Chapter Text
The smell of charred wood and wet ash still clung to the edges of Lotus Pier, a bitter phantom scent that haunted Jiang Wanyin’s every waking moment.
Rebuilding a sect from the ground up was not a task for the faint of heart; it was a logistical nightmare that required gold he didn't have, disciples who were too young, and hours of sleep he couldn't afford. Sitting at a makeshift desk in the courtyard, Jiang Cheng fiercely dragged his brush across a bamboo scroll, tallying the latest shipment of roof tiles. His purple robes, usually impeccable, were dusted with sawdust at the hems.
"Sect Leader," a tentative voice called out.
Jiang Cheng snapped his head up, his scowl firmly in place. A middle-aged artisan, the head of the stonemasons, stood nervously before him, twisting a cap in his calloused hands.
"What is it, Master Shen? Did the marble quarry delay our shipment again?"
"Ah, no, Sect Leader. It’s regarding the ruined shrine on the western border. The structure has been stabilized, but... you requested statues of both the General of the Southeast and the General of the Southwest?" Master Shen hesitated, looking profoundly uncomfortable. "On the same altar?"
Jiang Cheng rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache blossoming behind his eyes. "Yes. I was quite clear. Yunmeng is vulnerable right now. The Southeast and Southwest are our most exposed flanks. We need the divine martial protection of both regions."
"But Sect Leader," the mason pressed gently, "tradition dictates that martial gods have their own dedicated spaces. To place General Nan Yang and General Xuan Zhen shoulder-to-shoulder... it is said they are fierce rivals. It might invite disharmony."
"Master Shen," Jiang Cheng said, his voice dropping to a dangerously calm octave. "Do I look like a man who has the time, space, or treasury to build two separate, structurally sound pavilions just to coddle the egos of celestial beings? Carve the statues. Put them on the main altar. If they want to argue, they can do it while protecting my borders. Dismissed."
The mason bowed hastily and fled. Jiang Cheng returned to his scrolls, satisfied that he had made a highly efficient, practical decision.
He didn't realize he had just committed the heavenly equivalent of mixing oil, water, and an explosive talisman.
Three days after the first incense was lit, Jiang Cheng was at the newly constructed front gates, personally inspecting a delivery of heavy ironwood logs, when shouting erupted from the docks.
"I am telling you, your Sect Leader is committing a sacrilege!" a haughty voice echoed over the clamor of the construction site.
Jiang Cheng stalked toward the commotion, Zidian already beginning to spark faintly on his right hand. Two young men, completely unrecognized and clearly not from any allied sect, were currently looming over his bewildered gate guards.
One was dressed in dark, functional robes, radiating hostility and looking like he wanted to punch a hole through the new wooden barricades. The other wore pristine, elegant white, rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn't strain a spiritual vein. They called themselves rogue cultivators, but they held themselves with a bizarre, suffocating arrogance.
"What is the meaning of this?" Jiang Cheng barked, stepping between his guards and the intruders. "Who are you, and why are you harassing my people?"
The one in white, who had introduced himself to the guards as Fu Yao, looked Jiang Cheng up and down with undisguised disdain. "Sect Leader Jiang, I presume? We are here regarding the catastrophic eyesore you call a temple on your western border."
The dark-haired one, Nan Feng, crossed his muscular arms, his jaw set. "You need to tear it down. Today. It is deeply offensive to house the statues of Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen in the same room. They despise each other. It will bring ruin and bad luck to your entire sect."
"You must tear the Nan Yang statue down immediately," Fu Yao corrected smoothly. "It ruins the aesthetic of the shrine."
"Tear the Xuan Zhen statue down!" Nan Feng snarled, rounding on his companion. "It’s practically weeping with pretension!"
"Yours looks like a brute who couldn't read a prayer if it was carved into his forehead!"
Jiang Cheng stared at them. He had slept exactly four hours in the last three days. His spiritual energy was stretched paper-thin from personally setting the warding arrays across the lakes. He had a mountain of debt, a clan of traumatized orphans relying on him, and he simply did not have the patience for whatever this was.
CRACK.
Purple lightning whipped against the stone pavers, shattering the ground between the two arguing men. Nan Feng and Fu Yao jumped back, instantly falling into flawless, lethal martial stances, their eyes locked on the sparking ring on Jiang Cheng's finger.
"I don't care," Jiang Cheng hissed, his voice trembling with repressed fury, "if your gods want to strangle each other in the Heavenly Capital. I paid good money for that marble. In Yunmeng, they will share a roof, and they will like it."
Fu Yao narrowed his eyes. "You arrogant mortal—"
"If your gods are so petty," Jiang Cheng interrupted, stepping forward so he was practically chest-to-chest with the disguised immortals, "that they cannot put aside their differences to protect a recovering sect, then they aren't worth the incense we burn! They are useless!"
Nan Feng looked scandalized. "Useless?!"
"Yes, useless!" Jiang Cheng gestured wildly toward the massive pile of ironwood logs behind him. "I have miles of docks to rebuild, a training pavilion to construct, and fifty disciples who need to learn how to hold a sword without slicing their own toes off. If your gods are so mighty, where is their blessing? Because right now, the only thing standing between Yunmeng Jiang and total collapse is me."
He glared at them, breathing heavily, chest heaving. "So, unless you two are here to pick up a saw or a hammer, get off my docks."
Jiang Cheng turned on his heel, fully expecting the two strange cultivators to storm off in a huff.
Instead, a heavy thud made him pause.
He looked back over his shoulder. Nan Feng had marched over to the lumber cart and effortlessly hoisted a massive, five-hundred-pound ironwood log onto his shoulder as if it were a bamboo stalk. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles jumped.
"Who says we are useless?" Nan Feng growled, glaring at Jiang Cheng. "I can haul ten times the timber your pathetic, weak-armed disciples can."
Fu Yao let out a sharp, derisive scoff, his pristine sleeves fluttering as he elegantly strode toward the cart. "Ten? How deeply embarrassing. Only a brute would brag about such a meager amount. I could move twenty logs across the compound without wrinkling my robes."
Nan Feng’s eyes flashed dangerously. "Thirty!"
"Fifty!" Fu Yao snapped back, seamlessly lifting two ironwood logs with one hand each, not even breaking a sweat.
Jiang Cheng blinked. The anger drained out of him, replaced by a sudden, sharp realization. He looked at the heavy timber, then at the two impossibly strong, impossibly proud men who were currently glaring at each other like rabid dogs.
