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Published:
2020-08-16
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2020-08-16
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For The Peace Inside My Mind

Chapter Text

“For what it’s worth, I think it’s romantic that you almost murdered Lan Wangji for jiejie’s sake,” Wen Ning said.

“I didn’t almost murder him.” It had barely been a sword fight. Lan Wangji had made it obvious he knew she was acting out of confused, desperate grief.

“Still,” Wen Ning said, and smiled at her.

She simply did not have the wherewithal to figure out what Wen Ning was trying to tell her, so she bowed to him and went back into the room where all the sect leaders, Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian sat.

“Madame Wen,” Lan Xichen said in greeting.

Wen Qing motioned to the empty seat beside her. Luo Qingyang sat.

“Mianmian, what will happen in Lanling now that Jin Guangshan is dead?”

“Address her properly, Wei Wuxian!” Wen Qing snapped.

“Ah, sorry. Madame Wen.” Wei Wuxian bowed to her, his arms very stiff and formal despite the brightness of his eyes. “They want to put Wen Qing to trial, but will Jin Zixuan be here for it? Doesn’t he have arrangements to make?”

“You don’t need me to understand Lanling Jin funerary customs.” Luo Qingyang met Lan Xichen’s gaze directly. “You already know what will happen. Jin Zixuan will be in seclusion for some time.”

“And we are legally bound to answer the charge he made on his deathbed, that Sect Leader Wen poisoned him, and Wen Ruohan, in a long-term effort to gain power and eliminate the other great sects.”

“You -!”

“I don’t believe that to be true,” Lan Wangji said. He looked intensely determined, and Luo Qingyang suddenly understood the purpose of his presence: to see Wei Wuxian, sure, and be sickeningly in love in Luo Qingyang’s presence, thus pushing her ever-closer to jealous madness. But he was also someone with an impeccable reputation but no responsibility to treat the allegations as plausible.

He was here because Lan Xichen didn’t think Wen Qing had killed Jin Guangshan.

“Personal belief won’t resolve this; only a hearing can do that,” Lan Xichen said. “Jin Zixuan will need to indicate if he will accept the other great sects’ judgments.”

“He’ll write within the day,” Luo Qingyang said. He wouldn’t leave her out in the cold over this.

“We’re all very grateful for Jin Zixuan’s devotion to you,” Wen Qing said, her voice icy. “But Zewu-Jun, you haven’t asked if I intend to submit to the judgment of the great sects. Surely a murderess of two Sect Leaders isn’t assumed to be a submissive woman?”

Luo Qingyang winced as Nie Mingjue grunted a laugh. Lan Xichen only smiled, inclining his head. “That’s true. Sect Leader Wen, do you submit to the judgment of the great sects in the matter of Jin Guangshan’s death?”

Wen Qing’s voice was sharp as a whip: “And Wen Ruohan’s death as well.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“It is part of the accusation, is it not? And whispered behind me any time I leave Nightless City.” Luo Qingyang couldn’t help but reach out at that, but Wen Qing shifted her hand away and said again, “Wen Ruohan’s death, Sect Leader Lan.”

“Very well. Sect Leader Wen, do you submit to the judgment of the great sects in the matter of Jin Guangshan and Wen Ruohan’s deaths?”

“I submit.”

“Let’s start with the most recent death, then. When was the last time you were in Lanling?”

“I went to Lanling briefly as an emissary of Wen Ruohan six years ago. I haven’t been back since.”

“And are you in contact with anyone in Lanling?”

“I write regularly to Jin Zixuan,” Luo Qingyang said. “Don’t look at me like that, Wen Qing; we’re married. Your ridiculous accusation of murder falls on my head, too. She didn’t kill Jin Guangshan,” she added to Lan Xichen.

He bowed. “Madame Wen, your defense is admirable, but I do need to ask Sect Leader Wen these questions if we’re to make a fair judgment.”

“Yes,” Wen Qing said. “I wrote to Jin Guangshan, very occasionally, in the course of doing business with his sect. Our last direct correspondence was about the wedding. I’ve also been in contact with Jin Zixuan, as he has spearheaded Lanling Jin’s investment in Nightless City’s market. I maintain regular correspondence with his wife, Jiang Yanli.”

“Did Sect Leader Jin mention any health problems?”

“No, none.”

“This is kind of ridiculous,” Wei Wuxian muttered to Lan Wangji. “If she killed him, wouldn’t she just lie? But obviously she didn’t kill him.”

It was obvious Lan Xichen heard him; his mouth curled up in a half-smile. But he continued questioning Wen Qing, and Wen Qing continued to answer as if they were reasonable questions and not ridiculous supposition. Finally, Lan Xichen said, “And now we should talk about Wen Ruohan.”

“Yes.”

“You were Wen Ruohan’s doctor at the time of his death, correct?”

“I was.”

“How did he die?”

Luo Qingyang realized what was about to happen when Wen Qing closed her eyes. “Wen Qing, no -”

Her voice rang out over Luo Qingyang’s, snapping through the air as clear as a tree breaking under the weight of winter ice. “During an acupuncture session, I used spiritual power to induce a brain aneurysm.”

Nice,” Wei Wuxian whispered.

Lan Xichen looked like she’d dealt him a physical blow. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. My people are doctors; I knew what I was doing.”

“Sect Leader Wen -”

“If she says she did it, then she did it,” Nie Mingjue said. “Don’t belabor the point.”

“Mingjue, she -”

“More importantly, why’d you do it?” Nie Mingjue asked Wen Qing.

“Wen Ruohan was going mad from the Yin Iron. The other great sects weren’t taking it seriously enough. He didn’t just seek dominion over others, terrible as that might be; he had stopped distinguishing between his people and puppets. He wanted control above all else, and he was completely corrupted by resentful energy.”

“You could have brought him to trial in front of the other great sects.”

Wen Qing nodded. “Yes, I could have. But I knew they wouldn’t do anything, too afraid of disrupting their own power to see the viper in their midst. After Wen Ruohan burned Lotus Pier, I understood it was only a matter of time before he ignited a war. So I executed him.”

