Part 23 – The Conference Begins

After the debacle in Hanguang-Jun’s room, which had only been put to a stop by Bichen’s timely intercession, Jiang Cheng had dragged Wei Wuxian away and spent a good hour or so laying into him about how he was no-good, a disgrace to the clan that had raised him, and so on and so forth. Wei Wuxian had heard all this from him so many times before that after a few minutes his eyes couldn’t help but glaze over. At this, Jiang Cheng had gone purple in the face.

“What, are you bored?” he’d yelled. “I suppose being told how shameless you are got old to you long ago!”

Wei Wuxian had sighed in deepest resignation. “Jiang Cheng, what do you want from me? I could go away, if that would make you feel better.”

Jiang Cheng’s glare had been vicious. “‘Go away’—that’s your solution to everything, isn’t it? When things become too much for you, you just run off and disappear. Well, where does that leave the rest of us? Not your concern, I suppose! You’re a deeply selfish person, Wei Wuxian. You ask me what I want from you?—what I want from you is to pay attention!!”

Wei Wuxian had realized then just how much Jiang Cheng still held his death and defection against him. In more ways than one, he had abandoned Jiang Cheng, the only brother he’d ever known. Wei Wuxian’s shoulders had sagged in remorse at this understanding. If it would make Jiang Cheng feel better to lay into him a thousand more times, then so be it.

“Okay, Jiang Cheng…but first, can I please put on some pants?”

In this atmosphere of simmering tension and barely-subdued hostility, the symposium at Lotus Pier began.

Wei Wuxian made it about halfway through the morning talks, which was honestly better than he’d expected. He’d never had much patience for theory, or worst of all, bureaucracy. His philosophy was learn by doing, advise by experience.

A mere half-hour into the day’s tedious, abstract discussions, his mind began to wander. Two hours in, and he was either yawning outright or fiddling with paper talismans.  It was a particularly ponderous old sect leader who was presently speaking. The second time Wei Wuxian’s paper-man performed a mocking impression of the speaker over his shoulder, Jiang Cheng shot him a sharp look that said quite clearly, Cut it out right now.

A couple of the younger attendees were struggling to smother their laughter. This, coupled with Jiang Cheng’s irritation, was more than enough encouragement for Wei Wuxian. He would’ve kept carrying on a bit longer, but he didn’t want to embarrass Lan Wangji, the snowy corners of whose eyes were crinkled faintly with mirth nevertheless.

Wei Wuxian tossed his husband a cheeky grin. With a particularly rude and lengthy yawn, he rose and excused himself from the proceedings.

For a while after that, Wei Wuxian entertained himself by going around to visit all his old haunts in Lotus Pier. He stopped by the shops and foodstands, taking samples even from those who weren’t offering them. He chatted with junior disciples at the training grounds and peeked in at all the new buildings that had been raised even since his last trip here. He climbed his favorite trees, slipped into an unattended boat at the docks and paddled out to swindle some choice lotus seed pods. He flirted with pretty girls hanging their laundry, and feeling a tad contrite afterward, even went to pay his respects to Madam Yu and Uncle Jiang at the Ancestral Hall.

All this he did over the span of a few hours. By early afternoon, he was good and well out of ideas. He wondered how much longer he’d have to wait to steal Lan Wangji away from his duties, but it could be awhile yet. Wei Wuxian sighed.

Strolling through the gardens, idly beheading flowers with Suibian II, he was almost bored enough to consider training. But, how to go about it? Mo Xuanyu really hadn’t given him much to work with. Everyone Wei Wuxian knew had such a high level of cultivation, sparring with them wouldn’t even be productive—only exasperating for both parties involved. Wei Wuxian’s only recourse might be to train with the youngsters who’d just barely started out. The mental image of himself sparring with ten-year-olds made him laugh aloud.

“…Wei-xiong?”

Wei Wuxian blinked. In a grove of jade-colored willows just up ahead, he saw a very stylishly-dressed man of infamously low cultivation, regarding him with an almost hopeful expression. Rapping his sword against his shoulder in thought, Wei Wuxian strode over, grinning.

Mo Dao Zu Shi © Mo Xiang Tong Xiu