Slowly, Jiang Cheng lowered his hand, allowing Zidian to power down into a quiet silver band. A slow, deeply dangerous smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"Fifty?" Jiang Cheng challenged, crossing his arms and leaning back. "Talk is cheap. The western dock needs a new foundation by sunset. Prove it."
Nan Feng let out a war cry, hauling three more logs onto his shoulders and sprinting toward the western lakes. Fu Yao sneered, kicked four logs into the air, caught them flawlessly, and bounded after him, shouting about proper lifting forms.
Jiang Cheng watched them go, the dust settling around his boots.
"Master Shen!" Jiang Cheng called out, not taking his eyes off the rapidly shrinking figures of the two disguised gods.
The artisan scurried over, looking terrified. "Y-Yes, Sect Leader?"
"Double the incense at the new temple," Jiang Cheng said, turning back to his ledgers, feeling satisfied. "And bring me the blueprints for the main training hall. We're breaking ground this afternoon."
Rumors in the cultivation world traveled faster than a flying sword, and the rumors surrounding the Yunmeng Jiang Sect were rapidly bordering on the absurd.
Wei Wuxian had heard the whispers all the way in Yiling. Lotus Pier rebuilt in a month. A new main hall carved from solid marble and ironwood. Sect Leader Jiang has hired a demonic mercenary army. Knowing his martial brother’s atrocious temper, immense pride, and utterly depleted treasury, Wei Wuxian naturally assumed Jiang Cheng was either working himself into a qi deviation or had finally snapped and summoned something from the ghost realm.
Unable to sit still with the worry gnawing at him, Wei Wuxian packed a handful of experimental talismans, bought a jug of cheap wine, and made the journey to Yunmeng.
He expected to find a chaotic construction site overseen by a haggard, screaming Jiang Cheng.
Instead, he slipped over the newly constructed, flawlessly joined outer walls and found a scene that made him question his own sanity.
Lotus Pier was beautiful. It wasn't just functional; it was ethereal beauty. And sitting in the shade of a newly erected pavilion, sipping chilled loquat tea and calmly reviewing a pristine ledger, was Jiang Cheng. He looked rested. His skin had color. He wasn't even scowling.
In the courtyard below, two unfamiliar youths of roughly their age were aggressively hurling paving stones.
"You call that a properly seated cornerstone?" the one in white sneered, tossing a massive slab of granite into the air and letting it crash perfectly into a trench. "A slight breeze could knock over that retaining wall, you brute! Are we building a fortress or a sandcastle?"
The one in dark robes aggressively shoved another boulder into place, the ground shaking beneath the force of his bare hands. "My wall could withstand a siege! Your wall looks like it’s going to start crying if someone looks at it too hard! It's completely impractical!"
Wei Wuxian blinked, dropping out of the tree he had been perching in and sauntering over to the pavilion.
"Jiang Cheng," Wei Wuxian called out, leaning against a beautifully carved wooden pillar. "I step away for a few months, and you start kidnapping rogue cultivators with superhuman strength? Did you sell your soul, or just the sect's remaining pride?"
Jiang Cheng didn't even flinch. He carefully rolled up his scroll, took a deliberate sip of his tea, and looked down at his brother.
"Wei Wuxian. Try not to track dirt onto the new wood. Fu Yao spent three hours sanding it, and if you scuff it, he'll complain about it until my ears bleed."
Down in the courtyard, the youth in white, Fu Yao, snapped his head up, his dark eyes locking onto Wei Wuxian with an intensity that felt entirely un-mortal.
Wei Wuxian’s instincts, honed by war and the darkest arts, immediately flared. These two didn't feel like ordinary cultivators. There was no hum of golden cores, but rather a suffocating, heavy pressure in the air around them.
Unable to resist poking the proverbial hornet's nest, Wei Wuxian grinned. "Ah, so the snooty one is Fu Yao? And the angry one?"
"Nan Feng," Jiang Cheng said flatly. "And don't antagonize them. They're doing the heavy lifting."
"Antagonize? Me?" Wei Wuxian pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. With a flick of his wrist, a red talisman slipped from his sleeve. It wasn't dangerous, just a localized concussive blast meant to disorient, but it flew with the speed and precision of an arrow right toward Fu Yao's pristine white robes.
What happened next defied all martial logic.
Fu Yao didn't draw a sword. He didn't even shift his stance. He simply reached up and caught the paper between his index and middle finger without looking. He brought the talisman to his face, inspected the messy, brilliant arrays Wei Wuxian had drawn, and let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of centuries.
"Messy brushwork. Unstable energy loop. Utterly derivative," Fu Yao critiqued flatly.
With a careless flick of his wrist, the talisman incinerated. There was no spiritual spark, no flame, the paper simply dissolved into ash in his grip. Fu Yao then rolled his eyes with such forceful disdain that Wei Wuxian genuinely feared the boy might give himself a stroke. "Trash."
Wei Wuxian's jaw dropped. "Hey! That took me three hours to design!"
Before he could take a step toward the courtyard, a shadow fell over him. Wei Wuxian spun around, only to find Nan Feng looming over him. The dark-haired youth had crossed fifty paces in the blink of an eye without making a single sound.
"Who are you," Nan Feng demanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that made the wooden floorboards vibrate, "and why are you attacking Sect Leader Jiang's property?"
"I'm his brother!" Wei Wuxian laughed nervously, trying to step back, only to find a hand the size of a dinner plate closing around the back of his collar.
With a single, effortless motion, Nan Feng lifted the infamous Yiling Patriarch off the ground entirely. Wei Wuxian dangled in the air, his boots kicking uselessly.
"He's an intruder," Nan Feng called up to the pavilion, ignoring Wei Wuxian's frantic squawking. "He reeks of resentful energy and cheap alcohol. Shall I throw him over the wall, or into the lake?"
"The lake is freshly dredged," Fu Yao called back, dusting off his hands. "He'll contaminate the lotuses. Over the wall. Aim for the thorny bushes."
"Jiang Cheng!" Wei Wuxian yelled, twisting in the iron grip. "Jiang Cheng, tell your terrifying guard dogs to put me down!"
Jiang Cheng stood up, walking to the edge of the pavilion. He looked down at the fearsome Yiling Patriarch, currently dangling like a misbehaving kitten from Nan Feng's fist. A slow, deeply vindictive smirk spread across the Sect Leader's face.
