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Jiang Cheng had been so happy the day he received Sandu, and carved its name into the sheath. Even Wei Wuxian receiving his own sword the same day could not bring down Jiang Cheng’s mood, because Jiang Cheng is proud of himself. So much of what Wei Wuxian does is superior to Jiang Cheng, he has a better developed golden core, his sword skills are more polished, his archery more accurate. He can catch more pheasants in the mountains to bring home for dinner. In every way they compete, and especially when they duel, Wei Wuxian comes out on top. But he did not do better with this.
Wei Wuxian has been wandering around Lotus Pier for a week muttering to himself, singing names to a practice sword from across the room to test it on his tongue. His writing desk is littered with lists of names and paragraphs on why this name is better than that name. To put it plainly, he’s making a mess of how he clearly can’t decide. When it finally comes time to engrave the name, he hands over one of his many long lists. The engraver looks at the paper, then at Wei Wuxian. “What do you want me to write?” She asks.
Wei Wuxian shrugs, and says “Whatever.” And later he has the gall to be surprised his sword is named Suibian. Oh, he warms to it soon enough. Goes around to all the people in town he can and asks if they can guess the name and crows with delight when they can’t even after he tells them to call it “Whatever.”
But when the engraver asks what Jiang Cheng will name his sword, he has only one name in mind. Sandu. The engraver takes his slip of paper with all seriousness and he feels very grown up in comparison to his brother.
He spends all night sitting in his room polishing his sword even after it gleams clean. Going over the head of every hissing snake on the sheath and cross-guard, getting into the crevices where their bodies intertwine with the edge of the oilcloth. And of course, the fat little frog sitting on the pommel. It holds the textured pommel head as if bracing to spring off. Energy and motion. It almost looks alive. And with the croaks of frogs outside his windows where they sit on the lotus leaves, he can almost imagine it is. He strokes the frog for a long time with the oilcloth. And finally before he sets down his sword for the night, he pets the frog’s little head twice with the tip of his finger, even though it smudges.
-
It is a lazy day in Yunmeng, some two years after the events in Guanyin Temple, and everything has been calm for so long, even Jiang Cheng is starting to relax.
He has only come out onto his private balcony to observe the sunset, and perhaps meditate on his golden core in the evening. He is just leaning down to kneel, Sandu in hand, when he hears it. "Riiiiiiiiiib-bit." Not only is it too early for frog croaks, but this one was loud and close, as if it had snuck into his bedchambers. Jiang Cheng looks around. There is no sign of a wayward amphibian. But still he hears the croak. Finally he gives up searching, and goes again to kneel and meditate, when the frog on Sandu’s pommel blinks at him. Jiang Cheng stares. Then the frog takes a leap off the pommel and goes sailing in an elegant arc over the balcony to plunk into the lotus lake.
For a moment he can only stare, dumbstruck, at the ripples where the frog landed. He looks down at his sword, now pommelless, and back at the lake.
Then Sect Leader Jiang drops Sandu on the pier and hurls himself into the lake. He comes up sputtering, takes a deep breath, then dives back down into the murky lake water, sifting his hands through inches of muck on the lake bottom, his hair filling with pondscum and decaying plant matter. The pommel frog is gone.
The light slowly leaves, and still Jiang Cheng searches. His lower body is numb with cold, all the way up to his chest, where he’s treading in cold water, and the great heavy breaths are rattling colder every time. And this might be the last straw. Jiang Cheng feels like he’s going to cry. But before the tears fall, he hears it. All the way across the lake, the frogs have started their evening chorus of croaking. Jiang Cheng starts splashing toward the noise.
The huge displacement of water and the noise of Jiang Cheng’s disruption scatter the lake life before he reaches the frogs. But Jiang Cheng waits, still and quiet, up to his shoulders in the lake water. He’s so cold his flesh has turned white and numb, he’s sopping wet and he shivers, teeth chattering in the dark, until he hears the frogs return to the lotus leaves and start their croaking chorus again. He turns carefully, moving slowly under the surface of the water so as not to disturb it. And then he sees his frog. His frog. The frog from Sandu’s pommel. Sitting on a lotus leaf, made of polished silver with round bulbous eyes, staring blankly at him. The frog croaks. Jiang Cheng feels the tears welling up in his eyes again. “Please.” He says softly. “Please come back.” He tentatively holds out a hand. The frog croaks again. Doesn’t budge. Jiang Cheng steals himself, then launches at the frog to catch it.