“It seems like a reasonable thing to do, to me,” Nie Mingjue said. “Sect Leader Jiang, you saw the Wens in action at Lotus Pier. What’s your take on it?”

Jiang Wanyin clenched his jaw, no doubt recalling exactly what ‘in action’ meant: his parents had been murdered, his sect’s disciples slaughtered, his home destroyed. “I saw Wen Chao,” he said slowly. “Not Wen Ruohan. Wen Chao seemed sane to me. …A terrible person, but sane.”

“There’s evidence,” Luo Qingyang said quickly, before Nie Mingjue could respond. “All over Nightless City, resentful energy still clings to objects, to people. I’ve witnessed it hurting her - Sect Leader Wen. She’s telling the truth about how dangerous it is.”

“Luo Qingyang,” Wen Qing said.

She assumed Wen Qing meant to be reproving, but she wouldn’t let her stand there and lie by omission about just how much she’d done to drag the Wen sect back from a cliff of self-destruction. Hands balled into fists, she turned her back on her wife, looking Lan Xichen in the eye. “I know Gusu Lan has cultivation techniques that could uncover the resentful energy here. I’d like to volunteer to be a conduit for that, if you need one. You can look through my eyes and see what I’ve seen, the need for Wen Qing’s power and how much she’s helped.”

“Romance!” Wei Wuxian whispered.

Lan Xichen just looked vaguely surprised. “Wangji. Would that serve as true evidence, do you think?”

“Empathy would be a strong witness,” Lan Wangji said. “But it would be better if it were Sect Leader Wen.”

“No,” Luo Qingyang said before Wen Qing could respond. “That’s not on the table.” It was very obvious Wen Qing would rather be imprisoned or killed than allow someone to see what she’d been like in the days before Wen Ruohan’s death. This, at least, she could spare her.

“Empathy is dangerous,” Lan Xichen said.

“I’m a cultivator,” Luo Qingyang said. “I’m aware.”

“All right. Then - let’s sit down over here.”

They arranged themselves, and then Lan Xichen began to play. A moment later, the world around them faded away.

She showed Lan Xichen how it had felt to see Wen Qing struggling with resentful energy in a chamber pot, in the meadow on the bluff, in the plaza at Nightless City. “Ah,” Lan Xichen said during a particularly revealing memory: Luo Qingyang watching Wen Qing struggle and aching - not just for the Wen Sect, but for her, Wen Qing, in her beauty and uncompromising rage.

The song ended. Luo Qingyang came back to herself. Lan Xichen looked impassive, but he knew, he must know, what Luo Qingyang was hiding. Her awful, overwhelming love had nothing to do with Wen Ruohan; she prayed he’d keep it to himself.

“I’m convinced,” Lan Xichen said. “But…there are other ways to gather evidence that we should use. The energy is still concentrated in the throne?”

Wen Qing nodded.

“Then we’ll extract it,” Lan Xichen said. He directed this mostly at Nie Mingjue, who gave his assent, but Lan Wangji’s eyes went wide as he realized what they meant to do. He held up a hand and said, “Let Wei Ying help.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Luo Qingyang heard what he didn’t say: Wei Wuxian has no standing here, none more than the Wen dogs.

“Three Sect Leaders is more than enough to handle the resentful energy imbued in a single chair,” Jiang Wanyin said. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

“Be careful,” Luo Qingyang said. “You saw my memories. You know it’s not just a single chair.”

“Madame Wen, despite all that I saw, it is just one chair. We’ll handle it.”

Luo Qingyang wanted to tell Lan Xichen exactly what she thought of his gentle paternalism, his unspoken conviction that he could handle Wen Ruohan’s lingering malevolence better than she and Wen Qing. But she already knew that if he didn’t trust her judgment by now, he wouldn’t in the next five minutes. “Sect Leader,” she said instead, bowing.

It didn’t escape her notice that when she straightened up, both Wen Qing and Lan Wangji were frowning at her.

“Come,” Wen Qing said after a moment, and led the group out to the throne.

Wen Qing never sat in it. Even absent resentful energy, it wouldn’t have been a comfortable seat; in its current form, it could sap one’s energy just from standing too close. Wei Wuxian wrinkled his nose when they got closer to it. “What a mess.”

“Cleaning it up hasn’t been a priority,” Luo Qingyang said, a little too sharply. They didn’t need to know how angry she was about how much Wen Qing had to do, how protective she felt of Wen Qing’s energy. But -

This was so unjust.

“We understand,” Lan Wangji said in a low voice. We’re on your side, he meant, so Luo Qingyang forced herself not to say more.

The sect leaders stood arrayed around the throne. Nie Mingjue unsheathed Baxia, and spiritual energy began to rise in the room.

It was Wen Qing who felt it go wrong first. She cried out, “No, step back.”

Lan Xichen said, “It’s all right, Sect Leader Wen, we have it under control.”

Wei Wuxian inhaled sharply and said, “Lan Zhan! No they don’t!”

And the world exploded as Luo Qingyang tackled Wen Qing to the floor.


The thing was, Luo Qingyang had always focused on the more practical parts of cultivation.

She developed her golden core because it made her a more effective disciple. She practiced swordplay because it gave her a better chance of defeating monsters and protecting people. She meditated because it gave her greater control over her spiritual energy. She wasn’t bookish or interested in the heretical path.

So she hadn’t anticipated the throne exploding, or a Wen Ruohan-shaped pile of rocks rising from the shattered stone. It simply had not occurred to her that such a thing might be possible.

“Oh wow,” said Wei Wuxian. “Lan Zhan, help me! We have to subdue it!”

The monster that had been Wen Ruohan grabbed Lan Wangji before he could answer, throwing him down the steps. Wei Wuxian shouted and ran after him as the stone snarled and turned towards Wen Qing.

Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue, and Jiang Wanyin had all been standing too close; they lay together against the far wall. Only Jiang Wanyin was awake, and he shook his head in confusion, clearly not seeing straight.

Right, then.

“Hey!” Luo Qingyang shouted. She drew her sword. “Over here, you mouldering pile of dung!”

