Chapter Text
Jiang Yanli stirs the vegetable broth in the pot. The other cooks flit through the huge kitchen to make meals for the Jiang household in the background.
It is one fine morning; the birds are chirping up and about, the disciples are training in the courtyard, the merchants are bargaining at Lotus Pier, loud and rough. Unlike the GusuLan Sect where the calm serenity greets the morning sun, the rowdy hustle and bustle of YunmengJiang wakes up the sun.
Jiang Yanli ladles some of the broth into a small wooden bowl kept on a tray. Then, she takes the tray and leaves the kitchen. Immediately, the rest of the cooks take care of the broth-filled pot.
She is quiet. Her lips are pursed thoughtfully as she glides gracefully through the long corridors. She can see the pink lotuses blooming in the lake from the corridors but for once, she is too uneasy to appreciate.
She stops in front of a closed door and knocks twice before forcing herself to smile and enter.
Like she expected, a boy in black and red robes is hunched over the writing table, his back to her. A larger outer robe hangs on his frame, almost drowning him. His dishevelled long raven hair cascades down his back, a single red ribbon hanging on a few strands of the hair. The room is littered with yellow parchments with messy handwriting. The bed is unmade as if somebody fought on it at night. The window still remains closed.
She does not want to startle him. So, holding the tray tightly, she calls out gently, “A-Xian.”
He startles anyway. He turns his face to her as if he never heard the knock. “Oh,” he says. His face shows an odd, complicated emotion that she is unable to read. That has never happened until a few days ago.
Suddenly a brilliant smile lights up his face like it used to.
Fake. Fake. Fake.
“S-shijie! W-why do you still stand there? Come, come!” He exclaims. “Aiyah! Let me help you!” He gets up quickly and takes the tray from her. He never lets his hands touch hers while taking it, she notices. He keeps it on another low table, ushering her to sit down.
Jiang Yanli smiles and sits down at the table, near her shidi.
Fake. Fake. Fake.
“I made this for you, A-Xian.”
“Thank you, thank you!” He says, avoiding her eyes. His smile is still in place. “Many thanks to Shijie for accommodating this 3 year old disciple. Now! Can I have this soup?”
“Of course!” She beams to avoid suspicion.
He drinks the soup as if he has been starving for years.
A few days ago, Wei Wuxian laid sick on bed with high fever and unstable qi. The Jiang healers put him on bed rest until further notice. When the fever subsided after 3 long days, the Wei Wuxian that woke up was not the same as before the fever. It is as if the fever took away the real Jiang Head Disciple.
Physically, he is still the same; he wears the same bright face, the same innocent beam and has the same sturdy physique and nothing seems off. But there is a strange kind of pain and sorrow that never seems to leave his dull grey eyes. It is entrenched so deeply into him that these negative emotions come out in the way he walks, sits or simply breathes.
This Wei Wuxian is also the exact opposite from the previous one: this one is quieter, easily startled, avoids people like the plague, does not leave his room unless absolutely necessary and often looks lost in his own head.
The most upsetting scene was when she offered his favourite lotus root pork rib soup right after his fever and he threw up. She can never forget the way he screamed, wretched and vomited it. Initially he had wailed, “No, no, no, it can’t be—”. Then he cried out in hysterics, “Meat, meat, meat, I hate meat!”
The healers knocked him unconscious. When he woke up again, he was calm like the still waters of the lotus lake.
“Did you like the soup, A-Xian?” She says to distract herself from these morbid thoughts.
He beams, keeping the empty bowl on the tray. “Yes!”
Jiang Yanli, “I made these, especially for you, with fresh vegetables alone. No more meat.”
Again.
That guilty smile.
He adorns a guilty smile on his face and avoids her eyes as if he has committed a heinous crime.
Jiang Yanli does not understand at all.
“A-Xian?” She tries to pat his head.
He flinches back with fear in his eyes in reflex, surprising her; though he tries to cover it up quickly. “Oh, Shijie!” He gives a nervous laugh. His eyes have never shone since the fever. “You shouldn’t do so much for a mere disciple! I — I could have had your lotus root pork rib soup as well! It — It’s just this one was quite ill so my stomach did not agree with the soup! But — but I can have it now!”
Jiang Yanli takes her hand back with the same smile she entered the room. “It’s okay, A-Xian. I love to cook dishes that you and A-Cheng like. It makes me happy!”