His hands close around it, small and cold and slippery. He keeps going, falling head first into the lake. With both hands on the wiggling frog, he can’t prevent himself from face planting in the mud under the water. He struggles to his feet without the use of his hands, clasped tight to his chest to hold the frog, and spits out silt, gasping for breath. The frog settles against his chest, and croaks again. Jiang Cheng presses it tight to his body and breathes. The frog burrows into Jiang Cheng’s robes and grips tight, sheltering itself. He slowly puts his hands down and the frog stays contentedly put, not trying to escape. Jiang Cheng heaves a great sob as the tears start pouring from his eyes, he wraps his arms around his chest, where the frog rests, shaking, breath heaving in great sobs of panicked relief. The awful heavy cries that pour out of him aren’t controllable, he cries and cries. Such human noises. He makes his way back to the pier, wading through the water with blurry eyes and whining. On some level that’s still operating Jiang Cheng’s decorum, he’s ashamed to be melting down like a child, but he can’t help it.
He thought he’d lost the frog. And that little grief piled on top of all his brimming old grief was enough to overflow. But he didn’t lose the frog. It came back to him.
-
After clambering back up the dock into his rooms he orders a hot bath, and strips out of his ruined clothes. The frog is so small it fits within the confines of one fist. He lets it climb up his body into his hair and it stays there as Jiang Cheng rinses away the mud with more cold water as he waits for his bath. Sinking into the steaming clean bath water is almost enough to cry again, all the tension spools out of his muscles so fast it hurts, and he shudders, the hot water painful on his chilled flesh. The frog swims lazily through the bath. And Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, resting.
The next morning Jiang Cheng wakes in his own warm bed, panicked and thoroughly confused. He sits bolt upright and slaps his hand to his cheek and the strange sensation there. It is the pommel frog, crawling over Jiang Cheng’s cheek. He gently peels the frog off his face and sets it down on the cushion. The pommel frog blinks its wide blank eyes at him.
He invites the frog to the table for breakfast, and it seems entirely uninterested in food. It seems fixated on any and all liquids though, and after failing to keep it from bathing in his steaming teacup, he pours the frog it’s own bowl and makes himself a new cup.
After breakfast he sighs and puts the frog on his shoulder, grabs Sandu, and heads out to start his work supervising the younglings. The frog climbs down his sleeve for once instead of up, and Jiang Cheng stops, worried it's going to leap to the floor and be stepped on. But it only clambers ungainly to the end of Sandu’s pommel and holds still. Jiang Cheng brings the pommel up to his eyes and squints at it, but the frog doesn’t move. He swings the sword around, and the frog stays as still as the day it was carved. Was it just gone now? Still forever again? He went about his day with unease.
But he needn’t have worried. By lunchtime it had freed itself again and was wandering the training yard, getting underfoot. Literally. Lucky for the frog its silver body was sturdier than your everyday frog. Unlucky for the younglings' feet. Jiang Cheng only barked at them that it was a good training exercise. “Tripping could be your death in combat! Watch your footwork!” The frog wandered back over to him afterwards, and he held out a hand. The frog leapt onto him, and Jiang Cheng put it on his shoulder. When it tried to wiggle into the neck of his robes he plopped it back onto Sandu’s pommel and it finally stilled. At least until dinner time when it suddenly leapt into his cup of tea and splashed the hot drink over Jiang Cheng’s reports for the week.
That night Jiang Cheng has his large round bathing tub brought into his bedroom, and fills it with buckets of mud and lake water, and transplants a few lotus plants. Then he brings Sandu into the room, the frog still on the pommel. It stays still. He gently knocks Sandu against the rim of the tub as if to knock the frog off into the water. It blinks at him, indignantly. But it hops off the sword and into its own little lake after all, and Jiang Cheng sighs in relief.