The monster grunted and turned to look at her. It was only stone, but resentful energy swirled around it, and if Luo Qingyang blinked too rapidly, she saw Wen Ruohan’s face in its depths, screaming. Lovely. She had no idea how to fight something like this.

But Wen Qing stood a short distance away, clenching her fists, a knife in her hand. Of the two of them, Luo Qingyang knew who had a better chance of surviving. She took a step towards the stone, then another. “I’m Madame Wen,” she said. “This is my antechamber. You’re intruding.”

That got the reaction she wanted. The monster howled and charged at her. She dodged, but barely; the power she sent out was absorbed by the resentful energy as if it had never been. She was gathering her energy for another blow when a chunk of stone detached from the monster, flying at her.

It hit her arm, and she felt the sickening crunch of broken bone. Never mind: it wasn’t her sword arm. She raised her sword and ran in for another attack.

Again and again she attacked it, and again and again she fell. But it was distracted, focused on her and not Wen Qing, which would have to be enough. The world faded to a dim blur, her focus narrowed to keeping the monster away from her wife. At one point, after a blow to her face swelled her left eye shut, Nie Mingjue joined her; Baxia screamed at the monster to no avail. Jiang Cheng joined the fight as well, but Zidian could only hound the resentful energy, not contain it. Lan Xichen’s sword met no better luck than hers did.

The monster finally grabbed Luo Qingyang, lifting her by her robe. She struggled, kicking out, but it had picked up most of the stone that had once been the throne; it was twenty feet tall, and she had no chance of breaking its grip.

Fuck. She was going to die here, and she’d never even gotten Wen Qing to fuck her.

“Jiejie!” someone shouted. An arrow arced through the air, landing perfectly in the tiny seam between two of the stones.

The resentful energy flickered.

“It’s time to sleep now,” said a cold voice: Wen Qing, angrier than Luo Qingyang had ever heard her. The arrow lit up, bright red.

Luo Qingyang kept her grip on her sword, even as she tumbled to the ground, shards of stone landing all around her.


She couldn’t breathe. Anger and betrayal and sheer hatred plugged her nose, squeezed her throat, and she gasped, struggled against it -

Fire all over her body. “Luo Qingyang, you are going to live through this. You will live! I didn’t entrust my sect to someone who’d let a remnant kill them, you are going to live, I will curse your ancestors to the very first if you don’t.”

“Stop shouting,” Luo Qingyang whispered. She lost consciousness again soon thereafter, drifting in a sea of pain.


When she opened her eyes, the room was cold, and her whole head hurt, stabbing pain in the base of her eye sockets. Her left arm had been splinted, and ached fiercely. “Augh.”

“Don’t move.” Wen Qing’s voice, a guqin string pulled too taut. “What do you need? Water? Congee? Another unkillable stone monster to nearly crush your idiot skull?”

“I was defending our sect,” Luo Qingyang said. Or tried to say. Her voice sounded like a mouse rustling in dead leaves.

“Bring me congee and tea. Right now,” Wen Qing said. Footsteps rustled, then Wen Qing stood over her. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you up for food. You’re an idiot. Do not try to get up.”

Her fingers were feather-light on Luo Qingyang’s forehead. She obeyed with a sigh.


Apparently, she’d nearly lost her left eye and arm both, had nearly gone into qi deviation several times during the first desperate days of unconsciousness, and had crushed half the bones in her right foot.

“Hm,” Luo Qingyang said after Wen Qing finished rattling off everything that was wrong with her. “How long have I been asleep?”

In answer, Wen Qing motioned to the window. Snow fell outside.

“I’ve been cleared of all wrongdoing,” Wen Qing said. “Lan Xichen tells me I owe you gratitude.”

She might as well have stabbed Luo Qingyang in her still-bruised gut. “No.”

“He said -”

No,” Luo Qingyang said, loudly enough that they both winced. “I told you. I was defending our sect. I’m not…I don’t wish for this to be.” She sighed. “Please.”

She was making no sense and she knew it, but Wen Qing finally let up. She finished her work on Luo Qingyang’s left arm and then sat in the corner, working on her correspondence and mostly ignoring Luo Qingyang.

The worst part of all of this was that everything hurt too badly for Luo Qingyang to focus on reading, so she had nothing to distract her from her horrible thoughts. Things like: would Wen Qing kiss her right now, if she asked? If she begged? Did she even want to? It was clear enough that she didn’t feel the way Luo Qingyang did, but that was fine. She only wanted - comfort. Care.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. She took a deep breath despite the pain it caused her ribs, trying to calm her racing heart. She wanted so much that Wen Qing couldn’t give. It felt like betrayal, to realize she’d nearly died in the service of Qishan Wen due to her fucking feelings. It wasn’t about duty at all. In spite of herself, her upbringing, her values, it hadn’t been about duty in a very long time.

She watched as Wen Qing frowned down at her letter, biting her full lower lip in thought. She’d have followed Wen Qing to the execution block, if it had come to that. She’d have spirited them both away to live as anonymous farmers somewhere. She loved Wen Qing beyond all reason and duty.

It hurt worse than all her injuries combined. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing her heart to stop pounding, her mind to calm down.

This, too, was survivable. It had to be. Wen Qing had demonstrated she needed a partner after all: Luo Qingyang had to shape her broken heart into something that could stay by Wen Qing’s side.


The next time she woke up, Wen Ning and Cao Yunru were both staring at her.

“Aiya, wait until I’m awake next time!”

“Hi,” Cao Yunru said. “You’re not dead. Congratulations.”

“I’m sorry, Luo Qingyang,” Wen Ning said, his eyes wide. “Cao Yunru wished to see you, and you, um, well, it’s not easy to tell when you’ll be awake.”

Luo Qingyang looked around warily, but Wen Qing was nowhere to be seen.

“She’s sleeping in her room. Wen Ning drugged her,” Cao Yunru said.

Luo Qingyang flopped down on her pillows, wincing when the movement sent a spike of pain down her back. “Well. Hello. Thank you for the arrow,” she added to Wen Ning.

