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fandomweekly2022-04-06 09:04 pm
curiosity) wrote in fandomweekly2022-04-06 09:04 pm
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[#12] Politics and Persuasion, Part 4 (MDZS)
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Theme Prompt: #12 - Bad Day
Title: Politics and Persuasion, Part 4
Fandom: MDZS
Rating/Warnings: T, but there's hecka angst // TW: Dead pregnant lady, injured and sick people.
Bonus: Nope.
Word Count: 1,000
Summary: The Burial Mounds are emptied of refugees. It isn't as happy-making as the Venerated Triad expected.
Wen Ning began gathering up papers and putting them in a qiankun pouch. Wen Qing, however, watched the Venerated Triad glare at each other.
“So,” she said, her voice a whipcrack. “That’s it? You steal our only defender and wander off to fight amongst yourselves? Leaving us vulnerable?”
“No,” Lan Xichen said, looking away from his sworn brothers. Sorrow sunk its hooks in his features, dragging the corners of his mouth, the tips of his eyelids, down. “You will come with us to Gusu. A village emptied in the war will be set aside for your use. I can only beg your forgiveness, Maiden Wen.”
“What good would that do?” She left the cave as soon as Wen Ning put the last papers into the pouch. “A Wen’s sentiment is less than nothing to the likes of such heroes as you.”
Jin Guangyao snatched up a bundle of arrows, neatly tied with twine. He met Nie Mingjue’s eyes with a firm gaze. “I will get to the bottom of this,” he said. “I swear it.”
“I suddenly find myself in sympathy with Yunmeng’s third-in-command,” the taller man rumbled as he left. “Xichen, this is on you for indulging him despite my protests.”
“Give him a chance, Da-ge,” Lan Xichen pleaded, reaching for Nie Mingjue’s sleeve as the older man stomped away.
“I return to Qinghe,” Nie Mingjue replied, avoiding his touch. “Write me with what you need to see these Wen-dogs settled. Qinghe will pay what we owe in recompense. To these wretched dogs and Yunmeng Jiang.”
Lan Xichen was left in the cave, watching Jin Guangyao examine the arrows.
“I did not send or provision them, Er-ge,” the small man said, touching the tip of his tongue to one arrowhead. He quickly turned his head, spitting to one side, his face twisted in disgust. “Though it seems these are truly Jin-made.”
“We will figure it out, A-Yao,” Lan Xichen replied wearily. “Come. We must organize these poor people and get them moving. Wangji will be enroute to Cloud Recesses already.”
“So much rebuilding,” Jin Guangyao murmured, putting the arrows in a pouch that he tucked up his sleeve. “Of villages and trust and resources. All to be done again because we missed a few steps the first time.”
They walked out of the cave to see Wen Qing addressing the remaining refugees. A small child, he was so very small, swung from the Ghost General’s outstretched arm and giggled loud enough to be heard by the keen-eared cultivators.
“None of this is right” Lan Xichen said, putting one hand over his heavy heart. “A-Yao, this never should have happened.”
“We can’t go back in time, Er-ge,” Jin Guangyao replied, eyes on that small child. “We can only move forward and do better.”
“Today we will go as far as Yiling itself,” Lan Xichen decided. He turned sad eyes to his small friend. “We’ll rent out an inn, get these people fed properly. Bathed, treated, dressed in something beyond rags. May I prevail upon you to send a butterfly message to my uncle?”
Jin Guangyao offered a reassuring smile. “Of course, Er-ge. I am forever at your disposal.”
Lan Xichen nodded, but his sad, weary expression did not change. “I have been so blind. So caught up in trying to reconcile the rift between you and Da-ge.”
“None of this is your fault, Er-ge,” Jin Guangyao protested. “I am at fault for a great many things, it’s true. My father is at fault for the rest of it. Him and his greed.”
“I am glad he is dead,” Lan Xichen whispered, his tone bleak. “Wrong though that is. Forgive me, A-Yao.”