He wonders, as he’s getting ready for bed, if the frog is really safe. The last time he remembers a carving coming to life, the goddess statue had started eating souls. He is a strong cultivator, and can sense no evil coming from the frog, no resentment. But it would not do to be uncautious, and perhaps Wei Wuxian would come, if Jiang Cheng sent for him. It is a good reason to call for him. Jiang Cheng thinks as he settles into bed. An oddity for the master of oddities to investigate. Wei Wuxian will come, if he words it correctly.
Jiang Cheng sleeps well that night, listening to the chorus of frogs outside and inside his room.
-
Expectedly, Wei Wuxian arrives with Lan Wangji beside him. Unexpectedly, arriving with them both is Nie Huaisang. “Hello, Sandu Shengshou!” Nie Huaisang calls from the river boat, waving energetically.
“Sect Leader Nie.” Jiang Cheng greets him with a proper bow when their boat docks. “Welcome to Yunmeng. I did not expect you.”
“Sect Leader Jiang.” Nie Huaisang bows back, smiling wide. “Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were my guests in Qinghe when they received your letter. No one knows more about the hostility of sword spirits than Sect Leader Nie, so I offered to come along.”
“Oh.” Says Jiang Cheng, face heating under Huaisang’s smile. “Your generosity does you credit, Sect Leader Nie.” He looks up at the sky, there’s plenty of cloud cover with a cool late autumn breeze. It’s a mystery why his face feels sunburnt.
He holds out his hand to help Nie Huaisang onto the dock. Wei Wuxian causes the boat to shake when he leaps off onto the dock himself. “Cheng-xiong! Show me Sandu! I want to see the froggy!” His smiling face pulls at Jiang Cheng’s cracked heart. Jiang Cheng gives a single nod to Hanguang-Jun, and receives an even slighter one in return. We really have become more amicable in the last few years. He thinks. Practically friendly.
He holds Sandu out to Wei Wuxian for inspection, fist clenched on the sheath. Wei Wuxian looks down at the frog, then back up to Jiang Cheng. “It looks the same as always.” He says. Jiang Cheng strokes the frog with a fingertip, and the frog blinks awake. It leaps onto his sleeve and starts climbing. Wei Wuxian coos in delight and tries to catch it off Jiang Cheng’s sleeve. Jiang Cheng smacks his hands away.
“You can study it tomorrow.” He says. “No creature likes to be grabbed like that.” He sighs. “Come. I’ve had rooms prepared.”
-
That evening, Jiang Cheng goes to Nie Huaisang’s guest rooms, and lays Sandu upon the table. Nie Huaisang lays his hands over the blade and hums, examining it. It only takes a few moments. “There is not a scrap of resentment in this sword, or in this frog.” Huaisang says.
“Yes.” Jiang Cheng says.
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“Hmm.” He taps his fan against his lips. “You sounded quite concerned in your letter. Like you were hiding no small amount of fear and wished you did not have to ask Yiling Laozu for help.”
“Is that so?” Jiang Cheng keeps his face blank to give nothing away. Though this seems more than enough for the Headshaker to glean all his deepest secrets. He eyes Jiang Cheng, expression unreadable. Then smiles and leans back on his haunches.
“Don’t worry.” He says. “I will tell Xian-xiong that I could detect nothing conclusive, and he must be thorough.”
Jiang Cheng remains stiff. “Thank you.” He finally gets out. It is difficult to admit the truth even to someone who already knows. But it’s always been this way. Sometimes he misses Yanli so badly he thinks he will fall onto his own sword to join her.
The frog blinks awake. Croaks mournfully at him. Jiang Cheng scoops it up. “Thank you for your time and wisdom, Master Nie. I wish you pleasant rest.”
-
Wei Wuxian takes the frog from Jiang Cheng in the morning and carries it back to his workshop for testing. Lan Wangji accompanies him silently, as he does in all things.