“I’m going to learn archery!” Cao Yunru said. “Then I can save your life next time!”

She didn’t like the implication there. “Were you - when I fought it, you weren’t -?”

“I was hiding,” Cao Yunru said matter-of-factly, like she wasn’t admitting to sneaking around in all of the great sect leaders’ presence, risking her own life in the process. At least she hadn’t been caught under a table this time.

Luo Qingyang closed her eyes, then opened them again to fix Cao Yunru with a glare. “Don’t do that again.”

You don’t do that again,” Cao Yunru said, crossing her arms.

She looked like a disappointed toad. Luo Qingyang couldn’t fight back a smile. “Okay. Deal.”

“Should I let ajie know you’re awake?” Wen Ning said. “She asked me to, but she’s tired, so I wanted to wait in case you fell asleep again.”

Luo Qingyang had been developing insomnia in proportion to how much better she felt, so she knew she’d be awake for awhile. She shook her head. “I’ll probably fall asleep again soon.”

“All right,” Wen Ning said. “Shimei, let’s go practice archery some more. If you can hit a branch hard enough to knock snow off it, I’ll let you try fighting with my dagger.”

“Deal!” Cao Yunru’s smile was wide and unafraid. What a difference from her first few weeks here; it made warmth course through Luo Qingyang to see her so happy. She bowed to Luo Qingyang, then dashed forward to kiss her cheek before leaving.

Luo Qingyang spent the evening alone. She fell asleep as the first false dawn began, grey light heavy against her eyelids.


Luo Qingyang healed more slowly than she should have.

“Resentful energy will do that to you,” Wen Qing said. She was tapping needles into the base of Luo Qingyang’s neck with aching precision. “Someone with a strong golden core can heal a broken leg in a matter of days if that’s the only thing that’s wrong, but you nearly died, and Clarity will take some time to truly heal you.”

“So there’s a lot wrong with me.”

Wen Qing’s hands paused just above Luo Qingyang’s skin. She thought she detected a tremor; exhaustion? Frustration? She couldn’t turn her head to check. “No,” Wen Qing said after a long moment of silence. “You’ll be fine. You just need to heal.”

She placed her hands on Luo Qingyang then, on either side of her neck, strong fingers sending cool power flowing through her. It was meant to help the scar tissue in her shoulder heal, Luo Qingyang knew. Wen Qing was a doctor and she’d spent two months, now, devoting enormous amounts of her very valuable time to healing Luo Qingyang. It was more than an honor; it was the highest expression of their marriage. Luo Qingyang would’ve owed anyone but her wife a life debt for this.

She knew all that the same way she knew Jin sect inheritance rules or Wen precepts. None of it stopped her from reacting any time Wen Qing came within five steps of her. No amount of obligation, honor, or guilt in the world could have stopped her from growing wet embarrassingly quickly, breasts throbbing where they pressed against the table, pussy desperate for touch.

Just as she’d done for the last eight weeks, she closed her eyes and breathed through it. Eventually, Wen Qing finished, removing her needles. As she did every week, she pressed a hand against the base of Luo Qingyang’s neck. “You’re flushed.”

In turn, Luo Qingyang gave her wife the same answer she gave every week. “Just tired.”

“Mmm. You should rest, then.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Wen Qing left her suite, closing the door behind her. Luo Qingyang didn’t even bother to roll over: she canted her hips up, slipped a hand inside her loose inner robe, and rubbed her clit frantically until she came screaming into her own pillow.


Eventually, spring came. As the first snowdrops pushed their way through the mud, Luo Qingyang regained her strength enough to walk around Nightless City again.

“Should you be up? And practicing swordplay? I think Sect Leader Wen might kill you if she finds you.” Cao Yunru’s voice turned thoughtful. “I’ve never seen someone die.”

“I’m an excellent patient, thank you. Wen Qing said it was a good idea for me to be out and about.”

“Of course, I didn’t mean swordplay.”

“Haaaah,” Cao Yunru said as Wen Qing stomped onto the practice yard.

For a moment, Luo Qingyang felt completely dislocated from her own body. It had been months since she’d seen Wen Qing in any position except frowning at her from above. She’d spent weeks dreaming of Wen Qing, burning for her, and the contrast between those dreams and the reality of Wen Qing standing with her hands folded made her trip over her own feet.

“Hello,” she finally managed to say, half choking it out.

“You shouldn’t be lifting a sword yet.”

“My arms are fine.”

“You had two holes in your torso and your arm was broken!”

“And now it’s not.” Luo Qingyang lifted her arm - which admittedly was aching, despite not being her sword arm. “See?”

“You -! Ooooh, never mind.” Wen Qing turned on her heel and stomped off - towards the market square, away from the family quarters.

“Huh,” Cao Yunru said. “You know, everyone says Sect Leader Wen is so dignified, how lucky we are to have a Sect Leader who isn’t like Wen Ruohan. But every time she looks at you, she turns bright red. Is that because you’re married?”

“It’s because I’m uncomfortable to be married to,” Luo Qingyang said. Then she embraced cowardice: she ran away.

At first she thought to follow Wen Qing, but she’d looked so angry, and the odd, dislocated sadness filled Luo Qingyang’s chest when she thought about trying to discuss why Wen Qing was angry, and what their marriage was now. Instead, she took the back way up to the bluff Wen Qing had shown her, planning to spend some time meditating and trying to get her left arm to stop hurting.

It really had been stupid to get her sword. But it had been so long; she was so tired of feeling broken. The fact that she’d nearly died and even Hanguang-Jun himself would still be healing didn’t really help.

At no point did it occur to her that Wen Qing might be up on the bluff as well. Why should it? It was still early spring; Luo Qingyang had trudged through snow to get to the top of the path. Yet when she crested the last hill, there Wen Qing was, sitting on grass that had been warmed and dried by talismans set in a circle.

She didn’t open her eyes when Luo Qingyang bit back a curse. She only sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Luo Qingyang said. Though she wasn’t, really. Hadn’t Wen Qing said she’d give this meadow to Luo Qingyang if she could? She, Madame Wen, had every right to be here.