“Er-ge, there is nothing to forgive,” Jin Guangyao replied. “Come, let us make ourselves useful before the Maiden Wen leaves us behind.”
The comment did not make Lan Xichen smile, as he’d hoped. At this point, he didn’t think anything would. He led the way to Wen Qing, who was helping an old man with one leg load a truly ancient woman into a rickety cart.
“We ain’t got a mule,” the man was saying. “Had to eat it early on. Who will pull the cart.”
“I will,” Lan Xichen said, stepping forward. He smiled and bowed. “If that suits?”
“It isn’t like I can stop you,” Wen Qing snapped, turning away. “Uncle Four, tell the others. We leave in fifteen minutes.” Then she stomped off into one of the little huts.
“Don’t mind her,” the old man said, smiling kindly at the two cultivators. “She’s having a bad day, is all. Her cousin was pregnant, you see. But we couldn’t get enough food to keep her healthy. She and the babe died four days ago.”
The old man pointed with a gnarled finger, to a copse of trees well beyond the fields. “Buried over that way. Wasn’t anything we could do without supplies.”
“Four days,” Lan Xichen whispered. He turned haunted eyes to Jin Guangyao. “If we had come four days earlier. A week. Last month!”
“Er-ge stop,” Jin Guangyao said firmly, though he too, cringed at the thought of what might have been, had they acted sooner. “Take a breath. We are here now. We will do better. Breathe.”
“Huh,” Uncle Four said, scratching his head in chagrin as he moved away. “I didn’t think it would bother you that much. I thought you’d be pleased there won’t be a new Wen any time soon, with how hard you’ve been trying to kill us.”
Lan Xichen began to cry.
When time was up, the remaining refugees waited in a line behind the cart. Some carried ragged bundles. Some helped carry the more maimed of their numbers. Wen Qing appeared with red eyes and tear tracks on her dusty face, her brother was a silent shadow at her side.
It was a slow procession out of the Burial Mounds. Perhaps it should have been joyful. Fulfilling. But all Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen felt was despair. And grief.
Theme Prompt: #12 - Bad Day
Title: Politics and Persuasion, Part 4
Fandom: MDZS
Rating/Warnings: T, but there's hecka angst // TW: Dead pregnant lady, injured and sick people.
Bonus: Nope.
Word Count: 1,000
Summary: The Burial Mounds are emptied of refugees. It isn't as happy-making as the Venerated Triad expected.
Wen Ning began gathering up papers and putting them in a qiankun pouch. Wen Qing, however, watched the Venerated Triad glare at each other.
“So,” she said, her voice a whipcrack. “That’s it? You steal our only defender and wander off to fight amongst yourselves? Leaving us vulnerable?”
“No,” Lan Xichen said, looking away from his sworn brothers. Sorrow sunk its hooks in his features, dragging the corners of his mouth, the tips of his eyelids, down. “You will come with us to Gusu. A village emptied in the war will be set aside for your use. I can only beg your forgiveness, Maiden Wen.”
“What good would that do?” She left the cave as soon as Wen Ning put the last papers into the pouch. “A Wen’s sentiment is less than nothing to the likes of such heroes as you.”
Jin Guangyao snatched up a bundle of arrows, neatly tied with twine. He met Nie Mingjue’s eyes with a firm gaze. “I will get to the bottom of this,” he said. “I swear it.”
“I suddenly find myself in sympathy with Yunmeng’s third-in-command,” the taller man rumbled as he left. “Xichen, this is on you for indulging him despite my protests.”
“Give him a chance, Da-ge,” Lan Xichen pleaded, reaching for Nie Mingjue’s sleeve as the older man stomped away.
“I return to Qinghe,” Nie Mingjue replied, avoiding his touch. “Write me with what you need to see these Wen-dogs settled. Qinghe will pay what we owe in recompense. To these wretched dogs and Yunmeng Jiang.”