"Nan Feng," Jiang Cheng drawled, clearly savoring the moment.
"Yes, Sect Leader?"
"Put him down. Unfortunately, he lives here." Jiang Cheng turned his back on them, waving a dismissive hand. "And Wei Wuxian? If you blow up a single piece of my new docks, I will let them use you for target practice."
Nan Feng dropped Wei Wuxian unceremoniously onto his face, let out a loud "Tch," and marched back to his pile of boulders.
Wei Wuxian sat up, rubbing his nose and staring at the two youths who were already back to arguing over mortar consistencies. For the first time in his life, he was deeply, profoundly intimidated by someone other than Madam Yu.
Later that evening, when Jiang Cheng returned to his private quarters, he found a hastily scrawled note pinned to his door with a dagger.
Jiang Cheng,
I don't know what kind of ancient demonic deities you managed to bind into servitude, but please do not let them eat me.
I will be hiding in my room.
— Wei Wuxian.
Jiang Cheng pulled the dagger from the wood, folded the note into his robes, and let out a rare, genuine laugh. If having two furious Supreme Martial Gods on his payroll meant Wei Wuxian actually behaved himself, Jiang Cheng would build them ten more temples.
For six months, the Heavenly Capital had enjoyed a miraculous era of peace. There were no celestial palaces collapsing from stray spiritual blasts. There were no screaming matches echoing through the Grand Avenue. The communication arrays were utterly devoid of profanity.
It was, frankly, unnerving.
Xie Lian, Flower-Crowned Martial God, sat in his humble Puqi Shrine, mending a broom and frowning slightly. He hadn’t seen his two former retainers since the mid-autumn festival. Whenever he asked Ling Wen about the whereabouts of the Generals of the Southeast and Southwest, she merely sighed, rubbed her temples, and muttered something about their divine clones handling the paperwork while their main bodies were "indisposed in the mortal realm."
Unable to shake his concern, Xie Lian packed a modest travel bag, adjusted his bamboo hat, and followed the faint, heavily suppressed trails of their divine energy.
The trail led him directly to the borders of Yunmeng.
As Xie Lian wandered into Lotus Pier, he couldn't help but marvel at the architecture. The sect was clearly recovering from a devastating fire, but the rebuilding effort was astonishing. He ran a hand along a newly erected training pavilion, noting the flawless, mortarless joinery.
Such elegant, meticulous woodwork, Xie Lian thought with a fond smile. That’s definitely Mu Qing’s handiwork. He walked further, noting a massive, defensive retaining wall made of solid granite boulders that must have weighed tons apiece, stacked with brute-force precision. And that is absolutely Feng Xin.
A loud splash and a string of extremely colorful curses broke his reverie.
Xie Lian followed the noise toward the main docks. What he saw made him stop dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in pure disbelief.
There, waist-deep in the murky water of the lotus lakes, were the two most powerful martial gods of the Heavenly Court. They were stripped to their lower robes, covered from head to toe in thick, foul-smelling pond scum, and fiercely wielding iron shovels.
"You call that a dredged trench?" Nan Feng roared, hurling a massive shovelful of mud onto the banks. "A blind carp would get stuck in that! Dig deeper, you incompetent hack!"
"I am preserving the root systems of the spiritual lotuses, you uncultured swine!" Fu Yao shrieked back, aggressively scooping mud and deliberately splashing dirty water onto Nan Feng's chest. "Not that I'd expect a brute who solves all his problems by punching them to understand basic horticulture!"
"I'll show you a brute!"
"Enough!"
A sharp, crackling sound echoed across the water. Xie Lian blinked as a terrifying whip of purple lightning struck the surface of the lake right between the two disguised gods, sending a geyser of water into the air.
Standing on the edge of the dock was a young man in vibrant purple robes. He had a scowl so deep it looked permanently carved into his handsome features, and he was currently aggressively tapping a ledger with the end of a writing brush.
"If you two break another shovel trying to decapitate each other, I am deducting it from your wages!" Jiang Cheng barked. "The eastern lake needs to be cleared before the seed delivery arrives at noon! If you fall behind schedule because you're busy throwing mud like toddlers, I will personally string you both up by your ankles from the main gates!"
Xie Lian watched, speechless, as Nan Feng and Fu Yao, who regularly threatened to burn down each other's temples if someone looked at them wrong, visibly flinched. They glared at each other, muttered something venomous, and furiously went back to shoveling mud.
A delighted, bubbling laugh escaped Xie Lian's lips before he could stop it.
At the sound, three heads snapped in his direction. Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes at the newcomer in the bamboo hat, his hand immediately resting on the hilt of his sword, Sandu.
But it was the reaction of the two lake-diggers that was truly spectacular. Nan Feng dropped his shovel, his jaw hitting the water. Fu Yao turned completely pale beneath the layer of pond scum, his eyes darting frantically for an escape route that didn't exist.
"Your Highness," Fu Yao choked out, completely forgetting his disguise.
"Who?" Jiang Cheng asked, glancing between the mild-mannered stranger and his two terrifyingly competent laborers.
Xie Lian stepped forward, offering a deep, respectful bow. "Greetings, Sect Leader Jiang. I am Xie Lian, a humble cultivator. I apologize for the intrusion, but the Heavenly Capital has been so quiet lately, I came to see what had captured my friends' attention for half a year."
Jiang Cheng looked at Xie Lian's simple robes, then at the paralyzing aura of divine energy radiating from him, and finally back to the two mud-covered idiots in his lake. He had known, of course, that Nan Feng and Fu Yao were more than rogue cultivators. He had a strong suspicion about exactly who they were ever since they had single-handedly raised the main hall's roof beams without using a pulley.
He just hadn't cared.
"So," Jiang Cheng said slowly, crossing his arms and looking down his nose at Nan Feng and Fu Yao. "Flower-Crowned Martial God."
Nan Feng buried his face in his large hands, groaning in absolute misery. Fu Yao looked like he wanted to drown himself in the freshly dug trench.
"It seems my disguise was not as effective as I thought," Xie Lian chuckled, stepping up to the edge of the dock. "I must say, Sect Leader Jiang, you have achieved the impossible. I haven't seen these two cooperate on a project in eight hundred years. How did you manage it?"
"I told them they were incompetent and threatened to move their Gods' statues into the storage shed," Jiang Cheng replied flatly. "They seem to respond well to spite."