“I hope you mean you’re sorry for endangering yourself with swordplay, not that you’re sorry for being up here.”

“Isn’t walking up a bluff endangering myself as well?”

“You still have breath to talk, so I imagine not. Careful walking is significantly safer than letting a ten-year-old hit you with a sword.”

“Cao Yunru is nearly twelve.”

Wen Qing scowled, eyes still closed. “I don’t care.”

She couldn’t help it: her temper sparked. “I’ve been convalescing, my brain didn’t fall out. You let her sit with me. You talked, joked with her. You care about her - as you should! We aren’t exactly drowning in new disciples!”

“Qishan Wen doesn’t coddle its disciples, Madame Wen. None of my seniors knew my birthday when I was in Nightless City.”

“But you’re - you care about her. I know you do. I’ve seen it.”

“Do you trust your judgment in these matters? Fascinating.”

Luo Qingyang narrowed her eyes. “I still have my sword, you know. If you’re trying to start a fight -”

Wen Qing’s eyes snapped open, and Luo Qingyang took an involuntary step back at the fury she saw. “You think you can determine who I care about? Fine. Tell me who I care about, Luo Qingyang. Explain to me who I hold close to my heart.”

She might as well have gutted Luo Qingyang where she stood, pulled out her entrails and asked her to name their anatomical features. But Luo Qingyang planted her feet and said: “Wen Ning, of course. Cao Yunru, as a young disciple whose spirit you appreciate. The old woman - Granny Wen.” She paused, trying to think. “The remaining Wens, and the people of Qishan, of course. Wei Wuxian, and Jiang Cheng, and - why are you laughing?”

“Where were you going to put yourself on this list? Or were you at all?”

“Marriage isn’t love.”

“Nor is discipleship, or friendship. You really think Jiang Wanyin rates a mention before you? At some point it’s just denial. You don’t know how I feel about you, because you don’t want to know.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? Are you sure?”

It had to be, because if this was Wen Qing telling her that she - Luo Qingyang couldn’t even form her mind around the idea. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Well, you’re wrong.” Wen Qing stood, still in her warm circle of grass. “I’ve wanted you since our marriage. I’ve loved you since you brought Nightless City’s market back to me. I’m sorry.” She stepped out of her circle of warmth and turned her back on Luo Qingyang, making for the path opposite the one Luo Qingyang had taken.

Fuck! “Wait! Wait. Wait wait wait -” She ran forward, heedless of the way it made her side scream in pain, grabbing Wen Qing’s wrist and yanking her back onto the dry grass. Inside the talisman circle, the sun-warmed grass smelled fresh and new. “Wen Qing. Wait.”

“What?” Wen Qing wouldn’t look at her. She tugged her wrist out of Luo Qingyang’s grip. “I don’t want to talk about it. We can discuss it later, if you need to, but right now -”

“I’m in love with you,” Luo Qingyang blurted out, and kissed her wife.

They had kissed three times: once to clear resentful energy, once out of public obligation, and once because Luo Qingyang was furious and jealous and incapable of denying herself anymore. This time, Wen Qing gasped into her mouth and Luo Qingyang melted, dropping to her knees. Wen Qing went with her, tugging her hair almost viciously, pushing Luo Qingyang back onto the ground.

“Don’t sit up - you’re still convalescing - how did you not know. Everyone knew. Hanguang-Jun knew and you didn’t -”

“I didn’t,” Luo Qingyang said. Wen Qing made an odd noise of outrage and bit into the meat of Luo Qingyang’s shoulder, just to the right of one of her many new scars. “Damn you,” Wen Qing said, and kissed her again, pressing her tongue into Luo Qingyang’s mouth.

They were frantic and ungraceful. Luo Qingyang scrabbled her fingers at Wen Qing’s clothes, and Wen Qing scratched bright red lines down the side of Luo Qingyang’s arm when she moved too quickly.

“Months,” Wen Qing said, her voice ragged, “for months I begged every god I could think of to heal you. To let me keep you. I thought you’d die, and then I thought you’d be a shade of yourself, and you never - I never - you flinched away from me when I touched you. Even just as a doctor.”

“When you touched me, I trembled,” Luo Qingyang said. “I wanted you so badly. I touched myself in the hospital bed every time, as soon as you left I was panting for you.”

Wen Qing’s cheeks flushed bright red. “You - I never noticed. You never said.”

“The last time we touched each other, you made me leave. I thought you didn’t want it.”

“I always want it,” Wen Qing said, and shifted abruptly, moving to straddle her. “I didn’t want to. I…” She pushed Luo Qingyang’s clothes aside, baring her chest. Luo Qingyang bit her lip against the feeling of cold early-spring air against her tits, the way her nipples hardened as Wen Qing rubbed her thumbs against them. “I want to be able to honor the promise I made. A political marriage. But every time I see you, I want to fuck you. When I watch you practice sword forms, I want to bend you over and press my fingers into you. I want so much that it terrifies me.”

Luo Qingyang had heard enough. She kissed Wen Qing, wet and open and wanting, and then said, “Take your pleasure from me. Please.”

Wen Qing’s expression shifted. She looked at Luo Qingyang with a considering expression, reached down and pinched a nipple with a calculating expression. “But I’ve already done that.”

Luo Qingyang went very, very still.

“I think you should spread your legs for me, Madame Wen.”

Her heart felt like it might give out at any moment. She was dying, but she couldn’t tell Wen Qing no, not after all the months of wanting and dreaming and hoping in spite of herself. She spread her legs and Wen Qing flushed with pleasure, her eyes bright, her lips full.

She leaned forward and kissed her, unable to help herself, and Wen Qing allowed it - encouraged it, in fact, a firm grip on Luo Qingyang’s jaw. Luo Qingyang kissed her way down Wen Qing’s neck, nuzzling her breasts, biting them just a little. Sucking her nipples, and shivering when Wen Qing moaned in response.

Then there was a hand in her hair, tugging, making her pause and look up. “What did you think of?”

Luo Qingyang blinked through the haze in her mind. “What?”

“You said you touched yourself.” Beautiful red painted Wen Qing’s cheeks. She licked her lips. “After. What did you think about?”

