, Jiang Cheng pushes himself a little to find his voice. It hurts, throat scratchy and sore, but he musters himself. What happens next is incredibly important and he can't stop himself from saying words that break his heart to muster.
"When I die," Jiang Cheng speaks, voice almost shaky, "you must take care of a-Ling. I know that Jin Guangyao will make sure he is raised well, that he has everything that he wants, but there are some things that man can't do for him. I want him to have good friends, I want him to be happy. If I am gone then I do not know what will happen to him."
Hearing his name, a-Ling lifts his head up, giggling a little as his uncle waves his hand.
"And you must make sure he gets Zidian in the future."
The certainty with which Wanyin speaks of his death hurts, causes sharp vines to grow in Xichen's lungs and twist so painfully in his chest that Xichen doesn't realize that he's holding on so tightly to the fabric of Wanyin's robes.
"Wanyin--" he starts and stops, coughs and manages to swallow down this new pain. It had not been so overwhelming before, this affliction that he does not understand and cannot fathom. "Jin Ling will always have a place at Cloud Recess and be welcomed here. It's doors are always open to him and to you, whenever you need or like. I will do everything in my power to ensure he is happy, that he does not feel alone and that Cloud Recess can be a home to him." Even if something happens to Lan Xichen, he'll make arrangements to ensure it. It will be difficult, he knows, given that the boy is heir to another clan but in this moment logic means very little. "But-- while I promise this, I must ask that you not plan for this to become an inevitability so soon."
Please.
The thought of it, the reality, that makes Lan Xichen feel sicker than the thorns growing so rapidly.
"I don't think I have any other course of action. Not at this point."
Jiang Cheng lifts his hand and touches his neck, feeling the ache there, the pain, surprised it hasn't burst out into bruises. He's shocked no one else could tell what was happening to him, that the flowers in his throat are enough to burn through him and explode out from under his skin. How could anyone understand what is happening to him and not expect death to be the next logical outcome?
It's not as if the cure would be something easy for him to accomplish.
"But thank you for your promise. It soothes me a great deal to know my child - my nephew will be cared for." He'll also have to ensure that Yunmeng has a proper heir, that they're trained and taught as best as he can manage in the time he has left, but he has a few months for that, at least.
"I will not give up in finding an alternative," Xichen knows they are friends, that this level of friendship is precious and so recently earned. He feels selfish that he craves more, that he cannot fathom that a life where this man is not part of it.
"You must forgive my boldness, but I cannot allow something to happen to you if there is a chance I am able to prevent it." It is desperation speaking then, causing his voice to tremble.
"You might have to," Jiang Cheng states after a moment of silence. His throat is being torn apart by the care and concern being shown to him by the wonder that is Lan Xichen, and he reaches up to touch the skin there with a sad, breathy little noise.
It hurts. Everything about this hurts.
"I would welcome it if there were something, Zewu-jun, but I am afraid we are out of options. I can feel it."
"No," firmer this time, still desperate. It is strange, Xichen thinks, that this is an inevitability he cannot accept when his mind has accepted so many others. The inevitability of that Nie Mingjue's cultivation practice will eventually lead to ruin that can only be delayed, that while his brother's wounds may heal they will never truly close.
This feels different.
"We have not tried all versions of Clarity to ease this," he offers, desperate still. It is that desperation the distracts him from his own discomfort, from the tightness in his throat. He is coughing up bloodied petals before he realizes it and it is reflex that lifts his hand to cover his mouth, to catch the bloodied mass to stop it from joining the droplets of blood that stain the ground between them and the white silk of his robes.
"We have tried enough to know that it won't work!"
Jiang Cheng sits up a little, the sharpness of his tone attracting the attention of his nephew and playmate. He forces himself to breathe, offering them a wave to calm them down, before he speaks again, voice just as terse but a little hushed.
Just to be safe.
"Why can't you let me accept my death with grace?"
It could, Xichen thinks but cannot force out of his throat. Each breath he takes is harder, the petals coughed up thicker. There is a barely handful, he knows but this morning it had not been this bad.
