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1
It started with Jiang Cheng being a sticky child, refusing to leave his jie’s side even when she sat for her embroidery lessons; with him being noisy and troublesome and the teacher just shoving the needle and thread into his hands with a muttered comment about it being good for men to know how to repair their own clothing – as if a future sect leader would ever need to know something like that.
Jiang Cheng quieted down and focused, all hard work and determination to please the way he went about all aspects of his life – he wasn’t a natural talent, in cultivation or swordmanship or even this, but he always tried his best.
His mother covered her mouth with her hand to hide her laughter when he presented her with the results of several weeks’ worth of effort: it was just barely recognizable as the world’s ugliest duck.
“A symbol of loving devotion,” one of her maids said.
“There’s only one, though,” the other maid said. “They’re supposed to be a pair.”
“He’s still young,” Madame Yu said, and then held up a fabric with a vaguely incoherent green-white-pink blob. “And anyway, it’s still better than this – what is this supposed to be again, A-Li?”
“A lotus flower,” Jiang Yanli replied, utterly untroubled by her mother’s criticism.
Madame Yu and her maids studied the fabric for a little while longer, trying to identify a flower inside the knot of threads, helpless expressions on their face.
“A-Cheng is a duck without a partner and A-Li is unrestrained by commonly understood boundaries,” Madame Yu finally said, pinching her nose. “With signs as inauspicious as this…well, at least you still have your father to hold up the world for you.”
“Men care more about cooking skills anyway,” one of her maids said. “And A-Cheng is an heir to a sect: he’ll find himself a lady duck one day. Maybe even a whole set of them.”
“He’d better not find a whole set of them!”
2
There was a small needle on the floor of the hut where the Wen sect had stuffed him away – too small and thin to attack anyone, even if a useless waste with no golden core could muster an attack at all, and so it had been overlooked.
Jiang Cheng held it over the flame of the lamp to sterilize it, and then, with shaking hands, turned it on his own flesh.
He didn’t have a choice – it was that or die bleeding out onto the floor of some closet in the Lotus Pier he’d never even known existed, some of the cuts left by the Wens too deep to be left alone even for a little while, and he didn’t have spiritual energy to encourage the healing process.
Maybe he should just die. What was the point of living? He was a waste, now. Maybe the deep cuts were even meant to be a kindness – a way out of the misery that awaited him, a life of being Wen Chao’s slave, an object of pity and mockery.
Jiang Cheng’s hands might be shaking, but his embroidery was good: he’d kept it up, citing it as good training for precision, a way to improve his dexterity, but in fact it was the only thing that could make his mother smile at him anymore. Sure, she yelled about him wasting time with feminine pursuits when he ought to be cultivating, training, getting stronger, surpassing Wei Wuxian, but when she looked at the little things he made for her, she still smiled, almost as if she couldn’t help herself.
She wouldn’t smile for him any longer. Neither smile nor scolding.
Jiang Cheng would live to see Wei Wuxian take the revenge their parents deserved. He could wait until that was done to die.
3
A regular needle could prick the finger of a cultivator a thousand times before drawing a single drop of blood.
Jiang Cheng’s fingers were covered in bandages, but the new disciples of his Jiang sect had robes embroidered with lotuses, the way they should have, and they need not be ashamed to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the other sects in battle.
It wasn’t a job a sect leader should ever do, but there was no one else to do it; any money had to be spent on supplies, none left over for paying seamstresses to do something impractical, and the few women who joined up expected to be used for their skill at the sword, not the needle.
It was just another thing he had to do with no time to do it – he had to train himself in preparation for battle, teach the new disciples the Jiang sect techniques, make sure they had enough to eat and drink, keep one step ahead of the Wen sect’s forces that sought to destroy them, recruit new sects to join their cause and all of it while searching desperately for Wei Wuxian, who had gone missing.
(Sometimes, in his nightmares, Jiang Cheng wondered if Baoshan Sanren had seen through their mischief, recognized him as someone other than her disciple’s son, and demanded a price be paid for the gift she had given him.)
At least embroidery was something he could do at night when he couldn’t sleep, something productive that wouldn’t disturb the sentries or make anyone worry about him.
Sometimes, Lan Wangji – who had joined him in searching for Wei Wuxian – would come and sit next to him at the early hours of the night, undoubtedly fleeing nightmares of his own. His meditation didn’t bother Jiang Cheng, and as much as he hated to admit it, the company was welcome.
That didn’t stop him from embroidering a small awkward stork on the inside of Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon the one time the other man had asked him for help fixing it after it’d been cut in battle.