Xie Lian burst into genuine, ringing laughter. "Yes, that sounds exactly right." He looked down at his two mortified friends. "Well? Are you two coming back? Ling Wen is threatening to burn your remaining paperwork."
Nan Feng looked at the shore, then at the half-finished lake, his expression torn. "We... we haven't finished the eastern retaining wall."
"And the junior disciples' sword forms are still atrocious," Fu Yao muttered, refusing to make eye contact with Xie Lian. "If we leave now, they'll regress. It reflects poorly on us as their... temporary instructors."
Xie Lian's eyes softened with fondness. He looked at Jiang Cheng, who was desperately trying to maintain his fierce scowl to hide the faint blush of embarrassment at having his heavenly workforce exposed.
"It seems they are currently under your command, Sect Leader Jiang," Xie Lian said gently.
Jiang Cheng cleared his throat, adjusting his purple sleeves. He looked down at the two disguised immortals. "You heard him. The heavens can wait. The seed delivery is in two hours. Dig faster!"
As the two Supreme Martial Gods frantically resumed shoveling mud, Xie Lian smiled, rolled up his pristine white sleeves, and grabbed a spare shovel leaning against the dock.
"Well," the Crown Prince of Heaven said cheerfully, stepping carefully into the shallow end of the water. "If we're on a schedule, many hands make light work."
Jiang Cheng stared as the Flower-Crowned Martial God, a supposedly legendary one at that, started happily digging mud out of his lake. He rubbed his temples, feeling a massive headache coming on.
Whatever, Jiang Cheng thought, opening his ledger back up. If they're going to work for free, I'm not going to stop them.
The true test of Yunmeng Jiang’s bizarre new personnel arrangement arrived with the gilded, unnecessarily lavish invitations to the annual Discussion Conference held at Koi Tower.
Jiang Wanyin hated Koi Tower. He hated the endless flights of stairs, he hated the overwhelming stench of peony incense, and he absolutely loathed the exhausting, two-faced politics required to survive a room full of sect leaders who still saw him as a vulnerable, orphaned boy playing dress-up in his father’s robes.
Naturally, when he ordered his two "head guest disciples" to stay behind and oversee the construction of the new training fields, they flatly refused.
"You think we are going to let you walk into a viper's nest of politicians with only those half-baked, trembling juniors to guard your back?" Nan Feng had scoffed, forcefully stuffing a frankly excessive amount of high-grade spiritual talismans and a terrifying, unstrung bow into a qiankun pouch.
"Your political instincts are abysmal," Fu Yao added, stepping directly into Jiang Cheng's personal space to aggressively adjust the collar of his formal purple robes. "If someone insults you, your temper will flare, you will start a war you cannot afford, and then we will have to rebuild whatever you burn down. We are coming to ensure you don't embarrass the sect. Stand still, your lotus pendant is crooked."
And so, Jiang Cheng ascended the massive steps of Koi Tower flanked by the two most terrifying entities in the cultivation world.
To the casual observer, the Yunmeng Jiang delegation looked pitifully small. Just a young Sect Leader and two disciples who looked to be his exact age. But the moment Jiang Cheng stepped into the Great Hall, a strange, suffocating pressure settled over the room. Nan Feng and Fu Yao hovered close behind him, radiating the suffocating, hyper-critical intensity of deeply overbearing parents.
The first casualty of the evening was Jin Guangyao.
Smiling flawlessly, the Lianfang-Zun approached the Yunmeng table with a jade cup of wine, his dimples on full display as he prepared to offer a toast dripping with backhanded pleasantries.
Before Jin Guangyao could even open his mouth, Fu Yao stepped cleanly between him and Jiang Cheng. The disguised martial god looked Jin Guangyao up and down, his dark eyes sweeping over the Sparks Amidst Snow motif with unmistakable, withering disgust.
"The vintage of this wine is barely three years old, its spiritual purity is laughable, and the cup has a microscopic chip on the rim," Fu Yao stated flatly, his voice carrying perfectly over the low hum of the hall. He then met Jin Guangyao’s gaze, his lip curling. "Furthermore, your smile does not reach your eyes. It is entirely artificial. Sect Leader Jiang does not drink with sycophants who serve cheap alcohol."
Jin Guangyao’s legendary, unbreakable smile audibly fractured. He stood frozen, entirely derailed, staring at this unknown disciple who possessed the sheer audacity to speak to him like he was a particularly disappointing servant.
Jiang Cheng had to lift his tea cup to hide his sudden, vicious delight. "My disciple is a purist," Jiang Cheng offered mildly. "Forgive him."
He didn't sound sorry at all. Jin Guangyao hastily excused himself.
The conference only devolved from there. During a heated debate over hunting territories along the border of Qinghe and Yunmeng, Sect Leader Nie Mingjue stood up. His massive frame cast a shadow across the tables, and his booming voice echoed through the hall as he gestured aggressively toward the Yunmeng delegation.
"If Yunmeng cannot secure its own borders, then the Nie Sect will step in to handle the yao beasts!" Nie Mingjue roared, Baxia rattling ominously in its sheath at his side.
Before Jiang Cheng could even reach for Zidian, a sound like a thunderclap shattered the tension.
Nan Feng’s hand had slammed down on the heavy, solid mahogany table in front of them. The wood didn't just splinter; it disintegrated into dust under his grip.
"Lower your voice when you address him," Nan Feng growled.
He didn't draw a weapon, but the crushing weight of divine martial intent that flooded the room made every cultivator present gasp for breath. Golden spiritual light flared in Nan Feng's eyes, ancient and lethal. At Nie Mingjue's side, the famously ferocious saber, Baxia, instantly stopped rattling, shrinking back in the presence of an apex predator.
"He rebuilt a sect from ash while you were busy shouting in comfortable fortresses," Nan Feng continued, pointing a finger at the towering Sect Leader Nie. "If you step one foot over the Yunmeng border uninvited, I will personally throw you back over it. Sit down."
The Great Hall fell into a stunned, breathless silence. Nie Mingjue, a man who feared nothing, blinked in shock, slowly lowering himself back into his seat without another word.
Across the room, sitting with the Gusu Lan delegation, Lan Wangji paused with his teacup halfway to his lips, his golden eyes locked intensely onto Nan Feng and Fu Yao. Beside him, Lan Xichen looked like he was desperately trying to re-evaluate his entire understanding of the cultivation world.