Wei Wuxian gives her a small smile, a genuine one. He looks at her with an expression she missed so much: fondness. He looks at her as if she is some great immortal and not a mere woman with low cultivation.
“Shijie is really the best.” He beams at her.
She laughs lightly at his words, making him beam brighter.
Wei Wuxian, “A-Xian loves you a lot, Shijie. A-Xian will never do anything to hurt you intentionally. Shijie knows that, right?”
“Yes, A-Xian.” She is worried despite her smile. What is the meaning of these heavy words? Why is he saying all this? Why now of all time? Why her? “Besides, how can A-Xian hurt me? XianXian is only three!”
He winks at her playfully. “That’s right! XianXian is only three! I promise I never intend to harm Shijie, never intentionally.” Despite his cheery countenance, his words carry immense weight. It is as if he knows he will hurt her in the future and is apologising in advance.
But it cannot be. It cannot.
Jiang Yanli perhaps needs some rest. Because what is she even thinking? How will her little A-Xian hurt her anyway? And why? Why is he even thinking like this?
“Okay, XianXian! I am only glad that my little shidi could have some soup! Now I must leave.” She says, her smile still in place, despite her worried self. She knows he desires some private time lately so she lets him have it.
He nods, still avoiding her eyes.
The Jiang Head Disciple drops her at the door of his room. He never steps out of that threshold.
Jiang Cheng grumbles as he practices his moves. He likes practicing Jiang forms and improving his overall cultivation, despite having to wake up early in the morning. (He wants to slack off on his training sometimes — just like every other disciple does — but he remembers his mother’s harsh rebuke and gets back on his feet, Sandu in his hold.)
What he dislikes: Wei Wuxian slacking off. The Jiang Head Disciple sleeps late at night, wakes up right before noon, plays around all day — hunts pheasants, steals lotus pods, charms pretty ladies at the market to get free materials before resorting to drinking jugs of alcohol in the evening. Not only that, he still manages to defeat them — defeat him — in cultivation and the six arts!
He loves his shixiong but he wishes he was like the latter too.
The other disciples are practicing sword movements with him as well, since it is already nearing noon.
Like the last few days, the Jiang Head Disciple is absent from training. Jiang Yanli says he is recovering from that deadly fever. Jiang Cheng does not wish to listen to that idiot’s excuses or his sister making excuses for him, he only wants Wei Wuxian to take care of himself.
“Where is Wei Ying?”
A cold, authoritative voice pierces through the loud cacophony of the courtyard. All the disciples — including Jiang Cheng — immediately cease their movements with panic gripping their hearts and turn around to see Madam Yu, standing at the edge of the courtyard with her two personal maids.
The Madam of Lotus Pier looks menacing as usual, Zidian sitting on her dainty finger. She was away on a nighthunt for the last few days. On the second night after she left, Wei Wuxian came down with that fatal fever. She has not been notified about the situation in accordance with her own orders (“If I am away for a nighthunt, you need not notify me of anything regarding this brat unless he troubles the name of the very sect who shelters him! I don’t have time for cheap rats who only dare bring trouble to the sect!”).
“I asked a question. Is it that you are deaf or is it that you are mute?” She snarls. The disciples wither under her harsh glare.
On seeing nobody is quite willing to reply and face his mother’s wrath, Jiang Cheng quickly replies, “A-niang, he is — he is si—”
She gestures to him to stop speaking. “Let me see where that brat is.” She leaves the east courtyard with her maids, walking away with a darkening look on her face and Zidian crackling on her finger.
Only after she is out of sight do the disciples actually start murmuring and chattering, worried for their shixiong.
Jiang Cheng wants to scream in frustration and uncertainty. He wants to cry, “But he is not the same, A-niang! He is not the same Wei Wuxian as before! He is weird, he is different, please do not disturb him! He is like a small rabbit who is afraid of small matters! He never comes out of his room, he never looks me in the eyes with challenge, he avoids me as if I am the last person he would like to be accompanied by! Please do not go to him.”
But she is already gone.
All the disciples look at each other, anxious and nervous.
“What are you all doing, engaging in idle chit chat?” Jiang Cheng barks at the disciples. “Start practicing again!”
They instantly stop talking and reposition themselves with grumbles.