4
“I know Madame Jin probably already got you something better,” Jiang Cheng said, his fingers twisting together – in fact, he hadn’t thought of it at all, not until he reached Lanling and heard the women on the street speculating as to which skilled seamstress had been retained to embroider all the auspicious signs onto the wedding clothing of the Jin sect’s new daughter-in-law.
It hadn’t even occurred to him that they would just buy a set pre-made – wedding clothing was traditionally embroidered by the bride herself, preparations made over the years, and of course the set Jiang Yanli had (with no real motivation or ambition) been working on had gone up in flames along with the Lotus Pier. When she’d come to let him know about Jin Zixuan’s impending proposal, and that she intended to accept, Jiang Cheng had panicked and ordered the silks and thread himself; his sister was passable at embroidery at the best of times, much worse when under pressure or a deadline, and he didn’t want the Jin sect to laugh at her.
He should have realized. What didn’t the Jin sect solve with money?
“As if I would wear anything other than what A-Cheng made for me,” Jiang Yanli said, voice warm as she ran her hands over the red silk he’d brought with him, the golden threads glinting. “It’s beautiful. Your ducks have gotten much better since your first attempt, all those years ago.”
Jiang Cheng covered his face with embarrassment. His mother had kept that stupid hideous duck for years, often just sitting in her pocket alongside regular necessities so that she could pull it out to embarrass him whenever she pleased; it had probably only died when she had.
“I left some undone for you to finish,” he said through his fingers. “I brought the thread…if you want?”
“Of course. A-Cheng will sit by me and make sure I don’t make any mistakes.”
The last pair of ducks ended up crooked, their heads too close together, their beaks at such an odd angle that it almost looked like a smile; they were Jiang Cheng’s favorite ones of all.
5
“For you,” Jiang Cheng said, shoving the box into Wei Wuxian’s arms and ignoring the look of confusion. “For when Hanguang-jun finally decides to live up to his responsibilities.”
“What are you talking about?” Wei Wuxian said blankly. “Why are you even at the Cloud Recesses?”
Jiang Cheng sneered because it was easier than doing anything else. It was the first time he’d seen Wei Wuxian since the events at the Guanyin temple: Wei Wuxian hadn’t come back to the Lotus Pier, not once, even though Jin Ling had tried several times to invite him.
“Am I not allowed, now?” he demanded irritably. “I’m a sect leader; I have a visitor’s token, same as anyone else. Anyway, I have other business to attend to – just take it and be done with it. Don’t make a fuss.”
It was a mistake to say that – as soon as Wei Wuxian realized there was the possibility of a fuss, he couldn’t wait to confront it at once, and disregarded all rules of etiquette to pull open the box right there as they stood, before even Jiang Cheng left.
“Red…?” Wei Wuxian’s eyes went wide. “Jiang Cheng, you got me wedding clothing.”
“Reused ones,” Jiang Cheng said before Wei Wuxian could get too emotional or anything. “The only adjustments were to the size and shape – don’t think too highly of yourself!”
“Sect Leader Jiang is too humble,” Lan Wangji said from the door. “It must have been a great effort to make clothing for a man from the ones your sister wore.”
“Sister…? You – this is what shijie married in?”
Jiang Cheng glared at the immovable Lan Wangji rather than look at Wei Wuxian. “Her marriage was happy,” he said stiffly. “Yes, it was cut short –”
Best not to say by whom.
“– but it was still happy. It’s not meant to be a bad omen or a curse…I thought you’d like it. Not that I expected you’d remember what it looked like, with your memory.”
“Of course I like it!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, hugging the red fabric to his chest. “You made it for shijie, and she finished it, right?”
“I had to add some more fabric to make up for the size difference,” Jiang Cheng said, still refusing to look at him directly. At least Lan Wangji had the good grace to be easy to glare at, that pig who dug up his family’s (lost, dead, resurrected) cabbage. “There are a few more that still need finishing. That way, it’ll have something from all of us – don’t you dare cry at me!”
“I’m not crying! My eyes are watering from laughter at how sentimental you are, that’s all!”
“It is good that we will both have signs of Sect Leader Jiang’s approval with us,” Lan Wangji said mildly.
Wei Wuxian turned to him at once. “Both? What do you have?”
Jiang Cheng was equally confused, and only when Lan Wangji reached up to his forehead ribbon did he remember his fit of pettiness in horror. “Wait, no, don’t – it can’t still be there –”
It was.
Wei Wuxian’s cackles followed him as he fled.