“You,” Luo Qingyang said, too turned on to be anything but honest.

“But what?”

Fuck. “Touching me. Using your mouth on me. Fucking me. Does it matter?”

“Very much,” Wen Qing said, shifting on the grass until she knelt between Luo Qingyang’s legs. Until - oh. Oh.

Wen Qing touched her so carefully, whisper-light brushes against her pussy. She blew air on her and watched in fascination as Luo Qingyang clenched around nothing. She licked Luo Qingyang’s clit, carefully, almost scientific in her movements.

Luo Qingyang couldn’t think. She could barely breathe. She arched her back and fought against further movement and managed to say, through a tight throat: “Please.”

Wen Qing leaned forward, unhesitating and so beautiful, and licked a long line up Luo Qingyang’s pussy.

She was so wet that Wen Qing’s fingers slid off her when she tried to follow up on the movement, but Wen Qing only laughed and fucked into her, spreading her wide. She talked, too, her calm doctor’s voice saying, “You’re so wet, I think I could press my whole hand into you,” and, “Your clit is so pink, Luo Qingyang. What will happen if I suck it?” and, “Now I’m going to fuck you. Hold on,” as she slid three fingers inside and curled them, fucking her hard as Luo Qingyang gasped and sobbed and begged for more.

She hadn’t thought about it this way. She’d been focused on sheer sensation, on what she could do with herself, and having Wen Qing’s undivided focus and desire was beyond anything she’d even thought to hope for. Wen Qing stretched her, played with her, and licked her until she came, shaking, fucking herself on Wen Qing’s fingers - and then she said, “You’re a cultivator of great renown, Madame Wen, I think you can go again,” and fucked her hard and fast until she was sobbing through another release.

She felt wrung out, very certain that she couldn’t go again. But Wen Qing said, “I want you to put your fingers in yourself,” and Luo Qingyang was helpless to do anything but obey.

Holding onto herself - fucking herself, really, rocking back and forth into her own hand - she watched as Wen Qing pulled herself upright, kneeling over Luo Qingyang. The rocky bluff had to be irritating her, but she gave no sign of it as she said, “I’d like you to lick me now.”

Fuck. Fuck. “Wen Qing…”

“Do you not want it?”

She was desperate for it. Dripping onto her own fingers, open and wet and messy. “I’ve never, before.”

“Good,” Wen Qing said, and moved her hips upwards, straddling Luo Qingyang’s face.

Wen Qing was so wet that her thighs were damp where they settled on either side of Luo Qingyang’s head. She smelled of herself, sharp and distinct, a smell that had haunted Luo Qingyang since their wedding night. She’d dreamed of this, and the reality was somehow better: her wife surrounding her, riding her face, giving her nothing to look at or think about except for their pleasure.

It felt like being in a trance. She fucked herself on her own fingers and fucked Wen Qing with her tongue. She brought her free hand up and spread Wen Qing’s pussy open, licking into her, smiling as Wen Qing shook against her face. She sucked Wen Qing’s clit, then eased her fingers inside, urging Wen Qing to ride her as she began to cry out.

“Louder,” Luo Qingyang whispered against Wen Qing’s leg. Wen Qing moaned, then said, “Fuck me harder, then, if that’s what you want,” and began to move her hips over Luo Qingyang’s face.

It was an odd kind of physical challenge, chasing Wen Qing’s pleasure. She was so responsive, so ready, yet also so wet that Luo Qingyang had to concentrate to stay with her. Her chin was soaked, her fingers wrinkled, and still Wen Qing gasped for more, harder, faster. She did her best to obey, pressing her thighs together as Wen Qing keened, fucking Luo Qingyang’s face, so close to orgasm that Luo Qingyang felt like she could taste it.

When it finally came, Wen Qing screamed. She moaned. She said, “Luo Qingyang, wife, don’t stop, don’t stop,” and Luo Qingyang obeyed, her head spinning, clutching Wen Qing’s hip and moving with her as she came on Luo Qingyang’s mouth, her pussy tight around Luo Qingyang’s fingers, her thighs clenched on either side of Luo Qingyang’s head.

It was strange and messy; Luo Qingyang’s jaw and wrists ached. It was perfect.

Wen Qing slumped to the ground after that, rolling until she could touch Luo Qingyang. She replaced Luo Qingyang’s fingers with her own, bit her neck, and kissed her - tasting herself, licking her own arousal off Luo Qingyang’s jaw. She said, “When we’re in our bed, I’ll make you kneel for me. I’ll get us something to keep you nice and open for me. I’ll take care of you, I’ll make you scream.”

Luo Qingyang came on a sob, surrounded by her wife, holding and held in turn, finally satisfied.


They dozed for awhile after that, Luo Qingyang with her head on Wen Qing’s shoulder. When she woke, it was to see Wen Qing watching her sleep, eyes bright, hand -

Hand. Luo Qingyang blinked, but the image before her didn’t wager. Wen Qing was playing with herself, slow and lazy.

“I was hoping you’d wake up soon,” Wen Qing said, rubbing a single slender finger up and down her pussy.

“Aughgh,” Luo Qingyang said.

“I’ve been thinking.” Wen Qing pinched her nipple, arched her hips against her own hand. “I’ve gotten off with you so many times. But you’re right, you know: I did send you off. I was worried about what I’d do if you stayed.”

Arousal hit her so quickly she felt dizzy. It felt impossible: the faint ache between her legs, Wen Qing’s careless nudity, the softness in her expression. “Please,” she said, not even sure what she was asking for.

Wen Qing hummed. “Spread your legs, my love.”

She did, but: “What if someone else comes up here?”

Wen Qing moved to kneel in front of Luo Qingyang, leaning down and kissing her. “I already set up an array to keep people out. Don’t move your left arm. We weren’t careful enough; it’s swelling again.”

Before Luo Qingyang could respond with, Well, you did make me do all the work, Wen Qing lifted Luo Qingyang’s hips and began licking her open.