Jiang Cheng keeps himself busy, but Nie Huaisang doesn’t. It seems as though he has decided to become Jiang Cheng’s shadow for the duration of his stay in Yunmeng.
He’s pleasant company though, as Jiang Cheng works his way through all his official correspondence. When Jiang Cheng sighs deeply, Huaisang asks who’s letter he needs to respond to, and Jiang Cheng tells him and Nie Huaisang says “Oh, of course, what new bullshit is he spewing today?” And then Jiang Cheng reads the letter aloud in a pompous voice, and Nie Huaisang laughs and mimes the unpleasant courtier’s habit of stroking his own rings at sect gatherings, and then Jiang Cheng laughs. Then Nie Huaisang leans over and starts helping Jiang Cheng draft his letter back and before he knows it all his correspondence is done, and for the first time ever, Jiang Cheng enjoyed it.
-
The next day, after Wei Wuxian collects the frog, Nie Huaisang follows Jiang Cheng to the training grounds. Jiang Cheng unsheathes his pommelless Sandu, and watches Nie Huaisang stand across from him as if ready to spar.
“You don’t have a sword.” Jiang Cheng points out helpfully.
Nie Huaisang smirks, and pulls two fans from his sleeves. They resemble his favorite, wide and with gleaming steel ends, but are painted more simply. “Sect Leader Nie Huaisang does not fight with a sword.” He says. And then he attacks.
Now that a certain someone is dead and gone, Nie Huaisang has been different. He hides less behind his fan, opening up a little more every day to show a little of that particular kind of wit he has. Watching him is like watching fruit ripening on a vine, Nie Huaisang seems to grow more intense every day, more desirable. His clever eyes and soft smile and nimble fingers. And he is skilled with his darksteel fans. Jiang Cheng is unpracticed against this kind of opponent, and cannot predict his partner’s moves. Huaisang is fast, and strong, and more than that, he’s graceful. He laughs in Jiang Cheng’s face, hair blowing in the wind and sweat beading on his hairline. And then Sandu has been wrested from Jiang Cheng’s hands, and a foot locked around his ankle crashing him to the ground. He stares up at Nie Huaisang standing over him with a smirk, breath knocked out of him.
“You’ve… gotten… better… at that.” He wheezes. Nie Huaisang’s beautiful face grins, and his strong hands pull Jiang Cheng up.
“Again!” Cries Huaisang. Jiang Cheng obliges him.
-
On the third day, Wei Wuxian takes the frog in the morning, and Nie Huaisang accompanies Jiang Cheng into town to have a new set of robes commissioned. He did recently lose a set to the lake after all. He does not need a new set, really, but Jiang Cheng is not about to let such a beautiful excuse for new clothes go wasted.
“What do you think?” He asks Nie Huaisang, standing in the mirror with a bolt of purple fabric slung about his shoulders. The fabric in question is textured, with pressed waves snaking down it like a map key indicating a river. It is quite pleasant to touch, and surely the tailor acquired it in the hopes of Jiang Cheng’s patronage. He’s not sure what’s holding him back.
“You want my opinion?” Nie Huaisang yawns behind his fan.
“Well, you look incredible.” Says Jiang Cheng, defensively. Nie Huaisang blinks, and Jiang Cheng’s brain starts silently slamming itself against the inside of his skull. “I mean, uh, the silver robes. They look good on you. Uh! I mean, they look appropriate! For a Sect Leader. Projects a better image than the pale grey.” Jiang Cheng exhales. Solid recovery. “You clearly have correct taste.”
Nie Huaisang half-closes the fan to reveal his smirking lips as he leans in close. Jiang Cheng swallows. “Thank you.” Nie Huaisang whispers. “I’ve always thought your purple robes look… nice on you too.” He drawls. Then shakes his fan out fully again, leaning back. “Very appropriate for Sect Leader Jiang. Your taste is admirable as well.”
“Thank you.” He grimaces. “But about the-” he lifts his arm with the drape of new fabric.