The thought of losing Wanyin, of his death, has accelerated this and he still has no answers for the true cause, why it reacts so strongly as his feelings bloom.
There's irony in that.
"I--" he swallows down the lump in his throat, drops a shaky fist to rest on his knees. There's so much red and yet he can't focus on it, the sting of Jiang Wanyin's words is sharper than that pain. "I cannot accept your death."
The wave seems not to have done much to placate a-Yuan, who wanders over with Jin Ling in his arms. "Is Uncle sick with flowers again?" And Xichen had not wanted that, coughs again, panics. This is a burden he did not want to add to Wanyin's shoulders.
Jiang Cheng can't drag his eyes away from Xichen's face, from looking at him, panicked by the reaction of his friend and the man he loves. He doesn't know what to do to fix this, but he shifts forward and reaches out all the same.
"Zewu-jun -- Sect Leader Lan, what -" he hesitates, eyes widening as little a-Yuan wanders over, carrying his nephew. He has the immediate instinct to reach over and drag Jin Ling onto his lap, but his hands are shaking too much to be of any use right now. All he can do is breathe shakily.
Is Uncle sick with flowers - Jiang Cheng stops breathing. His own throat feels too tight, agonised as he tries to swallow it all back, to smother himself. The notion that Lan Xichen is, too, in love with someone he can never have... The only name that comes to mind is the obvious, and Jiang Cheng has to turn away, almost throwing up his own set of bright blue flowers, tinged with white around the edges and red from his blood.
He can't help himself as he begins to cry.
"Young Master Lan, please - take a-Ling back to the rabbits -"
What follows his nephews words is nearly a blur. Xichen coughs again, shaking his head slightly but neither his nephew nor Wanyin seems convinced.
He raises a hand to reach back as the other man does but then another cough overtakes him, the world nearly spins. Wanyin is asking a-Yuan to leave with Jin Ling before he knows it. It takes a moment for Xichen's brain to catch up before he nods along, giving his nephew an assuring look. "We will be alright, a-Yuan--- do as you've been asked, alright? The rabbits need you more than we do."
Which doesn't seem to convince the young boy, who watches them with hesitation before nodding. He glances back over his shoulder as he carries a squirming Jin Ling in his arms. "No more lotuses, uncle..."
Which feels like another stab in Xichen's chest, because the boy keeps walking and does not realize the burden he has placed on shoulders that are not his own. Xichen's attention, at least, for the moment turns back to Jiang Wanyin, to the man turned away from him. It feels like he is overstepping as he tentatively touches his shoulder, a gentle touch. "Wanyin-- I-- Wanyin, please. Are you alright?"
Lifting a hand to brush tears from his face is almost impossible, Jiang Cheng trying to shove the emotions away even as he finds himself almost painfully weak in the process. He doesn't want to fall apart in front of the subject of his affections but he finds himself completely unable to swallow it back, unable to do anything but give into the thorns and flowers that have been such a danger for so long.
The children must be aware that there's little of him left, that he doesn't have the strength to fight for much longer, but what else can he do? He can't keep fighting and he doesn't have the courage to stand up and say what he feels - not for someone like Lan Xichen, who is beyond anything he could ever dare to hope for.
It shouldn't surprise him that a simple touch to his shoulder has him choking, but there's nothing he can do about it other than try and breathe through the pain and the hurt, his hands shaking. There's no cure other than saying his emotions aloud, surely, and the idea of doing that...
Grief is the only thing he can picture, rejection tearing his heart to pieces.
"I can't - breathe -" He shakes his head. "Please..."
Decorum and tact would dictate that Xichen remains close but does not breach more boundaries. That is far behind him now, his own panic building as Wanyin seems worse by the moment.
He tries to take another deep breath of his own, chest aching with vines and petals; just as the thought of losing this man tears through him. His fingers tighten on the fabric of Jiang Wanyin's robe and then release it, he draws his hand back but keeps close still as if it'll help him somehow. "Tell me what I can do to ease this," the panic remains, overwhelming and letting words spill from his lips that are too bold, too selfish and not delicately calculated in the way that Zewu Jun normally speaks but in this moment that man is not the one sitting behind his friend, his companion. "Am I making this worse? Wanyin-- I do not wish to lose you."