Through it all, Jiang Cheng sat perfectly straight, looking like a calm, untouchable leader.
In truth, he was having the best time of his life.
Usually, Koi Tower gave him a stress headache that lasted for days. He was used to constantly defending his honor, fighting off subtle jabs, and watching his back. But tonight? Tonight he didn't have to do a single thing.
Every time a minor sect leader tried to approach to ask for an unreasonable favor or a loan, Nan Feng would cross his arms and glare with such murderous intent that the poor man would suddenly remember an urgent appointment in the opposite direction.
Every time a servant offered a plate of food, Fu Yao would intercept it, visually dissect it, sneer at the plating, and pass it to Jiang Cheng only after declaring it "edible, but severely lacking in proper seasoning."
During a brief recess, Lan Xichen approached the Yunmeng table, offering his usual warm, diplomatic smile. He glanced warily at Fu Yao, who was currently viciously scolding a Jin servant for brewing tea at a temperature two degrees too cool, and then at Nan Feng, who was standing guard at the door looking ready to break the legs of anyone who breathed too heavily in Jiang Cheng's direction.
"Your new head disciples are... remarkably loyal, Wanyin," Lan Xichen noted, his tone polite but profoundly bewildered.
"They're a nightmare," Jiang Cheng sighed, picking up a beautifully sliced pear that Fu Yao had aggressively vetted for poison minutes prior. "They complain constantly, they destroy my training grounds fighting each other, and they have absolutely zero respect for authority."
Lan Xichen chuckled nervously. "And yet, you brought them to Koi Tower."
Jiang Cheng looked across the room. Jin Guangyao was actively avoiding his gaze, Nie Mingjue was quietly drinking his wine, and not a single minor sect had bothered him about trade routes all evening. The knot of defensive tension that usually lived in his shoulders was completely gone.
"Yes," Jiang Cheng said, a slow, predatory smirk crossing his face. "I suppose they have their uses."
The recess bell chimed, granting a temporary reprieve from the suffocating gold and peony-scented air of the Great Hall. Jiang Cheng stepped out onto the sprawling, moonlit terraces of Koi Tower, desperate for a breath of fresh air that didn't smell like Jin treasury coin.
Naturally, he was not alone.
Nan Feng and Fu Yao trailed exactly one half-step behind him, moving with synchronized lethal grace. Their "overprotective guard dog" instincts had been dialed up to a maddening degree ever since Nie Mingjue had raised his voice inside.
Jiang Cheng leaned against the carved marble balustrade, closing his eyes. "I am fine," he muttered, preempting the inevitable fussing.
"You are clenching your jaw," Fu Yao observed coldly, stepping forward to forcefully adjust the heavy, formal silver clarity bell at Jiang Cheng's waist so it sat perfectly centered. "You are going to give yourself a migraine, and then I am going to have to listen to you complain about it on the flight back. Breathe properly."
"And keep your hand near Sandu," Nan Feng grunted, his golden eyes scanning the dark gardens like a hawk looking for field mice. "There are too many hidden corners here. I don't like the architectural layout. It’s practically begging for an ambush."
"It's a garden, Nan Feng," Jiang Cheng sighed.
"It's a tactical nightmare," Nan Feng corrected.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel path. Nan Feng immediately shifted his weight, his broad shoulders squaring as he stepped smoothly to place himself between Jiang Cheng and the approaching figures.
Fu Yao didn't move his feet, but his posture went rigidly straight, his hand casually falling to rest over a stack of offensive talismans hidden in his pristine white sleeve.
Sect Leader Nie Mingjue and Sect Leader Lan Xichen, emerged from the shadows of a large blossoming plum tree.
Rather than looking offended by the earlier display of blatant disrespect in the Great Hall, Nie Mingjue looked incredibly intrigued. His sharp eyes immediately locked onto Nan Feng. Baxia, the massive saber strapped to his back, was humming with a low, thrumming resonance, reacting to the sheer density of martial intent radiating from the Yunmeng Jiang "head disciples."
"Sect Leader Jiang," Lan Xichen greeted warmly, offering a flawless, diplomatic bow. His gaze flicked curiously between Jiang Cheng and the two towering youths flanking him. "I hope you are finding the evening agreeable. Your disciples certainly made an... impression."
"They lack basic manners," Jiang Cheng replied flatly, though he didn't order them to step down.
Nie Mingjue let out a booming laugh that shook the nearby leaves. He took a bold step forward, his towering frame casting a long shadow. "Manners are for politicians! I’ve never seen a man turn solid mahogany to dust without even drawing a blade." Mingjue pointed a calloused finger directly at Nan Feng. "You. What is your name?"
Nan Feng stared at the imposing Sect Leader of Qinghe Nie. To his credit, Nan Feng didn't even blink. "Nan Feng. And you are standing exactly one pace too close to Sect Leader Jiang. Step back."
Lan Xichen’s polite smile froze. No one spoke to Nie Mingjue like that. Even Jiang Cheng felt a brief spike of panic, readying Zidian just in case.
But Nie Mingjue’s eyes only lit up with fierce competitive fire. "Ha! You've got a spine, boy. Where did Yunmeng Jiang find cultivators with spiritual pressure like yours? Your core feels like a sealed volcano." Nie Mingjue took another deliberate step forward, raising a massive hand as if to clap Nan Feng on the shoulder. "Care to spar in the courtyard?"
Before Nie Mingjue's hand could connect, Nan Feng’s arm shot out, his grip locking around Nie Mingjue’s thick wrist like an iron vice. The sheer physical strength of the block sent a shockwave of displaced air rippling outward, rustling Jiang Cheng's purple robes.
"He's not here to spar," Fu Yao interjected smoothly, completely unbothered by the clash of titans happening two feet away. He stepped forward, elegantly using his folded fan to swat a stray mosquito out of the air before it could land on Jiang Cheng’s neck. "And our Sect Leader is currently digesting his dinner. If you agitate him with your shouting, his qi will stagnate. Step back, Sect Leader Nie."
Nie Mingjue looked at his trapped wrist, then at Nan Feng’s completely unimpressed expression, and finally burst into genuine, raucous laughter. He pulled his arm back, and Nan Feng let him go smoothly.
"Incredible," Nie Mingjue grinned, looking at Jiang Cheng with newfound, deep respect. "Wanyin, your father always had an eye for talent, but this is terrifying. You've trained them well."