“Oh, yes!” Says Nie Huaisang. He stands up and walks over to circle Jiang Cheng, fanning himself and humming thoughtfully. Jiang Cheng poses for him. He reaches out and drags a hand over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, feeling the texture of the fabric. Jiang Cheng breathes in his plum blossom perfume. “Well, it feels and looks lovely, very unique. But the color...” Nie Huaisang bites his lip. “This lilac, it’s not right for you.” He presses a hand to the curve of Jiang Cheng’s jaw. “It’s not bright enough to flatter your skin the way you deserve.”
Jiang Cheng snaps his fingers loudly. “That’s it! You’re right, I knew something was off.” He grins at Nie Huaisang. Then calls out “Master tailor! Bring out your dye swatches for us!”
-
On the fourth day, Jiang Cheng tries to attend to business once again, but Nie Huaisang will not be denied his frivolity today, and Jiang Cheng accompanies him to the local hot springs.
They are halfway up the mountain, on the side facing the lake, and the view is unmatched in Yungmeng, and everywhere else in the world. It has been far too long. Jiang Cheng thinks when he finally sinks into the water.
“I knew you were getting too tense.” Says Nie Huaisang, slipping into the water across from him.
“Mmmm. You know me better than most.” Jiang Cheng shifts with his eyes closed, finding the most comfortable position.
“I suppose I do.” He hears Nie Huaisang murmur.
They rest in silence long enough that by the time a strange bird call breaks the stillness, Jiang Cheng has forgotten he wasn’t alone. And as is his habit, when he hears a new birdcall, he starts drafting another new letter to Nie Huaisang in his head. Then he remembers Nie Huaisang is right here and Jiang Cheng can just ask. He opens his eyes to see Nie Huaisang standing in the water on the other side of the spring, his bare chest dripping wet and flushed steam warm. He puts a finger to his lips and motions Jiang Cheng to come closer, tilting his chin towards a particular tree. Jiang Cheng recently has had practice moving silently through water to not spook the wildlife, and glides over to Nie Huaisang.
Nie Huaisang takes his hand and points it to a tree branch. There is a little bird sitting there, looking entirely plain in brown with white spots and a fantail. Then it trills again, rapid and high-pitched, and heaven on the ear. “That’s a Sichuan Treecreeper.” Nie Huaisang whispers, warm breath tickling the flyaway hairs by Jiang Cheng’s ear. Huaisang is wet and warm and smiling and so close and Jiang Cheng can hardly breathe, so he does the only thing he can think off and dunks Nie Huaisang into the water, escaping back to his side of the pool as Huaisang comes back up spluttering.
-
That night, alone in his rooms, Nie Huaisang frowns to himself. He has been in Yunmeng for nearly a week now. He has spent hours lounging by the water, delicately fanning himself, coaxing Jiang Cheng into swimming, loudly savoring candied fruits, biting his lips until they are swollen and red. And Jiang Cheng has made precisely zero moves on him. He is exhausted and deeply jealous of Lan Wangji, who never has to do any work to get Wei Wuxian to fall all over him. He has been exchanging increasingly delightful letters with Jiang Cheng for years and had very specific plans when he invited himself along on this trip. Nie Huaisang does not like being blunt, but it’s starting to look like he’s got no other choice. He is too pretty to let another beautiful evening pass unkissed.
-
On the fifth day, Jiang Cheng’s routine is interrupted before it even starts. Lan Zhan has been up for hours, and Wei Wuxian won’t be up for hours, so Jiang Cheng expects his morning to be filled with quiet solitude as usual, but the silence is broken by Nie Huaisang.
Sect Leader Nie comes to breakfast in an unprecedented state of undress, with no belt and his hair falling loose in gentle waves around his face. Jiang Cheng snaps the incense stick he was about to light between his fingers as Nie Huaisang yawns widely and stretches, his many layers of robes shifting loose on his shoulders as he enters the room. “I-“ Jiang Cheng says. “You…” he tries again.
