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Lady Wen Qing,
I am Wen Kexing. I have been instructed by multiple people to speak with you about healing my husband.
The meridians in his chest and abdomen are breaking. As a doctor, I presume you can imagine how little time there is to save him.
As we have only just arrived I cannot offer immediate payment, but if you accept my word that any payment you require will be made, I would be in your debt if you can save his life.
I am Wen Kexing. I have been instructed by multiple people to speak with you about healing my husband.
The meridians in his chest and abdomen are breaking. As a doctor, I presume you can imagine how little time there is to save him.
As we have only just arrived I cannot offer immediate payment, but if you accept my word that any payment you require will be made, I would be in your debt if you can save his life.
Why are his meridians breaking? That will inform what I can do.
Seven nails were driven into them over a year ago, one at a time in three month increments. Just before coming here, he removed them at once, without the proper preparation or support.
He took an unnecessary risk to remove them.
[ luckily this is text and the "so he was an idiot" can't be heard in her tone. but it's definitely there. ]
It will require examinations before I know what is necessary to repair his meridians. Do not worry about payment now.
[ luckily this is text and the "so he was an idiot" can't be heard in her tone. but it's definitely there. ]
It will require examinations before I know what is necessary to repair his meridians. Do not worry about payment now.
Of course. Where should I bring him for them? You are also welcome where we live.
It would be easier if I come to you. Too many people watch me here.
[ A location immediately pops up - in the palace, Vannozza's wing. ]
Be careful, Lady Wen. Call me if you need an escort, I will come.
[ Even if it means temporarily leaving his husband's side, to get her to help him, he'll do anything necessary. ]
Be careful, Lady Wen. Call me if you need an escort, I will come.
[ Even if it means temporarily leaving his husband's side, to get her to help him, he'll do anything necessary. ]
An escort is unnecessary. I will be there shortly.
[ A problem with the meridians and trapped energy is rarely solved by pills and salves, but she packs some, just in case; it makes it easier to slip out of her own rooms and travel the halls without question from the guards. Even if it isn't the direction of Vannozza's rooms, the sight of Wen Qing wandering the halls with a case full of medicine isn't suspicious.
It isn't much longer before she reaches their door, knocking sharply. ]
[ A problem with the meridians and trapped energy is rarely solved by pills and salves, but she packs some, just in case; it makes it easier to slip out of her own rooms and travel the halls without question from the guards. Even if it isn't the direction of Vannozza's rooms, the sight of Wen Qing wandering the halls with a case full of medicine isn't suspicious.
It isn't much longer before she reaches their door, knocking sharply. ]
He finds her, because truly in the spaces provided for these weeks, it's difficult for anyone to be fully unfound without taking strident efforts toward creating their own isolation and avoidance. Which is to say, he's lugged around a teapot and cups and a container of hot water, finding Wen Qing and lifting the whole of his busy hands when he greets her.
"Wen Qing! Can I entice you with tea and company?" A pause, and he adds, a touch hurried, "I'm not injured! It's the truth!"
If he's not careful with the hot water, he will scald, but that at present is still not the case.
"Wen Qing! Can I entice you with tea and company?" A pause, and he adds, a touch hurried, "I'm not injured! It's the truth!"
If he's not careful with the hot water, he will scald, but that at present is still not the case.
The hasty reassurance that he's not injured has Wen Qing looking at Wei Wuxian dubiously, quickly glancing over him. There are no visible injuries that she can see, so she relaxes, and reaches out to grab the teapot from him before he can drop anything and shatter the teapot.
"What's the occasion?" she asks, as she looks around for somewhere quiet to sit, possibly away from anyone, although privacy is hard found in this space.
"What's the occasion?" she asks, as she looks around for somewhere quiet to sit, possibly away from anyone, although privacy is hard found in this space.
He follows after her, having offered a sheepish grim and a thanks when she rescues the teapot. He also gestures ahead, to one of the small study surfaces and it's collection of chairs, tucked in next to a disorganized bookcase.
"Wanting to chat, wanting to talk with you about my being secretly married three times or something. I hope you like the oolong?"
It's like oolong, called something different, but his awkward smile is more indication he's not joking despite what he's saying being utterly ridiculous.
"Wanting to chat, wanting to talk with you about my being secretly married three times or something. I hope you like the oolong?"
It's like oolong, called something different, but his awkward smile is more indication he's not joking despite what he's saying being utterly ridiculous.
Edited 2022-02-01 06:30 (UTC)
The small study area works for their purposes and she heads in that direction, only to stumble to a halt.
"What?" she asks, surprise coloring her voice, making her louder than usual. She clears her throat, looking at Wei Wuxian, ready to tell him to stop joking, but that smile. "Three times?" How the hell did you get married three times? goes unsaid but it's evident in her voice.