But before they can start training, Madam Yu comes back, dragging a lax body by the collar of the black robes. Her maids are hot on her heels with matching foreboding expressions.
“ — then what are you doing sleeping around at this time of the day?! What sort of Head Disciple are you?!” She throws him to the hard ground of the courtyard, harshly. Her eyes are narrowed in outrage and contempt.
All the disciples, Jiang Cheng included, stand frozen in anxiety at the display and the motionless body on the ground. The courtyard is so quiet that they can clearly hear the screams of the vendors and shopkeepers on Lotus Pier.
Yet Wei Wuxian lies motionless. Why is he not getting up?
Jiang Cheng clenches his jaw and fists. What if Wei Wuxian has not recovered yet? Is it why he is not getting up? Or is it one of his silly pranks again? If it is, then now is a terrible time to pull it. (He wants to go and help that idiot stand up but he is terrified of his mother.)
“Head Disciple, isn’t it? That’s what Sect Leader Jiang thinks of you? All high and mighty Wei Wuxian! Wei Ying this, Wei Ying that!” Her voice booms in the silent courtyard as usual. “And now look at his choice for the Head Disciple! I knew it! And now I have clear evidence that you slack off whenever I am out for nighthunt. Yet everyone thinks you are more capable, better, a more suited cultivator and head disciple than—” She pauses with a sneer.
Jiang Cheng only looks down with a scowl. He knows what she meant and he hates it.
“Do you not know the Wen Discussion Conference is near?! If you make the Jiangs lose face due to your lack of discipline and merits, I would not leave you be! You heard that, you filthy little brat? You heard that?! Speak, Wei Ying! Speak!”
All the disciples flinch at her tone and words. The still body on the ground is yet to move. Her screams have perhaps reached the heavens.
The black and red robes-clad boy sits up slowly, as if in a trance. His long, unruly black cascades down his back loosely, not in a ponytail. His posture is arrogant, his aura as frightening as Madam Yu. His voice is sinister and cold when he finally says, “That’s quite a lot of courage that you have to kick me, the Laozu.”
And right before Jiang Cheng’s confused, terrified eyes, Wei Wuxian’s eyes flashes red briefly, making his hackles rise.
It makes him look as if he is not Wei Wuxian but someone else — a demon of another realm perhaps. Even the Madam looks at him in momentary surprise before glowering again.
“Are you talking back to me, Wei Ying?” She sneers.
He says absolutely nothing to that. Instead, he stands up languidly and pushes his hair back, making him look even more dangerous; making him look as if he knows that he is dangerous.
“You!” Madam Yu cries out. Zidian lashes out from her ring with a bright purple light. Jiang Cheng can only watch in agitation and fear.
For the first time in Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian searches for something at his waist and when he comes up empty, he retracts his sword to knock off Zidian in a quick succession of complex forms. Madam Yu keeps trying to lash him with her spiritual weapon but Wei Wuxian is quick on his feet and performs like a rogue cultivator. Some of these forms are like Lan, some of them like Wen, others look like Jin despite being based mainly on Jiang.
Jiang Cheng does not understand at all. How can Wei Wuxian do this? He could not do it a few days ago; a few days ago being before the fever—
It keeps getting more befuddling.
Suddenly, Wei Wuxian jumps to the roof of the building and pauses, making Madam Yu seethe and scream from her position on the ground. Her frustration is only amplified by the fact that her weapon is not reaching Wei Wuxian. She screams, “Why did you stop, you brat?!”
Despite her high cultivation, she looks a bit breathless.
A look of horror and some unknown emotion dawn on his face. “Yu-furen? You — you —?” His grey eyes snap to Jiang Cheng, making him wary. “Jiang Cheng…”
He looks at everyone in the courtyard as if he is seeing them for the first time. Or maybe, the last time.
Jiang Cheng feels uncomfortable.
A lone figure standing on the roof of Lotus Cove, his overly large black robes and long raven hair blowing gently along with the air current, grey eyes looking at everyone with a haunting look — all of it does paint an ominous picture. Especially when the boy looks alarmingly lonely despite being surrounded by his self-proclaimed favourite shidis and shimeis and family.
The dinner at Lotus Pier goes as well as it could go.