"I didn't train them," Jiang Cheng muttered, taking a sip of his tea and mentally calculating how much incense he was going to have to burn to apologize to the heavens for this. "They just showed up one day and refused to leave."
Lan Xichen, who had been observing the exchange with fascination, finally stepped forward. He reached into his sleeve and produced an elegant, sealed tin.
"I brought this from Gusu, Wanyin," Xichen said softly, his eyes crinkling. "A rare blend of calming spiritual tea. I noticed you seemed tense during the territory discussions. I thought it might aid your rest tonight."
Jiang Cheng reached out to accept the gift, but before his fingers could brush the tin, Fu Yao snatched it out of the air.
"Excuse me," Fu Yao stated, popping the lid off the tin. He leaned in, taking a deeply critical sniff of the Gusu Lan tea leaves. His nose wrinkled. "Hm. Silver Needle leaves, harvested a week too late. The spiritual saturation is decent, but it was roasted over pine wood instead of bamboo, which will make it bitter. Acceptable for peasants, but entirely inadequate for a Sect Leader's delicate meridian pathways."
Lan Xichen, the First Jade of Gusu, stared at the youth in white, utterly dumbfounded. "I... assure you, it was grown on the highest peaks of Gusu—"
"I don't care if it was grown on the moon," Fu Yao snapped, snapping the lid back on and aggressively shoving the tin into his own qiankun pouch. "I will brew him a proper lotus-root infusion later. But we accept the tribute. Thank you, Zewu-Jun."
Jiang Cheng dragged a hand down his face, groaning softly. "Fu Yao, that's not how you received a gift from another Sect Leader. You are embarrassing me."
"I am preventing you from drinking subpar leaf water," Fu Yao sniffed, crossing his arms and glaring at Lan Xichen as if the man had just offered Jiang Cheng a cup of poison.
"They treat you like a prized glass ornament, Wanyin," Nie Mingjue chuckled, highly amused by the audacity of these two 'juniors'. "You’re a grown man who survived a war, yet they hover over you like mother hens."
"He is nineteen," Nan Feng growled, his golden eyes flashing with ancient, immortal judgment as he looked Mingjue up and down. "A mortal body at that age is still developing. If he doesn't eat right and sleep a full eight hours, his golden core will suffer. The rest of you politicians might be fine working yourselves into early graves, but we actually care about our sect's foundation."
Lan Xichen’s eyes widened slightly, catching the odd phrasing, a mortal body. He exchanged a deeply calculating look with Nie Mingjue. These two did not speak like disciples. They spoke with the authority of overbearing guardians who viewed the rest of the cultivation world as a minor, slightly dangerous inconvenience to their Sect Leader’s health.
"Right," Jiang Cheng said loudly, pushing himself off the balustrade. He had to end this conversation before Nan Feng accidentally revealed he was a heavenly deity. "The recess is ending. We are going back inside. Nan Feng, Fu Yao, if you insult another Sect Leader, I am cutting your lumber rations in half."
"They started it by breathing your air," Fu Yao muttered petulantly, but he immediately fell into step behind Jiang Cheng's right shoulder, adjusting the angle of his fan to shield Jiang Cheng from a slight, chilly breeze.
Nan Feng took the left flank, casting one last, terrifyingly intense glare at Nie Mingjue. "Three paces back, Nie. Remember."
As the Yunmeng trio swept back into the Great Hall, Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue stood alone in the moonlit garden.
"Well," Nie Mingjue said, a massive grin splitting his face. "I suppose we don't have to worry about the Jiang Sect falling to assassins anytime soon."
Lan Xichen looked at the spot where Fu Yao had casually intercepted his spiritual tea, his mind racing. "No, Dage," Lan Xichen murmured, his tone filled with awe. "I do not think Yunmeng has to worry about much of anything ever again."
The return from Koi Tower was quiet. The oppressive scent of peonies and cheap wine clung to Jiang Wanyin’s robes, making his stomach turn. Instead of going to his sleeping quarters, he found his feet carrying him to the edge of the territory, stopping before the newly constructed, impeccably maintained shared shrine of the Southeast and Southwest.
He didn't bother lighting incense. He simply collapsed onto the woven mat before the altar, the heavy silver clarity bell at his waist clinking softly in the silent hall.
For a long time, Jiang Cheng just stared at the two imposing wooden statues.
"I don't even know if you can hear me," Jiang Cheng whispered into the empty room, his voice cracking under the crushing weight of his duties. He rubbed his face, letting the mask of the fierce Sect Leader shatter. "You are Supreme Gods. You have the whole world to look after. But if you are listening... the world is so fucking unfair."
He pulled his knees to his chest, looking smaller than he had in years. "My brother is rotting in a cursed graveyard because he’s trying to protect the innocent, and the cultivation world is sharpening their knives to slaughter him. I'm trying to hold this sect together, but I am just one person. I don't know how to save him without destroying everything our sect died for. I don't know how to fix this."
A heavy, poignant silence hung in the air.
Then, a sigh echoed from the shadows near the doorway.
"You are an absolute idiot," a voice stated flatly.
Jiang Cheng flinched, his hand flying to Zidian as he spun around. Nan Feng and Fu Yao were leaning against the temple doorframe, their expressions stripped of their usual combative sneers. Instead, they looked at him with an ancient, heavy sorrow.
"How long have you been standing there?" Jiang Cheng demanded, his face flushing.
"Long enough," Nan Feng said, stepping into the moonlight. "And long enough to know that your spiritual pathways are a mess. We have divine sight, Jiang Wanyin. We've known since the day we arrived that the golden core burning in your chest has Wei Wuxian's spiritual signature stamped all over it."
Jiang Cheng froze, the blood draining from his face.
Fu Yao stepped forward, crossing his arms, his pristine white sleeves fluttering. "The heavens have strict rules against interfering in mortal wars. We cannot strike down Jin Guangshan, as much as his tacky gold robes offend my eyes. However," Fu Yao’s lips curled into a sharp, dangerous smile, "there is no Heavenly decree against providing... diplomatic escort for sect leaders to engage in agricultural inspections."
Before Jiang Cheng could ask what in the world that meant, the two gods vanished.
The next morning, the cultivation world was thrown into absolute chaos.