“I think I slept on my arm wrong.” Huaisang pouts as he sits at the table, rubbing his right shoulder. The red plush of the inside of Huaisang’s pouting lip draws his eye. “It hurt to try to do my braids.” He tugs on Jiang Cheng’s fingers when he tries to pick up the teapot. “Sandu Shengshou, help me with my hair, please!”
“I don’t know how to braid hair.” He says, because it’s true. But what he means is Please don’t ask me to touch you. I try so hard not to.
“Oh, it’s easy!” Huaisang says, and pats the ground in front of him. “Sit.” Jiang Cheng sits. Huaisang reaches up and releases Jiang Cheng’s hair from his guan. It falls around his face.
“Ah!” Jiang Cheng starts to protest, but Hauisang presses a finger to his own lips, shushing him, then leans forward and presses the finger to Jiang Cheng’s lips. “Shoosh. I’ll fix it in a second, don’t worry.” Jiang Cheng shooshes. The pad of Huaisang’s fingerprint is dry and warm pressed against him. He thinks if he opened his mouth he could taste the skin.
Huaisang leans up on his knees in front of Jiang Cheng, getting taller and closer to him, to better reach his head. He re-parts Jiang Cheng’s hair, gently tucking in the piece he used to leave out as a teenager. Then he separates the hair at Jiang Cheng’s crown in four unequal sections, and weaves two tiny plaits in a flash. His fingers slip in and out of the hair fast and confusingly, he doesn’t seem to be gripping it at all but loses no strands and the braid is perfectly even and taut. Then he weaves a larger one in a different style, even faster. Jiang Cheng is staring right at his fingers and can’t tell how he does it.
“See?” Says Huaisang, smiling brightly with his small mouth in his soft face. Jiang Cheng opens his mouth and furrows his brow helplessly. Huaisang twists all the braids into Jiang Cheng’s usual style, and slips the guan in place. He sweeps Jiang Cheng’s hair back over his shoulders. “There you are! Didn’t I tell you it would only take a moment?” He flops back down and turns around. Pulls a guan out of his sleeve and hands it over his shoulder to Jiang Cheng. “Your turn. Just do what I did, but maybe three times that many braids?” Jiang Cheng makes a helpless little noise. “It’s just right over left, couldn’t be simpler.”
This is obviously false, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t want to refuse. The idea of Hauisang wandering around lotus pier with his hair down looking for someone else to help him curdles his stomach. So Jiang Cheng sits up on his knees and gathers Huaisang’s hair into his hands. Immediately Nie Huaisang’s perfume wafts into the air, the bright earthy scent of plum blossoms. It is a soothing smell, much more subdued than other florals like jasmine or orange blossom, which can overpower the senses. Fitting for the Nie clan. Jiang Cheng breathes in deeply. Then he gets to work. He sweeps Huaisang’s hair up and takes the pin of his guan to drag a line along his scalp, parting the hair cleanly. The strands are warm from Huaisang’s body heat as they fall over Jiang Cheng’s hands. He tucks most of it over Huaisang’s shoulder and out of the way. Leaning over Huaisang like this, Jiang Cheng can see Huaisang fiddling with a tassel in his lap. He is braiding it and unbraiding it as Jiang Cheng watches, fingers nimbly flashing through the thread. Jiang Cheng takes another deep breath, and carefully imitates him. When Jiang Cheng is finished, he holds the braids in a twist ready for the guan, and he tilts his head, considering his handiwork.
“Is it done?” Huaisang asks, lifting his left hand to feel the top of his head. Jiang Cheng brushes his fingers away.
“No, it is too lumpy. I can’t let you go out like this.” And Jiang Cheng unravels the braids. Huaisang only hums and settles back down, the picture of patience.
It takes three tries before Jiang Cheng has eliminated any glaring flaws in the construction. Half the morning falls away to the meditation of sifting his fingers through Nie Hauisang’s beautifully scented hair. “Alright, now it’s done.”
“Mmmm.” Says Nie Huaisang, stretching catlike. “I should hire you to be my personal maid Sandu Shengshou. What a relaxing way to spend the morning.” He smiles at Jiang Cheng and turns to leave, still looking unbearably soft in his loose robes.