His voice comes out harsh, as a brutal snap, as his hands shake and his voice gets more and more hoarse. He cannot register the fear in Lan Xichen's voice, the way he speaks or how he reaches for him, so lost in his own grief and the threat of his own death. Instead the only thing he can do is try to steal himself away, lifting a hand to touch his throat, breathing shakily.
It's never going to be okay, nor will it be enough, but he has to live with that until he no longer can.
"Please, just let me take a moment, I - this will pass. And promise."
The snap rattles him more than he expects it to, Xichen tenses but does not move away to put great distance between them. If it is meant to push him away, for the moment, it does not. He stays close, sure the answer is that he is not helping but for the moment unable to move.
"I-- I'm sorry. Alright." Simple, a soft word and there's fear in his voice but he does not press now, giving Wanyin a moment to gather himself as he watches him with worry in his eyes.
How much does the other know about this disease, this affliction that is spreading to them both? He wants to press, to know, but not when the other man is still gasping for air. "I only wish to make this right -- To make sure you're alright."
There's a part of him that feels immediately guilty as he watches Xichen tense, watches the emotion settle on his features, but he can't feel more than that. He's too tired, too filled with guilt, pained - because his throat is being ripped to shreds and he has neither the confidence nor the courage to do anything about it.
"No, I... I apologise." He turns his head, gazing outwards at the children. He wishes he could just pick a-Ling up and take him home, wishes he could do something to make all of this go away, but he can't. He just wants to make it better.
So he breathes out, trying not to cough.
"I understand. And I appreciate your concern. I simply... Cannot." He wipes his face absently.
"Cannot?" And that's a strange way to put it, Xichen thinks. His brows remained furrowed, lips pulled downward into a frown.
"What do you have to be sorry for, Wanyin? I am the one unable to help." And all he wishes is that he could, was able to do something more than sit helpless at the side of a man slipping away.
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The man recovers but Xichen still feels worry; knows the pain he suffers though he has not revealed his own.
The worry remains but melts into something else when Jiang Wanyin speaks, explains himself and makes Xichen's heart ache even more. He feels nauseous with, like he cannot breath. He forces himself to take a deep breath again, shakes his head. "You are right, that Gusu also suffered at the hands of the Wen and we have also rebuilt. But that rebuilding was eased by how much was saved, by support from Lanling and Qinghe that I am forever grateful for."
He knows that Lanling only offered their support because of Meng Yao, but he doubts the man would have attempted to sway his father to support Yunmeng even if Wanyin had asked.
"Even as I raise my nephew, it is with the help of many, including a man who I know has barely enough time for himself and has achieved what I am struggling to do with many standing ready to aid me all on his own.
The feat is not diminished because you're not the only that's walked the path, and as someone who has been on this journey beside you, I am awed at what you've accomplished all the same."
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It's a conversation he simply cannot let himself have, knowing the rejection could quite literally kill him.
Instead, he waves off the concern, forcing his hands back down to his lap, letting his eyes drink in the children. It's comfortable, seeing his a-Ling play around with other children his age. Maybe he should take him out of Lotus Pier more often, away from the peering gazes of Guangyao's spies and the weight of knowing too much about how painful his future will be.
"I'm fine," he shakes his head. "And I don't need your compliments, I assure you. I know what Yunmeng has achieved." Bowing his head, he forces himself to swallow back the pain in his throat, the way he can taste the metallic echo of blood on his tongue. He's not sure how much longer he can do this, how much longer he can survive before his lungs cannot draw in air.
Jiang Cheng closes his eyes and allows himself to be painfully honest.
"I do not think I have much longer, Zewu-jun."
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That it is not his place to do anything to help him, not in the way he wishes that he could.