Sect Leader Nie Mingjue, Sect Leader Lan Xichen, and the Jin Heir, Jin Zixuan, woke up not in their luxurious guest quarters at Koi Tower, but standing waist-deep in a patch of miserable-looking radishes under a blood-red sky.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Nie Mingjue roared, his hand flying to a saber that wasn't there, Nan Feng had confiscated it.
"Welcome to the Burial Mounds," Fu Yao announced smoothly, standing on a nearby boulder and looking down at the three bewildered powerful men.
Before they could panic, a terrified shriek echoed across the field. An elderly woman, clutching a basket of withered potatoes, dropped her harvest and fell to her knees.
Behind her, a little boy, A-Yuan, hid behind her patched robes, crying softly. A few other frail, sickly-looking farmers emerged from makeshift huts, looking at the intruders with sheer terror.
Wei Wuxian came sprinting out of the Demon Slaughtering Cave, Chenqing in hand, expecting an invasion. He stopped dead, staring at the three most prominent figures in the cultivation world standing in his radish patch, flanked by Jiang Cheng's two terrifying "head disciples."
"Wei Wuxian!" Jin Zixuan gasped, looking around frantically. "Where is it? Where is the demonic army my father said you were raising?"
Nan Feng stepped forward, gesturing broadly with a muscular arm to the trembling elders and the crying toddler. "Behold. The terrifying demonic army. They might aggressively throw a radish at you if provoked."
Nie Mingjue’s jaw slacked. He looked at the elderly "soldiers," then at Wei Wuxian's hollowed cheeks and ragged robes, and finally at the dark, oppressive energy of the mountain. The realization hit the Qinghe Sect Leader like a physical blow. "Jin Guangshan... lied. He has been lying to the entire alliance."
"Perceptive," Fu Yao drawled, rolling his eyes. "Now that we have established the Jin Sect is run by a corrupt, manipulative snake, let us look at logistics. These people are farmers without arable land. Lotus Pier currently has dozens of empty houses and miles of unplanted fields because you lack manpower."
Lan Xichen, ever the diplomat, caught on immediately, his eyes widening. "You... you wish to relocate the Wen remnants to Yunmeng?"
"It is a simple reallocation of resources," Fu Yao stated, waving his fan. "No one would dare attack Yunmeng to get them. Not with us guarding the gates."
The sheer audacity of the plan, and the undeniable truth of the situation, left the three men speechless. Jin Zixuan looked deeply ashamed, Nie Mingjue looked ready to march back and murder Jin Guangshan himself, and Lan Xichen looked relieved.
The gods didn't wait for permission. By sunset, they had single-handedly packed up the entire settlement and transported the fifty-odd Wen remnants to the secluded outskirts of Lotus Pier.
When the dust settled, Nan Feng and Fu Yao enacted the final phase of their plan. They grabbed Wei Wuxian by the scruff of his neck, grabbed Jiang Cheng by his sash, threw them both into the newly built ancestral hall, and barred the heavy wooden doors from the outside.
"You have one hour to stop lying to each other!" Nan Feng roared through the wood. "If you don't talk it out, I am going to collapse the roof on both of you!"
Inside the dim hall, surrounded by the spirit tablets of the former sect leaders, the two brothers stared at each other.
"Jiang Cheng..." Wei Wuxian started, his voice trembling.
"They know," Jiang Cheng interrupted, his voice cracking. Tears immediately spilled over his lashes. He stepped forward, his hands shaking as he grabbed the lapels of Wei Wuxian's dark robes. "They saw the spiritual signature. You gave it to me. You gave me your core, you absolute, self-sacrificing idiot!"
Wei Wuxian’s mask of aloof arrogance crumbled entirely. He choked out a sob, his knees giving out. Jiang Cheng caught him, and the two of them collapsed onto the polished wooden floor.
All the bitterness, the resentment, the unspoken fears of the past years poured out of them in broken apologies and desperate tears. They clung to each other like drowning men, screaming about the sacrifices, the pain, and the terror of losing the only family they had left.
"I missed you," Wei Wuxian sobbed into Jiang Cheng's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't want to leave you."
"You are never leaving again," Jiang Cheng wept fiercely, his grip bruising. "You belong in Lotus Pier. I don't care what the world says. I'm the Sect Leader, and my word is law. But the resentful energy... Wei Wuxian, it's eating you alive. It's destroying your mind. I promise you, I will find a way to fix it. I will search every corner of the world—"
"You won't have to look far."
A mild, pleasant voice broke through the heavy emotion in the room. The locked doors hadn't opened, but suddenly, there was a man in simple white robes standing near the altar.
Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian scrambled back, wiping their faces.
Xie Lian offered an apologetic, deeply gentle smile. "Forgive the intrusion. Nan Feng and Fu Yao were practically vibrating with anxiety outside, so I thought it best to intervene. You require a method to manage a massive toll of resentful energy?"
"Who are you?" Wei Wuxian rasped, his eyes darting to the stranger.
Before Xie Lian could answer, a swarm of glowing silver butterflies manifested from the shadows of the hall. The air grew instantly freezing, thick with a dark, terrifyingly powerful energy that made even the Yiling Patriarch flinch.
From the cascade of butterflies stepped a man dressed in striking crimson. He wore a silver eyepatch, a wicked scimitar rested at his hip, and he looked entirely, utterly bored.
"Gege dragged me here," Hua Cheng sighed, crossing his arms and looking down at Wei Wuxian with a highly critical, unimpressed red eye. "Apparently, I am supposed to teach a mortal child how to actually command ghosts without losing his mind. Let’s get this over with; I have a city to run."
Xie Lian patted Hua Cheng's arm affectionately. "San Lang is very knowledgeable about these things. He’s the Ghost King, after all."
Jiang Cheng stared at the Martial God, the Supreme Ghost King, and the two disguised immortals currently bickering outside his doors.
He didn't know what kind of karma the Jiang Sect had accumulated, but he wasn't going to question it. Yunmeng Jiang was going to be just fine.
For the remnants of the Dafan Wen, waking up was usually a terrifying ordeal. For the past year, mornings in the Burial Mounds had consisted of cursed earth, the howling of restless spirits, and the gnawing ache of slow starvation.
So, when Granny Wen opened her eyes to the soft, golden light of dawn filtering through pristine, fragrant pine window frames, she genuinely thought she had passed on. She sat up on a plush, woven reed mattress, her trembling hands touching the clean linen blankets.