“Wait!” Jiang Cheng calls after him. Huaisang turns around. “You’re indecent.” Huaisang raises an eyebrow. “You’ve left off your belt.”
“Oh, of course.” Says Huaisang, pulling the length of fabric from his sleeve. “Help me again?” He asks, holding the belt out to Jiang Cheng innocently. Jiang Cheng obliges him, even though Huaisang’s right arm hasn’t shown a twinge as long as he doesn’t lift it above his shoulder, and if he can braid Jiang Cheng’s hair he can wrap his own belt. But Jiang Cheng very much wants to indulge Nie Huaisang.
He takes the belt and stands in front of Nie Huaisang. He steps entirely into his personal space, and Huaisang tilts his head back to look up at him, he is standing so close. And he is such a wonderful height. Jiang Cheng would not have to lean down very far… Jiang Cheng busies himself with pulling and pressing Nie Huaisang’s robes into perfect order across his body, making sure the lines are even. He slips both arms under Huaisang’s sleeves and drags the belt tight against his back. Slides his hands across the fabric along his trim waist and tightens the belt in front. Huaisang’s body sways to where Jiang Cheng tugs it. He arranges the closure carefully, and smooths the cloth down Huaisang’s front when he is done. Huaisang blinks up at him, mouth gently parted.
And Jiang Cheng knows then, that this thing between them, it is intentional on both sides. It must be, surely? Huaisang opens his mouth as if to speak, and Jiang Cheng’s head ducks down an inch closer to his face, and his mouth closes again. He swallows, and Jiang Cheng watches his throat move.
It is then that Wei Wuxian swans into the dining room, finally awake and already chattering about the new tests he will try on the frog today. And as Nie Huaisang whirls away and backs out of the room hiding behind his fan, Jiang Cheng rounds on Wei Wuxian enraged. He points an accusing finger at Wei Wuxian’s nonplussed face, and as if sensing his intention, the pommel frog decides to awaken and goes sailing off Sandu and into Wei Wuxian’s hair. He loses seven strands when Jiang Cheng pulls the frog out, and he strokes the frog in respectful gratitude before handing it off for the day.
Jiang Cheng spends the day getting no work done in an attempt at avoiding absolutely everyone, but especially Nie Huaisang. Wei Wuxian tracks him down finally just before dinner, on the cliffs outside Lotus Pier where the younglings practice archery. He hands the frog back in a closed teapot. Jiang Cheng opens it and the frog croaks gratefully, and starts climbing Jiang Cheng’s body again. Wei Wuxian sighs. “I’ve done every test I can possibly think of. Most of them twice. Your frog is entirely free from evil or resentment. But it has an unfriendly temperament.”
Jiang Cheng only nods. “Will you be leaving tomorrow then?” He asks.
“And miss the lotus harvest just days away? I wouldn't dream of it!” Jiang Cheng exhales. “Lan Zhan and I can stay in town though, so as not to trouble you further.” Wei Wuxian murmurs, looking away.
“No.” He says firmly. “There is no need. You will stay in Lotus Pier.”
-
After dinner the four of them take tea together. “Does the mighty sword frog get a name? Or is it just Sandu still?” asks Wei Wuxian.
Jiang Cheng looks down at his pommelless sword resting on the border of the tea table. “The sword is still Sandu, the frog is a new entity.”
“Then are you naming it qīngwā?”
“I am not naming it Frog, Wei Wuxian! And I will not take any more suggestions from you. You are terrible at names!”
“I am the best at names! My names are honest and true! But you’re right. It should really be…” Wei Wuxian grins crookedly. “Làiháma.”