"It is what you have achieved, Wanyin," he says soft but firm, meaning it. He will not back down on that, even if it something that the younger man will fight him on. He is learning, slowly, that Jiang Wanyin sees his accomplishments as not his own -- not as accomplishments but expectations. It hurts to see it, but it also awes Xichen in a way. This is a man who has overcome so much, who has accomplished it and has not lost himself to pride and hubris. There is much to be admired in that.
His throat burns when the younger looks up, when his voice sounds so torn and raw. "We will find the answer. I will not let anything happen," he says with the same firmness, speaking the words before he realizes he's let them slip out but knowing that they are true.
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That he'll get it.
Letting his hands drop down to his lap, Jiang Cheng pushes himself a little to find his voice. It hurts, throat scratchy and sore, but he musters himself. What happens next is incredibly important and he can't stop himself from saying words that break his heart to muster.
"When I die," Jiang Cheng speaks, voice almost shaky, "you must take care of a-Ling. I know that Jin Guangyao will make sure he is raised well, that he has everything that he wants, but there are some things that man can't do for him. I want him to have good friends, I want him to be happy. If I am gone then I do not know what will happen to him."
Hearing his name, a-Ling lifts his head up, giggling a little as his uncle waves his hand.
"And you must make sure he gets Zidian in the future."
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"Wanyin--" he starts and stops, coughs and manages to swallow down this new pain. It had not been so overwhelming before, this affliction that he does not understand and cannot fathom. "Jin Ling will always have a place at Cloud Recess and be welcomed here. It's doors are always open to him and to you, whenever you need or like. I will do everything in my power to ensure he is happy, that he does not feel alone and that Cloud Recess can be a home to him." Even if something happens to Lan Xichen, he'll make arrangements to ensure it. It will be difficult, he knows, given that the boy is heir to another clan but in this moment logic means very little. "But-- while I promise this, I must ask that you not plan for this to become an inevitability so soon."
Please.
The thought of it, the reality, that makes Lan Xichen feel sicker than the thorns growing so rapidly.
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Jiang Cheng lifts his hand and touches his neck, feeling the ache there, the pain, surprised it hasn't burst out into bruises. He's shocked no one else could tell what was happening to him, that the flowers in his throat are enough to burn through him and explode out from under his skin. How could anyone understand what is happening to him and not expect death to be the next logical outcome?
It's not as if the cure would be something easy for him to accomplish.
"But thank you for your promise. It soothes me a great deal to know my child - my nephew will be cared for." He'll also have to ensure that Yunmeng has a proper heir, that they're trained and taught as best as he can manage in the time he has left, but he has a few months for that, at least.
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"You must forgive my boldness, but I cannot allow something to happen to you if there is a chance I am able to prevent it." It is desperation speaking then, causing his voice to tremble.
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It hurts. Everything about this hurts.
"I would welcome it if there were something, Zewu-jun, but I am afraid we are out of options. I can feel it."
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This feels different.
"We have not tried all versions of Clarity to ease this," he offers, desperate still. It is that desperation the distracts him from his own discomfort, from the tightness in his throat. He is coughing up bloodied petals before he realizes it and it is reflex that lifts his hand to cover his mouth, to catch the bloodied mass to stop it from joining the droplets of blood that stain the ground between them and the white silk of his robes.
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Jiang Cheng sits up a little, the sharpness of his tone attracting the attention of his nephew and playmate. He forces himself to breathe, offering them a wave to calm them down, before he speaks again, voice just as terse but a little hushed.
Just to be safe.
"Why can't you let me accept my death with grace?"
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The thought of losing Wanyin, of his death, has accelerated this and he still has no answers for the true cause, why it reacts so strongly as his feelings bloom.
There's irony in that.
"I--" he swallows down the lump in his throat, drops a shaky fist to rest on his knees. There's so much red and yet he can't focus on it, the sting of Jiang Wanyin's words is sharper than that pain. "I cannot accept your death."
The wave seems not to have done much to placate a-Yuan, who wanders over with Jin Ling in his arms. "Is Uncle sick with flowers again?" And Xichen had not wanted that, coughs again, panics. This is a burden he did not want to add to Wanyin's shoulders.