Outside, instead of the shrieks of resentful ghosts, she heard the gentle, rhythmic lapping of water against wooden docks.
The relocation had happened so fast it felt like a fever dream. One moment they were cowering before three of the most powerful men in the cultivation world; the next, a terrifying man in white had waved a fan, the air had twisted, and they were standing on the lush, secluded western edge of Lotus Pier.
By the time the sun fully rose, the fifty-odd Wen remnants had gathered in the center of their new compound, huddling together out of habit. They stared in awe at the rows of sturdy, perfectly constructed cottages that Nan Feng and Fu Yao had aggressively built by moonlight in under three hours, purely because they had bet on who could lay shingles faster.
Wen Qing stood at the front of her people, her posture rigid, her chin held high. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop. She was waiting for the chains, the slave brands, or the executioner's blade.
Instead, the heavy wooden gates swung open, and Jiang Wanyin strode in, his purple robes snapping in the morning breeze. He looked exhausted, his scowl firmly in place, and he carried a massive stack of bamboo scrolls.
Wen Qing stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Sect Leader Jiang. We are at your mercy. If you require labor—"
"I require a Head Healer," Jiang Cheng interrupted, unceremoniously shoving the heavy stack of scrolls into Wen Qing’s arms. She staggered slightly under the weight.
Wen Qing blinked, looking down at the medical and inventory ledgers of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect. "What?"
"My previous Head Healer was killed in the war," Jiang Cheng stated, his voice brusque and purely business. He pointed a finger at her. "I have seventy new junior disciples who manage to sprain an ankle or swallow swamp water every other day, and I do not have the time to bandage them myself. You are the best physician in the cultivation world. Consider this your conscription. You answer only to me. If anyone gives you grief about your surname, you tell them to take it up with Zidian."
Wen Qing stared at the abrasive, scowling young man. She recognized the armor he wore, it was the exact same brand of harsh practicality she used to mask her own desperate need to protect her family. An overwhelming wave of relief crashed over her.
"I..." Wen Qing swallowed hard, her eyes burning. "I understand, Sect Leader Jiang. The infirmary will be in perfect order."
"See that it is," Jiang Cheng grunted. He turned his attention to the terrified farmers huddled behind her. "As for the rest of you, Uncle Four, was it?"
The elderly man flinched, stepping forward with his head bowed. "Y-Yes, Sect Leader."
"The eastern fields have laid fallow for a year," Jiang Cheng said. "They need to be cleared and seeded with lotus pods and water chestnuts. Can you handle it?"
"We can, Sect Leader! We will plant the radishes immediately—"
"Absolutely not."
The voice dropped from the roof of the nearest cottage. Fu Yao descended flawlessly, his white robes untouched by the morning dew. He snapped his fan open, glaring at Uncle Four with deep aesthetic offense.
"If you plant those miserable, tasteless, nutrient-deficient tubers in this rich, spiritual soil, I will personally throw you into the lake," Fu Yao declared. "You will plant lotuses, loquats, and spiritual rice. I will show you the proper irrigation arrays. Come along."
Uncle Four looked entirely bewildered but, terrified of the beautiful, angry youth, quickly scurried after him.
Meanwhile, near the water's edge, a different dynamic was unfolding.
Wen Ning, the fearsome Ghost General, was currently engaged in a terrifyingly efficient game of fetch. Or rather, he was catching massive, two-hundred-pound ironwood logs that Nan Feng was hurling across the lumber yard.
"Not bad, dead boy!" Nan Feng shouted approvingly as Wen Ning caught a flying log with bare hands, his boots skidding slightly in the dirt but his grip unbreakable. "Your structural integrity is excellent! Finally, someone around here who can actually lift something heavy!"
Wen Ning, who was used to people screaming in terror at the sight of his pale skin and black-veined neck, ducked his head, a shy, incredibly awkward smile forming on his face. "T-Thank you, Young Master Nan."
"Put that in the pile for the new medical pavilion!" Nan Feng ordered, already hefting another massive trunk.
In the center of the compound, completely oblivious to the heavy lifting and agricultural lecturing, little A-Yuan was experiencing his own miracle. He was sitting in the soft grass, giggling hysterically as a swarm of glowing, crystalline silver butterflies fluttered around his head.
"A-Yuan!" Wei Wuxian called out, jogging out of the guest quarters looking remarkably cleaner and significantly less haunted than he had the day before. Following close behind him were Xie Lian and Hua Cheng.
Hua Cheng was leaning against a pillar, a smirk playing on his lips as he controlled the butterflies with a lazy flick of his finger. "He’s fearless, I’ll give him that," the Ghost King drawled.
Xie Lian knelt in the grass, his gentle smile radiating a warmth that seemed to make the very flowers around them bloom faster. He handed A-Yuan a freshly peeled loquat. "He is a very sweet child. You have done well to protect him, Master Wei."
Wei Wuxian stopped, looking at the scene before him. He saw Granny Wen sitting in the sun, peeling lotus seeds. He saw Wen Qing barking orders at two Jiang disciples who were respectfully carrying crates of herbs for her. He saw Wen Ning actually being treated like a useful person instead of a monster by a disguised heavenly general.
For the first time since the fall of Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian felt the suffocating, crushing grip of the resentful energy in his chest loosen. He took a deep breath, the sweet scent of water and pine filling his lungs.
Jiang Cheng walked up beside him, crossing his arms. "Stop crying, it's embarrassing."
Wei Wuxian hastily wiped his eyes with his sleeve, though a brilliant, genuine smile broke across his face. "I'm not crying, Jiang Cheng. The wind off the lake is just strong today."
"Right," Jiang Cheng snorted. "Well, don't get too comfortable. That red-clad menace over there said he's going to drag you into the training rings in an hour to teach you how to properly subjugate resentful spirits without bleeding from the eyes. I suggest you start stretching."
Wei Wuxian looked at Hua Cheng, who caught his eye and offered a chilling, highly anticipated smile, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his cursed scimitar, E'ming.
Wei Wuxian gulped, but then he looked back at the Wen remnants, at his family, finally safe within the walls of his home.
"Let him try," Wei Wuxian laughed, throwing an arm around his brother's shoulders. "I have the Sect Leader of Yunmeng Jiang to back me up, after all."
Jiang Cheng shoved him off, grumbling about propriety, but he didn't step away. Up above, the heavens watched in quiet approval, while down below, Lotus Pier finally felt whole again.