She couldn’t hold back a gasp. She was already wet, swollen and sensitive, and Wen Qing showed no mercy. She wasn’t practiced, Luo Qingyang could tell; she’d said all kinds of filthy things earlier, but it made sense that Qishan Wen’s best doctor wouldn’t have had a ton of time to fool around with girls the way Luo Qingyang had. But her obvious inexperience made it better, somehow; she applied herself to the task of eating pussy for the second time that day with medical precision, licking and sucking and pausing to observe Luo Qingyang’s reactions, doubling down on the motions that made Luo Qingyang moan and squirm.

Before long, Luo Qingyang was biting down on her own fist, trying not to come. “Don’t you dare,” Wen Qing said when she grabbed a fistful of grass with her left hand - and then she tapped a needle into Luo Qingyang’s wrist. Suddenly she couldn’t move her arm anymore, and Wen Qing’s strong hands pinned her hips to the earth as she screamed and came, clenching around Wen Qing’s tongue.

“Interesting,” Wen Qing murmured, and nudged Luo Qingyang’s thigh. “Spread your legs a little more for me?”

She canted her hips a bit to make the movement easier, and for a moment the whole world seemed to tilt as Wen Qing gently, firmly pressed three fingers inside her.

“You’re so open,” Wen Qing said, still in that soft, almost-clinical voice. “It’s amazing. You’re beautiful, Luo Qingyang. How does this feel?” She curled her fingers, pressing up into the spot that Luo Qingyang knew could bring her to the edge more quickly than anything else.

Could. But right now, exhausted as she was, it sent strong, warm waves through her, like drinking the finest liquor after a long feast.

“Sweetheart,” Wen Qing said, thrusting her fingers in shallow, firm strokes, “tell me how it feels.”

“Good,” Luo Qingyang said. She sounded ridiculous, fucked-out and dreamy, but Wen Qing didn’t laugh. She kept moving, and felt wonderful, but also strangely…not enough. She frowned a little, trying to sort through what she needed. Not harder, not faster, but. “More?”

“Yes,” Wen Qing breathed, and slowly, so slowly, pressed a fourth finger inside.

It was easy like this. Wen Qing had made this space warm and private; she’d made Luo Qingyang loose-limbed and open. There was no resistance, not even the slightest pinch, as Wen Qing pressed all four fingers inside her and began to thrust.

Her left arm was still pinned to the ground, but Luo Qingyang could move her free hand to her own breasts, pinching her nipples and playing with them as she rode Wen Qing’s hand. Her pinned arm became an anchor point as she moved, still so slowly, feeling herself open and flex, dripping onto Wen Qing’s hand, the grass beneath them wet with her. She felt so full that her clit was an afterthought; she could feel that deep, throbbing pressure in her toes, up her spine, in the tension in her jaw.

Wen Qing shifted on the ground a little, her hand thrusting a little more sharply, and Luo Qingyang gasped as the pressure sharpened into urgency. “Do that again.”

“Are you sure? You’re -”

Again,” Luo Qingyang snapped, struggling against her still-immobile arm.

Wen Qing’s bright eyes watched her face as she thrust her hand again. Luo Qingyang’s eyes fell shut against the bolt of not-quite-pain that went through her.

“Fuck me,” she said. “Fuck me, please fuck me - yes. Yes.

“Tell me if it hurts,” Wen Qing said. Luo Qingyang nodded eagerly, but she didn’t really know how it could hurt like this. She was so open, so full, and she wanted…

Wen Qing didn’t stop her when she slid her hand down to press against her clit. She heard Wen Qing’s breath stutter as she began rubbing herself, so lightly, but enough to make her head spin.

“I think - can you.” What did she want? She was so stretched, but shallowly; she wanted -

Wen Qing licked her lips. When she spoke, she sounded almost hoarse. “More?”

Luo Qingyang couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe. She stared up at the bright blue sky and nodded.

Slowly, slowly, Wen Qing pressed her thumb against Luo Qingyang’s entrance. With agonizing care, she twisted her wrist as Luo Qingyang relaxed, warm and wet, open and wanting. Luo Qingyang pressed a finger against her own clit, shivering as Wen Qing leaned forward and kissed her stomach, her breast, licking a nipple, still rocking her hand gently against Luo Qingyang, searching for a way inside.

And then something aligned - the cold air on her nipples, the wet drag of Wen Qing’s tongue, the almost-unbearable pressure against her pussy. It all clicked into place, and Luo Qingyang felt Wen Qing slip all the way inside on a sigh.

“Luo Qingyang,” Wen Qing whispered in awe.

And -

She moved.

Luo Qingyang lit up inside. She clenched down on Wen Qing - on her hand, her whole hand, Luo Qingyang could look down and see Wen Qing’s wrist disappearing inside her. She was rubbing against that spot inside every time she moved, and Luo Qingyang felt split open in the best possible way, held immobile - held, somehow on the edge of a cliff yet perfectly, wonderfully, impossibly safe.

“You’re incredible,” Wen Qing told her. “You look perfect.”

“You feel perfect. Now fuck me,” Luo Qingyang managed to say.

Wen Qing obeyed. It shouldn’t have been hot, the way she watched Luo Qingyang so carefully, the way her lips were pursed with near-academic inquiry as she slowly moved her hand inside - but of course it was all so hot Luo Qingyang couldn’t even think. She thrust her hips, tiny little grinding movements that felt inescapably huge with how full she was. The warmth that had been building for so long burned, a crescendo of sensation that she could feel in her eyelashes, her heard pounding, sweaty and desperate and so, so, so close.

Then Wen Qing leaned down, and Luo Qingyang felt her warm, wet tongue against her clit, moving with Luo Qingyang’s own fingers.

She came like a newly lit bonfire, like a lantern released into the sky. She soared, she sobbed, she clenched around Wen Qing, she gushed around Wen Qing, and it just kept going. She felt like she might leave her body entirely, her energy spiraling so close to the edge of her control. She was so far gone that she didn’t even realize, at first, that Wen Qing had finally freed her arm; she only noticed when she realized she was using it to clutch Wen Qing to her, to hold her fast as Luo Qingyang came in waves.