Usually, dinnertime meant a lot of headache for everyone involved. Jiang Yanli peels lotus pods or serves a bowl of soup to Wei Wuxian while he bickers with Jiang Cheng. Madam Yu finds faults in the three of them and rebukes Wei Wuxian and calls him names. Jiang Fengmian only smiles at everyone placatingly. Sometimes, Madam Yu even walks out of the hall, mid-meal.
But ever since that incident, the dinner goes awkwardly.
The dishes are ready and the four have taken their seats.
“A-Cheng, where is A-Xian?” Jiang Yanli asks while peeling some lotus pods. Her own bowls are left untouched.
Jiang Cheng frowns, picking up his chopsticks and stirring the contents of his soup. “I don’t know where he went after leaving the training ground.”
Jiang Fengmian looks at them with furrowed eyebrows. His wife scowls but remains silent.
The door of the hall opens at that moment. Wei Wuxian enters silently, wearing his black and red robes. A red ribbon clings to his hair despite having his hair down. There is a melancholic aura around him which cannot be dispelled, no matter how hard one tries. Unlike his previous self, his footsteps are quiet, his eyes are downcast and his shoulders droop as if weighed down by heavy responsibilities befitting an immortal.
Nobody understands him anymore.
“A-Xian, come here.” Jiang Yanli ushers him to sit down beside her.
Wei Wuxian obeys her but says nothing. She puts forward a bowl of lotus seeds which she peeled for him. He starts eating it slowly.
Madam Yu, for once, does not make a fuss. She dares not. Both the adults can see the peculiar behaviour that Wei Wuxian has adopted since that fever and they can only grow worried. Madam Yu is not necessarily worried; she even initially thought that the brat was pulling a prank. Only that brat proved her wrong.
He stays away from everyone, locked in his room for days. He does not come out even if her stupid children beg him to. He only ever comes out if she or Jiang Fengmian summons him officially. He does not even answer if they are unofficial summons; he even refused to answer when Jiang Fengmian personally went to see him that one time.
Madam Yu, for all her shortcomings, is not naive enough to believe that brat does not have filial piety. Wei Ying has always craved for the Sect Leader’s attention and affection, always yearned for her husband’s paternal love because that brat has loved Fengmian as a son. Him not responding to Jiang Fengmian’s call is unimaginable indeed.
She now genuinely wonders what is wrong with him.
“A-Xian, do you like it?” Jiang Yanli asks gently.
The rest of the Jiang family pretends not to be interested in his answer as they start eating from their bowls.
“Yes.” He says quietly before smiling at her as an afterthought. “Thank you for taking care of this lowly one, Shijie.”
All of them look uneasy at his statement. It is unusual for the bright, cheery disciple to say such words.
“A-Xian, what’s wrong?” Jiang Fengmian asks with a strained smile, perhaps not to alert Wei Wuxian.
The Jiang Head Disciple looks at him, dazed. Then he shakes his head slowly and continues eating from a small bowl of rice.
The dinner continues as they try to satiate their appetite.
Wei Wuxian leaves after a while. He insists that he is full though his bowls are only half empty. Some of his bowls remain untouched.
The Jiang family completes the dinner in a fretful silence.
Wei Wuxian spends the next few days holed up in his room. He does not come out, he does not talk to people and the weariness in his posture never goes away. Sometimes he comes out for dinner, sometimes he declines the proposal with such tired countenance that Jiang Yanli can only accept his decision.
He is also neither seen with his ponytail tied up high nor with his clarity bell hanging from his belt. The red ribbon stubbornly clings to his hair. Suibian looks like a dead weight in his arms on the rare occasions that he comes out of his room. He also seems to forget that he has a sword on multiple occasions. Baffling indeed.
He is finally seen properly on the day they leave Lotus Pier for the Wen Discussion Conference, clad in properly fitted robes, sword in hand and Jiang clarity bell hanging from his belt. His hair is still not up in a ponytail. His weariness has still not receded.
Jiang Yanli and Madam Yu stay at Lotus Pier; the former plagued with worry and anxiety and the latter filled with frustration and restlessness.
The Jiang entourage is received grandly by the Wens. Though Jiang Fengmian and his son involve themselves in the greetings, Wei Wuxian stays quiet and obedient. He speaks when directly addressed as Head Disciple, otherwise not. It is as if he is one of the many disciples of the sect and not the bright, brilliant genius he once claimed himself to be.
