Chapter Text
Jiang Wanyin captures the easy stroke of colors in his wall. The painting itself is wonderful, bright pastels and easy grays complement the image depicted from the artist’s creative mind. Each line, texture, the magnanimity of blends spares nothing but abundance that draws a different tug in his heart, the sudden boldness of yellow, ochre, and gentle blue that seems out of place but perfectly fits in a sense—it was painted with such elated emotion, bursting with a vibrancy that seems enough to light up the darkness within the four corners. Like the first bloom of peony in a dewy morning. Jiang Wanyin runs his fingers against the softness of their bed, back ramrod straight as years of practice taught him nothing less than a proper posture befitting his title, he stares ahead at the beautiful image hanging against the cold wall of the Hanshi.
His mind drifts to soft-spoken words and warm afternoon tea. Sitting with his knees folded, deft fingers holding jade teacups against cold lips. Jiang Wanyin spends his days listening to stories about small Lan children learning their first music through guqin, how the Elders’ constant paper works took more of the reserved time meant to spend with Jiang Wanyin. No matter, though, because he has his own obligations to his sect, official visits, and paper works. Afternoon tea in the Hanshi was easily one of his most fond memories.
Jiang Wanyin gnawed his lips and closed his eyes briefly before returning his gaze towards the splash of colors decorating the wall, a painting created with the thought of another person but was given to him instead.
It was almost wu dian, Jiang Wanyin feels the subtle light streaming from outside against the window. He paid no mind to it. He feels the heavy weight in his chest despite breathing normally. His core buzzing in his body, constant. Soft chirping of birds and the slight rustle of trees brings enough sound to his endless thought, he only wished for it to stop leeching in his brain like a parasite and leave him in peace. The coldness of the Hanshi didn’t affect his bare feet. Jiang Wanyin didn’t feel anything while sitting the whole night in their bed, staring at Lan Xichen’s painting as if by doing so, it will bring his husband to his side like how he prayed every night to happen.
He wonders again if this is how his mother felt every day of her life. This constant torture of thinking what could’ve happened if he wasn’t so selfish and greedy. Is it the same reason why she was almost angry at anything and everything? She’s never had a soft spot even for her own children. Yu Ziyuan prefers to incite fear to gain respect, with the familiar cracking of her whip as she drills her teaching. Jiang Wanyin wonders if her clipped speech would’ve been softer, tender, like how a mother would call her baby, if he wasn’t a failure from the start? He also wonders if his father would have spared him a glance if he didn’t develop such a temper at an early age. Perhaps if he wasn’t so similar to his mother, Jiang Fengmian might have given him a bit if his time, an ounce of his affection.
Perhaps if he wasn’t so cold-hearted, if he smiled more, if he was more compassionate… he wouldn’t have dug his own grave.
Well, it’s been done. It’s all in the past.
What could a small child do when faced envy towards a brother that wasn’t even a blood relative—someone essentially a stranger to their family? His jealousy was so vile that he flinched every time it drips in his throat down to his stomach. He can only laugh at his young self—so petty, Jiang Wanyin, just like your mother, always wanting to be special. Why can’t he just be content with whatever he received in the past? He was so greedy for attention. Truly the embodiment of his current title, Sandu Shengshou.
Years have passed, Heaven has never pitied him, perhaps because he doesn’t deserve anything at all.
Jiang Wanyin stayed sitting for a while before deciding to stretch his legs. He felt an oddly satisfying creak on his bones and muscles. He huffs and bends down to pat his foot, it felt colder. Jiang Wanyin pulled himself up and straightened his white robes. He pushed his long hair out of his face onto his back, not bothering to tie it with his ribbon. Today, he wishes to keep it down without any ornaments.
Sliding the door of his room, he lazily padded still barefoot against the cold wooden floor. The chirping of the birds distracted him enough. It’s still dark inside the Hanshi, candles long melted on their holder. Jiang Wanyin lets his legs drag him somewhere.
Another door gently slides open. His footsteps stop before slowly continuing his path. Long hair reaching his hips sways along with his every movement as well as the sleeves of his robes, it left a sad trail of an unusual white and gray.
“If you do not wish for any disciple to see you, I suggest you leave at an earlier hour. I do not welcome hearing distasteful gossips within the walls of my abode.” his face impassive, lips tugged in a firm line. “I want to start my morning with a delight of morning tea with my husband. Your presence is unappreciated.”
Jin Guangyao smiles with his usual smile, lips drawn with dimples showing. He bowed his head slightly, “I will, Sect Leader Jiang. It was A-Huan who refused to let me leave last night.” Jin Guangyao closed the door behind him, so slow that Jiang Cheng can see an outline of a body curled on the mattress, long hair strewn against the white pillow and a blanket embroidered with pale lavender-colored lotuses covers the naked skin. An empty space left in Lan Xichen’s arms but there was a tell-tale of a body once enclosed to it, perhaps a couple of minutes ago. Jiang Wanyin breathes when the door slides close, finally. He tilts his chin up, looking down at Jin Guangyao with nothing but empty eyes—he doesn’t care anymore.
“It seems like a simple trait like modestly was never taught even to lowborn. Not ever glorified titles and golds can dress a black sheep.”
“Ah,” The shorter male smiles coyly, hand pulling up the layers of robes threatening to fall from his narrow shoulder. It seems like in haste, they weren’t able to properly groom themselves. Jiang Wanyin bit his inner cheek as his eyes traitorously followed Jin Guangyao’s every move. “A-Huan can be a bit shameless in the heat of the moment, Sect Leader Jiang, not that you would know of. Again, I apologize for ruining your morning with my unsightly state. This one will take his leave. I wish you a great day ahead, Sect Leader Jiang.” And then he’s gone. Jiang Wanyin didn’t even follow the retreating figure. He remained standing outside the spare room meant to be converted to a nursery for their small family—wishful thinking.
He cracks the door open, just a bit, to watch his husband sleep. Jiang Wanyin stood there for some time observing like a fool before he was on his heels back to their room with quickened steps. The plan for morning tea was long forgotten. Instead, he groomed himself with his usual robes, imposing violet with delicate lotus brocade, his clarity bell strapped on his sash. He left his hair down like a curtain protecting his back from all the shameless gossip about the pathetic self-imposed relationship he has with his husband. Jiang Wanyin grabbed his coin purse and quankun pouch before picking up his Sandu.
A trip to Caiyi Town would be a good idea.