This might need something stronger than oolong, but she'll take what she can get. Wen Qing sets the teapot down, followed by the cups, still watching Wei Wuxian.
"What?" she asks, surprise coloring her voice, making her louder than usual. She clears her throat, looking at Wei Wuxian, ready to tell him to stop joking, but that smile. "Three times?" How the hell did you get married three times? goes unsaid but it's evident in her voice.
This might need something stronger than oolong, but she'll take what she can get. Wen Qing sets the teapot down, followed by the cups, still watching Wei Wuxian.
Her glance back and overall tone is met with wide eyes and a helpless shrug: he figures she'll understand it wasn't something he knowingly did twice, or knew at all. She's seen how he is with family, and where he's called fickle and a flirt, he's all words, no action.
He sets the hot water container and the folded paper containing the loose leaf tea down next to the teapot. Clears his throat, then offers, "Yes, well, I didn't know about the first two, though the second was more recent, and the third I finally knew what was going on--the Lans have some very specific, not explicit traditions involving their headribbons, it turns out. To my, er, surprise?"
He pours the tea leaves into the teapot. Mostly, he manages to look unaffected. Mostly.
He sets the hot water container and the folded paper containing the loose leaf tea down next to the teapot. Clears his throat, then offers, "Yes, well, I didn't know about the first two, though the second was more recent, and the third I finally knew what was going on--the Lans have some very specific, not explicit traditions involving their headribbons, it turns out. To my, er, surprise?"
He pours the tea leaves into the teapot. Mostly, he manages to look unaffected. Mostly.
The words and no action is what has her surprised: she thought the only way Wei Wuxian would end up married is by someone arranging it for him. That was unlikely to happen at the Burial Mounds— bring a bride there? Or marry out? No, had he left, it would have been for Lotus Pier and nowhere else— and she never asked him about his romantic inclinations before that.
"The Lans have traditions about their headribbons. What Lan let you touch—" She breaks off, her mouth dropping open and eyes widening in surprise. "Lan Wangji." If two of these encounters were recent, then there could only be one possibility.
She eyes him, raising an eyebrow, not at all convinced by his look. "Was he the first marriage, as well?"
"The Lans have traditions about their headribbons. What Lan let you touch—" She breaks off, her mouth dropping open and eyes widening in surprise. "Lan Wangji." If two of these encounters were recent, then there could only be one possibility.
She eyes him, raising an eyebrow, not at all convinced by his look. "Was he the first marriage, as well?"
The veneer of any lingering ease peels away from him slowly, Wei Wuxian going from halting motion to a stillness that aches with uncertainties.
"I'd almost forgive you for the implication I went around trying to touch every Lan's headband," he says, aiming late for levity he doesn't quite catch, "But I'll have you know I only tugged on any of them once, and really, that was Lan Zhan's fault for letting it twist about like that in the wind."
A half smile, and then he glances to the tea, cupping it in his hands so the warmth leeches from the cup into the cold that's lingering there.
"He was, though I had no idea. That or the second. In retrospect, maybe I could have guessed, if I knew anything about the seriousness of Lan traditions, but I thought it was a convenient help in the moment, and he never said anything." A pause, and a wry addition. "Lan Zhan decides not to say more than I realised. Even the things he should."
Lifting his cup and his hands, to keep himself from gesturing too much, his eyebrows quirked and Wen Qing subjected to a look of familiar woefulness, "I've apparently been married to a man who didn't bother telling me we were married since we were all in Gusu."
She may know, in ways Lan Zhan simply can't, on what other levels that can unsteady him, can hurt in surprising, unwelcome ways. To fail in yet one more manner, to have not known he was failing. For a man who had cut himself to ribbons to spare family, yes, he might have done it again, might have confronted Lan Zhan and forced a choice beyond the heartbreak of that windswept, raining night where the Wens were pulled out of labour camps of death and aimed toward Yiling, might have had other reasons to believe he could turn and ask for help instead of define himself as the sacrificial mountain, isolated and quiet, reviled and never forgiven for being frightening in his capabilities, labeled as malicious, deviant, horrific...
There's no way to know, in the end. He has to forgive himself that, too, and forgive the anger and sadness and the confusion it draws out of him, because it feels unpleasant, being both enough and nothing close to enough, worthwhile but not enough to tell, held in contempt of the unknown, and still: wait, what the hell was that song called, anyway?