Finally, it began to ebb. She pulled Wen Qing up and kissed her frantically, hissing against the sensation of Wen Qing’s wrist moving even as her pussy tensed again, holding her inside for just a little while longer. Wen Qing, who had been such a fastidious kisser, was as open and wet as Luo Qingyang just then, clumsy with desperation, biting Luo Qingyang’s lips and sucking her tongue shamelessly.

“I can’t…come here. Let me,” Luo Qingyang said. She was stupid with orgasm, but Wen Qing understood somehow. She pulled out of Luo Qingyang carefully, her hand making a filthy wet noise as Luo Qingyang released her.

And - it hadn’t even occurred to Luo Qingyang that she’d see - wet. Everywhere. Wen Qing’s entire hand looked like she’d held it underwater for thirty minutes, wrinkled and soaked with Luo Qingyang’s arousal.

It was one of the hottest things Luo Qingyang had ever seen. She couldn’t hold back a moan, kissing Wen Qing frantically as she finally got a hand between her legs.

Wen Qing’s entire body jerked against her. She cried out, a sharp breaking note, and came almost as soon as Luo Qingyang touched her clit, her whole body convulsing, her face buried in Luo Qingyang’s neck.

She was so beautiful, and all hers. Luo Qingyang closed her eyes and kissed Wen Qing’s forehead, her temple, until Wen Qing dropped her head back enough for Luo Qingyang to capture her lips again.

“I can’t think.” Wen Qing shook her head, kissing Luo Qingyang again. “Are you - all right?”

Luo Qingyang couldn’t help herself: she tilted her head back and laughed, giddy and overwhelmed, wrecked in the best possible way.


Eventually, they had to clean up and go back down the bluff. “I implied no one could have seen us, but I wasn’t paying attention until after you fell asleep,” Wen Qing admitted.

“So you’re telling me someone might have seen us?”

Wen Qing blushed so prettily. “I hope not. They won’t dare to mention it if they did.”

Luo Qingyang tried to muster up some embarrassment or chagrin, but she was completely tapped out. All she could feel was deep satisfaction at the thought of someone knowing she was married to Wen Qing in every possible sense of the word.

Wen Ning’s face brightened when he saw them walking into the family courtyard together. “Oh, you worked it out! That’s wonderful!”

Luo Qingyang’s whole face felt hot. She didn’t bother asking how Wen Ning could tell. They weren’t touching, but she could feel a smile tugging at her own lips, twin to the one Wen Qing wore.

“But, ajie…there is a little bit of a problem in the armory. I could try to handle it?”

“What do you mean by ‘a little bit of a problem’!”

“Nothing to trouble yourself!” Wen Ning said hastily. “Only a sword. Um. It’s a bit possessed.”

“We’ll deal with it,” Wen Qing said, and motioned to Luo Qingyang to lead the way.

The sword in the armory was, indeed, possessed. Resentful energy surrounded it, and it flung itself from wall to wall, cutting at nothing.

“This is the first one since the battle over the throne. It’s not as strong as before,” Wen Qing said. “Wait here; I’ll handle it.”

“Absolutely not,” Luo Qingyang said. She grabbed Wen Qing’s hand, drawing an array in the air before Wen Qing could protest. “We’re doing this together.”

“Ah,” Wen Qing said. She looked pleased, her eyes darting between Luo Qingyang and the sword. “All right, then. Together.”

She raised their joined hands, and they got to work.


Dear Sect Leader Jin,

Thank you for your last letter. I’ve passed on your salutations to Wen Qing, as well as Madame Jin’s request that we visit. As you know, Nightless City will host its first Mid-Autumn Festival in nearly ten years. We would love to come for a visit after that. I’m sure we’ll have wonderful stories to tell of all the ways our careful event planning went wrong.

Our family is doing well, though Wen Qing misses little a-Yuan, of course. However, the opportunity to foster a Wen child in Gusu is one we’re honored by, and he seems to be enjoying it so far. I can’t really relate. Too many rules!

I have given your gift to Cao Yunru. She asks me to tell you that she plans to use it on the first fierce corpse she sees. Jin Zixuan, you told me it was just a flute to ensure she would grow into being a well-rounded cultivator! What have you done? The heretical path isn’t needed to be ‘well-rounded’!

But now I am haranguing you. Wen Qing called me a fuddy-duddy earlier. Me! Can you imagine? She says hello, by the way. We were discussing your Jin Rulan at breakfast. Cao Yunru thinks she deserves a young disciple to bully, and apparently there are some songs about Lanling Jin’s own Golden Lotus that she’s heard down at the market. All complimentary, of course; your people love you, Sect Leader Jin.

I must end this letter here, as I’m needed to decide on the quantity of lanterns for the festival. Don’t you think that Nightless City should really have as many lanterns as possible?

With gratitude and esteem,

Luo Qingyang

P.S.: Does Madame Jin know what her brother is up to these days? Nightless City is seeing a surprising amount of mail coming from Yunmeng Jiang, and it’s all addressed to Wen Ning! I think Wen Qing knows, but she’s sworn to secrecy. Let’s embarrass them.

“Luo Qingyang! You told me you were almost done thirty minutes ago!” Wen Qing burst into the room, color high, a smile tugging at her lips.

“And here I am, I’m finally done.” She sealed the letter and stood. “I think you could decide on lanterns without me, you know.”

“You overestimate my desire to do anything without you.” Wen Qing reached out and caught Luo Qingyang’s hands, kissing her fingers. “Besides, it’s your duty as my wife.”

“Oh, well then. I wouldn’t want to neglect my duty.” She pulled Wen Qing in and kissed her, a little too hard to be completely innocent. “Lanterns or otherwise.”

“Luo Qingyang,” Wen Qing breathed, squirming a little in her grip. “We really do have things to do.”

But it was only early afternoon, and their room was empty. Wen Qing had shut the door behind her.

“We’ll do them,” Luo Qingyang said, tugging her wife towards the bed. “Later.”

Wen Qing followed her down with a smile.

Notes:

hahaha whew. anyway, I'm on Twitter as @_impertinence. let's scream together.