emotionally horny gremlin

“It’s nobody’s fault but your own,” Mianmian said mercilessly, when Jin Zixuan asked for her advice on the day before they departed for the Nightless City. “No one asked you to treat her coldly when we were children, or insult her at the Cloud Recesses. No one forced you to reject her cooking, either. You’re reaping your own rewards, gongzi, and you won’t get any sympathy from me.”

“I know I don’t deserve your sympathy. I don’t deserve Jiang-guniang’s love, either,” Jin Zixuan pleaded. “But surely—surely I could apologize to her? Her feelings must still be wounded, and I haven’t done anything about it.”

“The time to make apologies was months ago,” she snapped. “Frankly, I don’t see how marrying you could make Jiang-guniang happy now. Let it go.”

So Jin Zixuan let it go, knowing that the bitterness of losing Jiang Yanli was nothing compared to all that she had endured at his hands. But then, a bare twenty-four hours after Wen Ruohan was finally slain, he meets her in the compound of the Sun Palace reserved for recovering cultivators, and stops dead in his tracks; for she has Wei Wuxian’s child in her arms, and the baby had seized one of the gold peony chains dangling from Jin Zixuan’s guan as he passed by.

“Oh!” Jiang Yanli exclaims. “Pardon me, Jin-gongzi. Yuanyuan, let go of his hair.”

The baby—Yuanyuan, Jiang-guniang said—does not let go. Instead, he winds his tiny fists around the end of the chain and pulls it towards his mouth.

“Bu!” he shrieks, when Jin Zixuan tries to free himself. Unnerved, Zixuan drops his hand and edges a little closer; he hates listening to babies’ cries, and this baby’s crying kept their regiment from sleep on so many nights that most of the Jin cultivators refuse to go anywhere near him.

Jiang-guniang reaches up and pries Yuanyuan’s left hand open. But the minute she reaches for the right one, the left hand clamps back down on Jin Zixuan’s hair.

“I’ll just give it to him. I’ve got others,” Jin Zixuan squeaks, his face burning. “It won’t take long, Lady Jiang.”

He detaches the guan and its six gold chains from his bun, letting his long dark hair fall free, and then he puts it back up with a spare hairpin and gives his guan to the baby.

“Here,” he says, and then, when she opens her mouth to thank him:

“It was no trouble,” Zixuan blurts out. “It’s just a guan, and he’s only a baby.”

Jiang Yanli gives him a kind smile and steps past him, heading towards the house where Wei Wuxian is convalescing.

But Wei Yuan, apparently unsatisfied with the peony chains now that they were his and not Zixuan’s, wriggles up and hangs the guan over Jiang Yanli’s ear.

“Pitty,” he coos, rubbing his tiny cheek against hers.

In that very moment, the sun emerges from behind a veil of rosy clouds; and when it falls upon Jiang Yanli, the light strikes the golden peony blossoms in her hair, and fills her big eyes with a gentle fire that nearly brings Jin Zixuan to his knees.

“Mianmian,” he gasps, after he staggers back to the Jins’ guest compound and collapses on the floor by his bed. “Mianmian, I need help. I love Jiang-guniang, I do—even if her affections for me have faded. I won’t press her—I could never press her, even if I had not disrespected her so in the past. But if I have the slightest, slimmest chance, then maybe—”

Mianmian looks supremely unimpressed.

“Get up,” she sighs, a little while later. “Very well, I’ll help you.”

Jin Zixuan bolts upright. “Then you think she might accept me?”

“Why do you think I told you to stay away from her?” scolds Mianmian. “If she’d learned her lesson after that business with the soup, I wouldn’t have bothered. I warned you off for her sake, Zixuan, because Jiang-guniang still loves you.”