Lan Xichen was left in the cave, watching Jin Guangyao examine the arrows.
“I did not send or provision them, Er-ge,” the small man said, touching the tip of his tongue to one arrowhead. He quickly turned his head, spitting to one side, his face twisted in disgust. “Though it seems these are truly Jin-made.”
“We will figure it out, A-Yao,” Lan Xichen replied wearily. “Come. We must organize these poor people and get them moving. Wangji will be enroute to Cloud Recesses already.”
“So much rebuilding,” Jin Guangyao murmured, putting the arrows in a pouch that he tucked up his sleeve. “Of villages and trust and resources. All to be done again because we missed a few steps the first time.”
They walked out of the cave to see Wen Qing addressing the remaining refugees. A small child, he was so very small, swung from the Ghost General’s outstretched arm and giggled loud enough to be heard by the keen-eared cultivators.
“None of this is right” Lan Xichen said, putting one hand over his heavy heart. “A-Yao, this never should have happened.”
“We can’t go back in time, Er-ge,” Jin Guangyao replied, eyes on that small child. “We can only move forward and do better.”
“Today we will go as far as Yiling itself,” Lan Xichen decided. He turned sad eyes to his small friend. “We’ll rent out an inn, get these people fed properly. Bathed, treated, dressed in something beyond rags. May I prevail upon you to send a butterfly message to my uncle?”
Jin Guangyao offered a reassuring smile. “Of course, Er-ge. I am forever at your disposal.”
Lan Xichen nodded, but his sad, weary expression did not change. “I have been so blind. So caught up in trying to reconcile the rift between you and Da-ge.”
“None of this is your fault, Er-ge,” Jin Guangyao protested. “I am at fault for a great many things, it’s true. My father is at fault for the rest of it. Him and his greed.”
“I am glad he is dead,” Lan Xichen whispered, his tone bleak. “Wrong though that is. Forgive me, A-Yao.”
“Er-ge, there is nothing to forgive,” Jin Guangyao replied. “Come, let us make ourselves useful before the Maiden Wen leaves us behind.”
The comment did not make Lan Xichen smile, as he’d hoped. At this point, he didn’t think anything would. He led the way to Wen Qing, who was helping an old man with one leg load a truly ancient woman into a rickety cart.
“We ain’t got a mule,” the man was saying. “Had to eat it early on. Who will pull the cart.”
“I will,” Lan Xichen said, stepping forward. He smiled and bowed. “If that suits?”
“It isn’t like I can stop you,” Wen Qing snapped, turning away. “Uncle Four, tell the others. We leave in fifteen minutes.” Then she stomped off into one of the little huts.
“Don’t mind her,” the old man said, smiling kindly at the two cultivators. “She’s having a bad day, is all. Her cousin was pregnant, you see. But we couldn’t get enough food to keep her healthy. She and the babe died four days ago.”
The old man pointed with a gnarled finger, to a copse of trees well beyond the fields. “Buried over that way. Wasn’t anything we could do without supplies.”
“Four days,” Lan Xichen whispered. He turned haunted eyes to Jin Guangyao. “If we had come four days earlier. A week. Last month!”
“Er-ge stop,” Jin Guangyao said firmly, though he too, cringed at the thought of what might have been, had they acted sooner. “Take a breath. We are here now. We will do better. Breathe.”
“Huh,” Uncle Four said, scratching his head in chagrin as he moved away. “I didn’t think it would bother you that much. I thought you’d be pleased there won’t be a new Wen any time soon, with how hard you’ve been trying to kill us.”
Lan Xichen began to cry.
When time was up, the remaining refugees waited in a line behind the cart. Some carried ragged bundles. Some helped carry the more maimed of their numbers. Wen Qing appeared with red eyes and tear tracks on her dusty face, her brother was a silent shadow at her side.
It was a slow procession out of the Burial Mounds. Perhaps it should have been joyful. Fulfilling. But all Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen felt was despair. And grief.