"I never knew." Quiet, that admission, skipping past so many other knowns and unknowns. "Then he tied my arm up in knots when he was drunk, after running off in my spare robes I had to put him in because he was drunk and in the water and he dragged in five chickens and an undead soldier, what was I going to do? Have you seen him drunk, Wen Qing, it's distressing, and also mildly unfair because he can still fight like it's nothing, but has no sense of when to stop."
He rambles, because he doesn't know how to say, there are things here that matter.
"I'd almost forgive you for the implication I went around trying to touch every Lan's headband," he says, aiming late for levity he doesn't quite catch, "But I'll have you know I only tugged on any of them once, and really, that was Lan Zhan's fault for letting it twist about like that in the wind."
A half smile, and then he glances to the tea, cupping it in his hands so the warmth leeches from the cup into the cold that's lingering there.
"He was, though I had no idea. That or the second. In retrospect, maybe I could have guessed, if I knew anything about the seriousness of Lan traditions, but I thought it was a convenient help in the moment, and he never said anything." A pause, and a wry addition. "Lan Zhan decides not to say more than I realised. Even the things he should."
Lifting his cup and his hands, to keep himself from gesturing too much, his eyebrows quirked and Wen Qing subjected to a look of familiar woefulness, "I've apparently been married to a man who didn't bother telling me we were married since we were all in Gusu."
She may know, in ways Lan Zhan simply can't, on what other levels that can unsteady him, can hurt in surprising, unwelcome ways. To fail in yet one more manner, to have not known he was failing. For a man who had cut himself to ribbons to spare family, yes, he might have done it again, might have confronted Lan Zhan and forced a choice beyond the heartbreak of that windswept, raining night where the Wens were pulled out of labour camps of death and aimed toward Yiling, might have had other reasons to believe he could turn and ask for help instead of define himself as the sacrificial mountain, isolated and quiet, reviled and never forgiven for being frightening in his capabilities, labeled as malicious, deviant, horrific...
There's no way to know, in the end. He has to forgive himself that, too, and forgive the anger and sadness and the confusion it draws out of him, because it feels unpleasant, being both enough and nothing close to enough, worthwhile but not enough to tell, held in contempt of the unknown, and still: wait, what the hell was that song called, anyway?
"I never knew." Quiet, that admission, skipping past so many other knowns and unknowns. "Then he tied my arm up in knots when he was drunk, after running off in my spare robes I had to put him in because he was drunk and in the water and he dragged in five chickens and an undead soldier, what was I going to do? Have you seen him drunk, Wen Qing, it's distressing, and also mildly unfair because he can still fight like it's nothing, but has no sense of when to stop."
He rambles, because he doesn't know how to say, there are things here that matter.
"All in Gusu...." She trails off, staring at him, the shock plainly written on her face, rare for her. That long. It wasn't long ago for her but with a-Yuan's age, and what Wei Wuxian's told her, she knows it was years ago for Lan Wangji. For Wei Wuxian, even with the years where he was dead.
He had been married before the war even broke out. Had he known, what might have changed. Not just for the Wens— she's reached her peace with what happened; from the moment Meng Yao stabbed Wen Ruohan, their fates had been set— but for Wei Wuxian. For a-Yuan, raised by more than just the Lan clan.
"People rarely say what they need to say." She had said the important things almost too late, even. And matters of the heart are hard to communicate, a fact she knew even before the war, even before everything that happened to them. But it's easy to find the anger and annoyance at Lan Wangji, especially when Wei Wuxian sounds so torn about it. Sure, he hides it well, but she learned to read his tone under pressure; it remains even now. "But we can make him talk, I'm sure. I can stab him a few times with my needles and we can interrogate him. Tell him about the importance of communicating such things to the people involved. Especially since that also impacts Sizhui."
(She realizes: if they are married— thrice over, and she wasn't even invited to one of the ceremonies— that makes Wei Wuxian a-Yuan's other parent. How would his life have changed, indeed.)
She grips her cup, forcing her hands to stay steady, something she can do no matter the conversation or how she feels. "I've never seen him drunk, but please, inform me the next time you drink." She wants to see that, just to see him at less than his best. Something close to bitterness swells in her and she stares into the depths of her cup. It's close to oolong but not quite, and it makes her miss the teas from Qishan, the homesickness making her choke for a second before she lifts the cup and sips.
"Wei Ying," she says, after another moment of silence. She considers her words and changes her mind on what to say. "If you don't want to be married, you can divorce. Do they have a ritual for that?" She'll help if needed.
He had been married before the war even broke out. Had he known, what might have changed. Not just for the Wens— she's reached her peace with what happened; from the moment Meng Yao stabbed Wen Ruohan, their fates had been set— but for Wei Wuxian. For a-Yuan, raised by more than just the Lan clan.