“Shut up! It is not a scabby toad! It is a loyal frog protector!” Then the silver frog does something Jiang Cheng should have come to expect by now. Every time he points his sword at someone, or clenches his fist, the frog does a running leap down his arm and leaps onto whatever he’s pointing at. Usually Wei Wuxian. And so the frog does it again. Landing with a smack on Wei Wuxian’s face, gripping the skin with it’s bulbous foot pads, and biting his protruding nose with it’s strong bony jaws. Wei Wuxian shrieks, flapping his arms about, blood welling up only slightly. Lan Wanji stoically and expertly removes the frog from his partner’s face as Wei Wuxian pouts and bemoans his injury. Lan Wanji drops the frog on the table where it scrambles back up Jiang Cheng’s arm and over his face to settle on the top of his head like an absurd hair ornament. Nie Huaisang loses his composure behind his fan, laughing at him, Jiang Cheng turns furiously pink.
“Ahh! Cheng-xiong!” Moans Wei Wuxian. “You do this on purpose to make me afraid of frogs!” It is not on purpose, even though it would be if he knew how to control it. The frog does what it wants. Wei Wuxian does not call him A-Cheng anymore, and Jiang Cheng wishes he wasn’t so aware of the fact. He turns back to refill the teapot, but the frog leaps off his head and into the pot.
“How do you put up with such a nuisance, Cheng-xiong?” Wei Wuxian gripes, wiping tea off the table with his sleeve. Lan Wangji hands him a napkin. I put up with you for all our lives. Jiang Cheng doesn’t say.
“He has had a lot of practice.” Smirks Nie Huaisang.
-
Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji eventually retire, before nine in the evening. It will never not be strange to watch his brother willingly live by the Lan Sect Principles, even if it’s only some of them. Stranger even than watching his brother live again, after so long. Jiang Cheng resolutely does not think about why they are retiring together a full hour before the Lan Sect schedule requires. Nie Huaisang stays behind with him though, leaning casually at the table, sipping his tea and fluttering his fan coquettishly in front of his face. The tea is sitting hot in Jiang Cheng’s stomach.
“What are you going to call it, if not Qīngwā?” He asks. And Jiang Cheng starts talking. He tells Huaisang everything. He talks about naming his sword. How it felt to lose it. Then regaining it. Losing his core and knowing he would never be able to wield Sandu again. Then regaining it. Having to kill during the sunshot campaign. All the hours he spent polishing Sandu and Suibian. The way he used to kiss the frog for good luck before a night hunt. And about the day it came alive, and everything he’s done for it since.
“Well.” Says Nie Huaisang once Jiang Cheng has talked himself hoarse. “Sounds like you’ve been through a lot together. That little frog has known you longer than I have, and I’m your oldest friend.” Jiang Cheng smiles, just a small one.
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“What about Lǎo Péngyǒu?”
“Oh.” Says Jiang Cheng. “Yes, I think that’s it.” He looks over at Nie Huaisang. “Would you do the honors? I have ink in my office, but your hands are more skilled than mine.” Huaisang smiles, nodding.
-
Nie Huaisang settles at Jiang Cheng’s desk and tickles the frog’s fat round stomach with the end of an inkbrush. It croaks at him and bites the handle. Nie Huaisang swats the frog playfully and licks the end of the inkbrush to ready it. Jiang Cheng’s stomach does a backflip, remembering using the brush earlier that day and resting the bristles on his tongue. Nie Huaisang gently holds the frog in place and paints three dainty characters on the frog’s round little belly. 老朋友. “There you go!” He beams, and holds out the frog to Jiang Cheng.
“It’s perfect.” He says. “You write so beautifully, everytime.” Jiang Cheng presses his hand to Nie Huaisang’s and the frog clambers over. He gives the frog a little pat. “How’s that, my Lǎo Péngyǒu?” He breathes, petting the frog gently. “Aren’t we old friends?” The frog blinks it’s huge blank bulbous eyes at him. He gives the frog a little kiss. Nie Huaisang dives down and kisses the frog right where Jiang Cheng just did, his lip brushes against Jiang Cheng’s thumb on the frog’s back. He grins at Jiang Cheng, who stares back, entirely unbreathing.
The frog draws in deep and croaks loudly. “Riiiiiib-bit.”
And then Nie Huaisang kisses him full on the mouth. And Jiang Cheng drops the frog to throw his arms around Nie Huaisang to kiss him back.