#btsf

“Here, let me.” Jiang Cheng took the tail end of the whip from Wen Qing, and the weapon, recognizing its master, quietly slithered back around his wrist. His other hand fell on the hilt of Sandu and from its sheath, dark smoke rose up in ghostly tendrils. The re-forged sword, an amalgamation of his old Sandu and the Yin blade from the Xuanwu cave, was a thing to be feared. “Quite an interesting morning you’ve all had. I’m sure an even more interesting day awaits you once your mother decides on your punishment.”

He felt Qishan Wen’s disciples growing tense, weary of him and his powers still. Even his five sons straightened up unconsciously. Everyone had cottoned on to the fact that Sandu Shengshou was cross. All, except his youngest and only daughter, who either could not tell or simply refused to be cowed (probably the latter). Facing her Father and Mother’s displeasure, Wen Ran merely pouted and looked up to her oldest brother for help.

Wen Shuo was no match for those watery puppy dog eyes (apparently, she learned it from their cousin Lan Sizhui. A-Shuo always knew that good rice-ball shtick was just an act. Nobody could be best friends with chaotic gremlin Lan Jingyi and still be that much of a goody two-shoes). 

“Da’ge …” Those rose-petal like lips quivered.

Wen Shuo caved. He stepped forward, hands clasped in an deep bow. 

“Mother, Fa – uhm, Shengshou,” Wen Shuo corrected himself, seeing that they were out in the open. Technically speak, the disciples of Qishan Wen “didn’t know” who had sired their Sect Master’s children, but after seventeen years, this was hardly a secret anymore. Even the oldest alchemist in their apothecary who was ninety-seven years old and 70% deaf and blind knew what Sect Master Wen and Sandu Shengshou got up to behind closed doors. Still, it was cultivation conference season. Some plausible deniability still had to be maintained.

“Apologies, Shengshou for my little sister’s behaviour. I am the oldest. It is my responsibility to supervise my brothers and sister, a duty which I have failed to do. What’s more, I have participated in encouraging their misbehaviour. If punishment must be dealt, I shall bear the full extent of it.”

Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng exchanged a knowing look. Wen Shuo really was the most dependable, responsible child out of them six. Jiang Cheng knew that Wen Qing didn’t like to admit that she has a favourite, but if she did, it would be her firstborn.

And perhaps because of this, she expected so much more from him. 

“A-Shou, you’re the oldest. Is this how you role-model for meimei and didi-men?” Wen Qing scolded. “xiao-Ran is six and knows not right from wrong, but no such excuse can be made for you.”

Wen Qing never yelled, but anyone who knew her could tell, she was really mad. “Right now Qishan Wen is hosting cultivators from across the land. Gentry and rogues alike are here within our walls and under our roof. You are all hosts and represents not just yourselves but our entire clan. Just then, Wen Ran nearly took out Sect Master Yao’s eyes with Modian if I hadn’t stopped her. It goes without saying that I expected more from all of you.”

Wen Shuo got on his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground. “Mother is right to reprimand me. I accept my punishment.” 

Their brother’s willigness to always take heat for their shenanigans had saved them from many close calls growing up, but Wen Jin and Wen Di were not about to let Wen Shuo go down for something of this magnitude. Stealing modian and using it to play marco polo was not Da’ge’s idea at all. Technically speaking it was Wen Ran’s initiative, Wen Di’s idea, Wen Jin’s persuasion, flamed to life by Wen Heng and Wen Lu’s combined chaotic energy. 

Wen Jin stepped forward and knelt down beside Wen Shuo, followed swiftly by Wen Di. “Mother, Shengshou. This is not Da’ge’s fault at all. It’s ours. Meimei was feeling lonely and left out when she saw all of us cultivating. We wanted it to be fun for her so we devised the game. Da’ge tried to rein us in, but Mother you know us - five against one, Da’ge only stayed to supervise! This is the truth, Mother!” 