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"Zewu-jun -- Sect Leader Lan, what -" he hesitates, eyes widening as little a-Yuan wanders over, carrying his nephew. He has the immediate instinct to reach over and drag Jin Ling onto his lap, but his hands are shaking too much to be of any use right now. All he can do is breathe shakily.
Is Uncle sick with flowers - Jiang Cheng stops breathing. His own throat feels too tight, agonised as he tries to swallow it all back, to smother himself. The notion that Lan Xichen is, too, in love with someone he can never have... The only name that comes to mind is the obvious, and Jiang Cheng has to turn away, almost throwing up his own set of bright blue flowers, tinged with white around the edges and red from his blood.
He can't help himself as he begins to cry.
"Young Master Lan, please - take a-Ling back to the rabbits -"
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He raises a hand to reach back as the other man does but then another cough overtakes him, the world nearly spins. Wanyin is asking a-Yuan to leave with Jin Ling before he knows it. It takes a moment for Xichen's brain to catch up before he nods along, giving his nephew an assuring look. "We will be alright, a-Yuan--- do as you've been asked, alright? The rabbits need you more than we do."
Which doesn't seem to convince the young boy, who watches them with hesitation before nodding. He glances back over his shoulder as he carries a squirming Jin Ling in his arms. "No more lotuses, uncle..."
Which feels like another stab in Xichen's chest, because the boy keeps walking and does not realize the burden he has placed on shoulders that are not his own. Xichen's attention, at least, for the moment turns back to Jiang Wanyin, to the man turned away from him. It feels like he is overstepping as he tentatively touches his shoulder, a gentle touch. "Wanyin-- I-- Wanyin, please. Are you alright?"
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The children must be aware that there's little of him left, that he doesn't have the strength to fight for much longer, but what else can he do? He can't keep fighting and he doesn't have the courage to stand up and say what he feels - not for someone like Lan Xichen, who is beyond anything he could ever dare to hope for.
It shouldn't surprise him that a simple touch to his shoulder has him choking, but there's nothing he can do about it other than try and breathe through the pain and the hurt, his hands shaking. There's no cure other than saying his emotions aloud, surely, and the idea of doing that...
Grief is the only thing he can picture, rejection tearing his heart to pieces.
"I can't - breathe -" He shakes his head. "Please..."
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He tries to take another deep breath of his own, chest aching with vines and petals; just as the thought of losing this man tears through him. His fingers tighten on the fabric of Jiang Wanyin's robe and then release it, he draws his hand back but keeps close still as if it'll help him somehow. "Tell me what I can do to ease this," the panic remains, overwhelming and letting words spill from his lips that are too bold, too selfish and not delicately calculated in the way that Zewu Jun normally speaks but in this moment that man is not the one sitting behind his friend, his companion. "Am I making this worse? Wanyin-- I do not wish to lose you."
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His voice comes out harsh, as a brutal snap, as his hands shake and his voice gets more and more hoarse. He cannot register the fear in Lan Xichen's voice, the way he speaks or how he reaches for him, so lost in his own grief and the threat of his own death. Instead the only thing he can do is try to steal himself away, lifting a hand to touch his throat, breathing shakily.
It's never going to be okay, nor will it be enough, but he has to live with that until he no longer can.
"Please, just let me take a moment, I - this will pass. And promise."
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"I-- I'm sorry. Alright." Simple, a soft word and there's fear in his voice but he does not press now, giving Wanyin a moment to gather himself as he watches him with worry in his eyes.
How much does the other know about this disease, this affliction that is spreading to them both? He wants to press, to know, but not when the other man is still gasping for air. "I only wish to make this right -- To make sure you're alright."
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"No, I... I apologise." He turns his head, gazing outwards at the children. He wishes he could just pick a-Ling up and take him home, wishes he could do something to make all of this go away, but he can't. He just wants to make it better.
So he breathes out, trying not to cough.
"I understand. And I appreciate your concern. I simply... Cannot." He wipes his face absently.
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"What do you have to be sorry for, Wanyin? I am the one unable to help." And all he wishes is that he could, was able to do something more than sit helpless at the side of a man slipping away.