Both the Jiang Sect Leader and the Heir find themselves even more worried for the Head Disciple. He also looks a little more detached from reality than he was in the Jiang Sect.
After they settle in their provided rooms, the sects are called to gather for the archery competition. Wei Wuxian comes back from wherever he was (when the Jiang Sect Heir went to his room, it was empty) with an even more crestfallen look. Jiang Cheng feels perturbed.
“Wei Wuxian, where have you been all this time? The archery competition is about to start!” Jiang Cheng growls at him as he is used to. Seeing his shixiong drained of joy and life, he does not know what to do. He cannot comfort people placidly like his sister nor can he talk compassionately like his father. So he chooses to do what he does best: playing pretend as if nothing is wrong.
Wei Wuxian snaps his head up at him with a pale face and fear in his eyes. “I don’t want to!”
“What—” Jiang Cheng is baffled. “What sort of nonsense are you saying?! At this hour?”
Wei Wuxian shakes his head frantically as if some ghostly entity is haunting him. His face appears rather gaunt. “No — I don’t want to!”
“What do you mean?” Because what the fuck is he saying? He is the Head Disciple for fuck’s sake!
“I—I just do—don’t want to! I—I cannot!” He fumbles while looking at Jiang Cheng with sad eyes as if trying to make the latter understand something.
He does not understand.
Irritated, Jiang Cheng snaps, “What do you mean you cannot?! What is wrong with you suddenly?!”
Wei Wuxian shudders violently as if that deadly fever is back. Jiang Cheng is quick to hold him by his arms, fearing that the Head Disciple might faint. “J—Jiang—Jiang Cheng! Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian’s shoulders droop, his eyes get downcast and his torso seems to try to cave in to themselves to make himself smaller. “I cannot, I — please!” His fear-filled voice breaks mid-sentence, making Jiang Cheng suspicious.
For a horrible moment, he thinks his shixiong is going to cry and he has no fucking idea how to manage that of all things.
Wei Wuxian was born with a smile and he has always smiled irrespective of what he went through. Thus, if he starts crying now, Jiang Cheng might blanch and stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to do.
“Okay. First of all, can you tell me what the fuck is wrong so that I—”
Jiang Cheng stops speaking when he sees he has caught the attention of some disciples from other sects, his father — who is coming towards them — and Lan Wangji.
“I—I don’t want to!” Wei Wuxian suddenly says again, looking up at him, scared. “I don’t want to hurt anyone! I really — trust me, Jiang Cheng, I really don’t want to hurt anyone! Trust me, Jiang Cheng!” He desperately pleads as if nobody understands his prayer. His grip on Jiang Cheng’s sleeves is deadly.
Jiang Cheng is confused about what his brother is talking about.
“A-Xian?” Sect Leader Jiang approaches them with a concerned frown before Jiang Cheng can figure out what the fuck Wei Wuxian is talking about. “What’s wrong?”
Wei Wuxian freezes at his voice as if somebody just told him he has to live like a monk in Cloud Recesses for the rest of his life.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes dart from Jiang Cheng to Jiang Fengmian frantically for some time before giving a physical shudder. Then his shoulders slump further, his hands release Jiang Cheng’s sleeves and he says, “Nothing.”
He steps away from Jiang Cheng. His face quickly slips into a mask of same, old uninterest and weariness with a touch of grief. His grey eyes are dull.
The Jiang disciples are concerned about their Head Disciple too but dare not interrupt the Sect Leader.
Jiang Fengmian does not push his ward. Jiang Cheng feels too uncomfortable to speak or react just yet.
“A-Xian, you need not come in first place or even in tenth place. Just do your best.” Jiang Fengmian says, patting Wei Wuxian’s trembling shoulders gently. “Do not burden yourself.”
Wei Wuxian nods timidly. Wearily. Tiredly. But no words come out of his mouth.
Jiang Fengmian sighs and leaves the ground, sparing no glance to others.
Jiang Cheng tries to tamp down that pang of jealousy as he watches his father’s retreating back, his worry about his shixiong already forgotten. He is unsuccessful.
Sighing, he looks away to his right — Wei Wuxian is looking at him with pitiful, knowing eyes, as if he knows everything.
He hates that look.
“What!” He snaps.
Wei Wuxian shakes his head and turns away. He still does not smile, that haunted, wary look never leaving his features.
