Come Back to Gusu

46. Talk to me.

Wei WuXian wanted to scream. He managed to keep his voice just on the edge of being frosty. "Neither Jiang Cheng nor Wen Ning will take A'Yuan into their households because it might interfere with their natural born children's' inheritance?"

Lan XiChen nodded. "You'd understand better if you were in a position to have your own children."

"You really think Lan Zhan would deny me if I said I wanted a child of my body? He wouldn't be happy about me gracing another person's bed, but he'd make sure our bridal bed was made with the softest sheets and he'd hope she'd conceive quickly and had an uneventful pregnancy and delivery." Wei WuXian was trembling in his anger. He was just glad that he no longer spouted wisps of demonic energy.

He returned to Cloud Recesses, still practically vibrating with anger. He avoided the Jingshi to head directly to the practice yard and began working his way through his sword forms. Stupid. Idiots. He started slashing at one of the practice dummies. How can they treat A'Yuan like that? He stared at the dummy now lying in pieces of the ground. It hurts, Mama. Why does it hurt me? Why is my chest all filled with lumps? Why does it make me angry?

What would you have done, Baba? If it had been Jiang Cheng and Shijie who had been orphaned and you were the sect leader with Jiang Shushu your former servant? Especially if Jiang Cheng had been older than me? Would you have kept them at arm's length? Your friend's children? Would you have adopted them or at least treated them as nearly your own? Would you have looked away, tacitly allowing Mama to whip Jiang Cheng for his infractions?

Mama... would you ever have thought it might be a good idea to cut Jiang Cheng's hand off to appease Wen Chao?

I know you considered it, Madame Yu. I saw you. I know why you decided not to: I'm not stupid. I saw you calculate what appeasing both that Wang woman and your hatred would cost.... The price of my hand, possibly my life, would have been the lives of your children. Had the price been any lower, you would have had me pay it twice over, I'm sure.

"Wei Laoshi? Are you alright?"

"Defend!" Wei WuXian attacked the senior disciple, driving him back with slow and methodical strokes. He was still only doing basic sword forms; the disciple lasted mere moments before his sword flew off. "Next," he ordered, and faced the next disciple.

"Wei Ying..." the soft voice intruded into his internal monologue of loathing. "Wei Ying... spar with me."

"Fine."

"Switch to a wooden blade." Wei WuXian reluctantly sheathed Suibian and picked up a practice blade. They could hit harder with these without worrying about accidentally slicing a body part off. "Form one," Lan WangJi ordered and the both stepped into position for the first Lan sword form. Three taps of their blades, Wei WuXian ducked and Lan WangJi's blade swung through the now empty space. They backed up and repeated the exercise switching who ducked a few times. "Form two," Lan WangJi announced and they stepped into the position to start.

I hated doing these sword forms as a fifteen year old. Why are we doing them again? Wei WuXian stopped following the prescribed motions, and, instead, moved into one of the basic Jiang attack patterns. Lan WangJi countered it neatly. Wei WuXian sped up the movement, flowing effortlessly from one form to another. When performed at the speed of a sword fight, the Jiang style was like water rippling over the ground and the opponent. The Lan style was more elegant, like calligraphy; each footstep, every movement of the blade, was carefully and meticulously placed through years of rigorous training.

For more than two sichen, the river fought against the brush. One swirled and eddied while the other wrote a poem. For the disciples watching, it was entrancing: two masters of their craft dancing around each other, neither gaining an advantage, neither losing ground.