"People rarely say what they need to say." She had said the important things almost too late, even. And matters of the heart are hard to communicate, a fact she knew even before the war, even before everything that happened to them. But it's easy to find the anger and annoyance at Lan Wangji, especially when Wei Wuxian sounds so torn about it. Sure, he hides it well, but she learned to read his tone under pressure; it remains even now. "But we can make him talk, I'm sure. I can stab him a few times with my needles and we can interrogate him. Tell him about the importance of communicating such things to the people involved. Especially since that also impacts Sizhui."
(She realizes: if they are married— thrice over, and she wasn't even invited to one of the ceremonies— that makes Wei Wuxian a-Yuan's other parent. How would his life have changed, indeed.)
She grips her cup, forcing her hands to stay steady, something she can do no matter the conversation or how she feels. "I've never seen him drunk, but please, inform me the next time you drink." She wants to see that, just to see him at less than his best. Something close to bitterness swells in her and she stares into the depths of her cup. It's close to oolong but not quite, and it makes her miss the teas from Qishan, the homesickness making her choke for a second before she lifts the cup and sips.
"Wei Ying," she says, after another moment of silence. She considers her words and changes her mind on what to say. "If you don't want to be married, you can divorce. Do they have a ritual for that?" She'll help if needed.
He can't help it, but to burst into laughter that knows she's serious as well as jesting (probably, maybe, he should perhaps never assume Wen Qing jests) when it comes to interrogating Lan Zhan, the needles and the reminders, and would it be a case of Lan Zhan perhaps appreciating that too much? The man bears through pain without calling out, it may end up a point of pride.
(Lan Zhan has a good, healthy respect and fear of Wen Qing. Maybe that works in his favour?)
"Ahahaha, no, I don't think, unless you want to? Lan Zhan could use the fear of proper health knocked into him, he's been trying to fatten me up on millet alone for months now."
A sidestep into dietary concerns, but what else she says at least means he looks at his tea, then startles to look back up to her. "No! No, it's not that, though maybe before—ah, Wen Qing, I'm no good at these things."
Which he whines, not quite with the petulance or exasperation he could summon in his youth, but with the tired awareness of an adult who isn't truly that put out by whatever's going on. Uncertain, yes, conflicted, but not over all the easy things, or even the hardest.
"I... I've cared for him deeply, for a long time. Before here, I don't think it would have been wise. He's Chief Cultivator, he decided that on his own as any adult might. I'm a rogue cultivator, apparently married without knowing about it, which didn't make me all that married at all." Before here, back on marriage one, broken by the very nature of his mostly-death.
"It's only recently that I've felt... not unequal."
A lack of guilt, of appeasement, of giving in to what's asked of him by someone he cares about because he feels it's what he must do. It's strange, uncertain territory, and no, he doesn't look confident about it. When it comes to feeling, Wei Wuxian is dodgier than most. Not for his own capability, but for his learned expectation of others.
Am I worth this? He argues back now, he puts up resistance, he doesn't cave before each statement Lan Zhan makes, and it is perhaps the presence of contention that lets him believe, maybe. Maybe it'll work out, beyond their time here and the ways they lash out at each other, bleeding where none can see.
(Lan Zhan has a good, healthy respect and fear of Wen Qing. Maybe that works in his favour?)
"Ahahaha, no, I don't think, unless you want to? Lan Zhan could use the fear of proper health knocked into him, he's been trying to fatten me up on millet alone for months now."
A sidestep into dietary concerns, but what else she says at least means he looks at his tea, then startles to look back up to her. "No! No, it's not that, though maybe before—ah, Wen Qing, I'm no good at these things."
Which he whines, not quite with the petulance or exasperation he could summon in his youth, but with the tired awareness of an adult who isn't truly that put out by whatever's going on. Uncertain, yes, conflicted, but not over all the easy things, or even the hardest.
"I... I've cared for him deeply, for a long time. Before here, I don't think it would have been wise. He's Chief Cultivator, he decided that on his own as any adult might. I'm a rogue cultivator, apparently married without knowing about it, which didn't make me all that married at all." Before here, back on marriage one, broken by the very nature of his mostly-death.
"It's only recently that I've felt... not unequal."
A lack of guilt, of appeasement, of giving in to what's asked of him by someone he cares about because he feels it's what he must do. It's strange, uncertain territory, and no, he doesn't look confident about it. When it comes to feeling, Wei Wuxian is dodgier than most. Not for his own capability, but for his learned expectation of others.
Am I worth this? He argues back now, he puts up resistance, he doesn't cave before each statement Lan Zhan makes, and it is perhaps the presence of contention that lets him believe, maybe. Maybe it'll work out, beyond their time here and the ways they lash out at each other, bleeding where none can see.
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