The next few moments go smoothly — well, as smooth as it could go. They prepare themselves for the archery competition while Wei Wuxian stays with them, quiet and unbothered. While everyone tests their bows and arrows, he looks at the sky as if it has all the answers of the unsaid questions lingering in his mind.
Then Jiang Cheng notices Lan Wangji looking their way. He has been looking their way for a while. Perplexed and a bit worried about offending other sects on his father’s watch, he instantly bows, notwithstanding the distance between them. “Greetings, Lan-er-gongzi.”
Wei Wuxian suddenly perks up as if he is the moth and Lan Wangji is the flame he has been seeking for all of eternity. (Weird. Jiang Cheng only prays Wei Wuxian does not do anything stupid like try to catch Lan Wangji’s attention here and now.)
Lan Wangji greets them back appropriately, as expected of the Lan disciples.
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian says with surprise and an inexplicable kind of hope in his voice.
“....”
All of them quietly watch as Wei Wuxian walks towards Lan Wangji carefully and warily as if the Lan disciple will attack him any moment now.
“Lan Zhan?” He says again in awe and wonder when he reaches Lan Wangji. “H—how are you, Lan Zhan? H—how have you been? You—you don’t dislike me, do you? You—I—”
Tears start falling from his eyes out of nowhere, making the Jiang disciples panic all the more. Even the stoic, cold Lan Wangji appears a bit less stoic than he was a moment ago but Jiang Cheng is not sure.
“You—you hate me, don’t you?” Wei Wuxian utters calmly, tears still streaming down his face. “Oh, the righteous Lan-er-gongzi, how can—how can he tolerate the demon Yiling Laozu?! He must kill him! That’s what they say, Lan Zhan! Is that true — that’s—that’s not true, right?” He takes Lan Wangji’s hands in his, making the latter widen his eyes in surprise. “I—I did not want this, Lan Zhan. I—I did not. I am—I just wanted to be friends with you! Forever! I—I—” he stammers and hiccups in between his words.
Nobody actually understands Wei Wuxian. Yes, Lan Wangji does look like he can barely tolerate the Jiang Head Disciple but who the fuck is Yiling Laozu? Jiang Cheng does not know of any Laozu in Yiling? Then what the fuck is Wei Wuxian babbling now?
(Sometimes, Wei Wuxian mumbles things that make no sense to others. He mumbles about some Yiling Laozu sometimes, he cries for someone named A-Yuan in his sleep, he eats radishes like he is starving and then he proceeds to stuff himself with potatoes before looking teary. He has become crazy like that. The Jiang family has tried to understand his sudden detachment and the reason behind such behavior. They failed.)
Wei Wuxian does not wipe his tears away. He looks as if he is only trying to contain his sobs. “Lan—Lan Zhan, you were right! There has—There has been no exception throughout history. One must pay the price for their deed and the price has been quite heavy indeed.” Then he breaks into little sobs again.
Jiang Cheng can only hear his whispered words because he is standing close to them. But he feels even more bewildered now. What deed? What price? No exception….?
“I lost—I lost control, Lan—Lan Zhan. You were—you were right.”
Control? Over what?
For a moment, Lan Wangji looks as puzzled as Jiang Cheng feels even if the latter swears that Lan Wangji is an ice block who cannot feel.
“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji replies, for the first time, in his annoying low timbre voice. His countenance is still calm, his golden eyes never look uncertain. This only solidifies his nickname as an ice block in Jiang Cheng’s humble opinion because a normal person cannot remain calm when another person is crying hysterically and babbling nonsense frantically.
“Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian says, with an oddly melancholic voice. “I ask you for a huge favour now: in the future, please don’t hate me, no—no matter what happens. O—Okay?”
Lan Wangji only looks at Wei Wuxian dubiously. Before the Second Jade can reply, the latter abruptly turns away and takes long strides towards the exit.
What?
Jiang Cheng feels a headache coming on. “What is the meaning of this, Wei Wuxian?! Where are you going?! What were you babbling about—”
But Wei Wuxian leaves the place without ever turning back.
Jiang Cheng can swear he sees some tendrils of resentment trailing behind the Jiang Head Disciple for a terrifying moment when he all but sprinted out of the place.
The results of the archery competition are announced: Lan Wangji wins the first position, Jin Zixuan takes the second and Jiang Cheng takes the third.