Wen Heng and Wen Lu shuffled up to the older boys, quietly sunk down to their knees as well, and mumbled, “It’s not Da’ge’s fault.” 

Chastised, the boys hung their heads and fell silent. 

Wen Ran pursed her lips at her brothers - absolutely useless in her eyes now. She’ll just have to save the lot of them. With practiced ease, she latched onto Jiang Cheng’s leg and whimpered masterfully, “爹爹，阿娘又凶哥哥们! ” (Daddy, Mama is being mean to brothers again.)

And there she goes, carelessly erasing any trace of plausible deniability of her parentage. Good thing only Wen disciples were around. They had long mastered the art of pretending to not exist.

Jiang Cheng would love to brag that he was the disciplinary figure between himself and Wen Qing, but anybody who even knew them remotely knew that this was not the least bit true. His children and especially Wen Ran shamelessly and mercilessly took advantage of this fact. 

True to form, Jiang Cheng sighed and bent down to pick up his little girl. “Alright, alright, Ran’er, diedie is not mad anymore. It’s not a big deal,” he said to Wen Qing. “The children just wanted to play.”

Wen Ran pressed her little face into her father’s neck and stole a playfully shy glance at her mother. “A-niang, don’t be mad anymore. Ran’er knows what she’d done wrong.”

Wen Qing knew she was being manipulated, oh but what the hell. The gods only blessed her with one daughter. Sighing, she stepped forward and helped Wen Shuo to his feet. “A-Shuo, you are my firstborn, my heir. I know you’re very diligent with your studies and very good to your brothers and little sister. I am proud of you, and for that I will be hard on you; do you blame a-niang?” 

Wen Shuo blushed. “No Mother...a’niang. I...A-Shuo understands.” 

Wen Qing smoothed wrinkles from her son’s shoulders and smiled. “You’ll be in attendance today at the conference, as our clan’s Wen-da-gongzi. Go on, freshen up. I’ll see you soon.” 

Wen Shuo nodded, smiling. 

Wen Qing then turned to four matching shit-eating grins from the other rascals waiting to be pardoned as well. “A-Jin, you will report to your jiujiu in the apothecary. Clearly, if you have time playing marco polo with your sister, I’m not assigning you enough duties.” 

“But a-niang ~” 

“And you three, being knocked off your swords like that by you little sister who is six and can’t even fly. Aren’t you the least bit embarrassed. Report to your da’shixiong for sword practice. I will be coming to inspect you at the end of the week.” 

“A-niaannng~~~”  

 “Go on.” 

“A-diee~~~”

“Listen to your A-niang.” 

Wen Di, Wen Lu and Wen Heng groaned and admitted defeat. Their sister Ran’er shot them an innocent smile as they slinkered off to practice. The little devil... 

They watched her reach for Wen Qing from Jiang Cheng’s hold and make grabby little motions with her hands. Aw shit, her killer move. “阿娘抱抱.” (Mama hug hug).  

The three younger Wen boys rolled their eyes. So much for bringing xiao-Ran to heel. Mother has clearly admitted defeat this one time. It may or may not have to do with the fact that Wen Ran was absolutely fearless with Modian. Even blind folded she had knocked Wen Di - five years her senior - off his sword, a feat none of them could claim they could do at her age. 

Better get to practice then...can’t let a six year old beat them again... 

“Ran’er, look at me.” Wen Qing jostled the child a little. “Do you know what you did wrong, today?” 

“Yes...” 

“Which is?” 

“I shouldn’t have stolen a-die’s weapon and played with it carelessly.” 

“And do you promise not to do it again?” 

“Hm...” 

“Wen Zhuoyang.” 

“I promise, a’niang.” 

“Good. Now,” Wen Qing pressed kisses against Ran’er’s left ear, eliciting a string of giggles as the child shied away from the tickle. “Did you really knock your brothers off their swords?”

“I did!”

“That’s my girl.”

--

What could be so important? Wondered Sect Leader Yao as he continued on his stroll. Soon, he crossed a pavilion and entered into a quaint private garden, where he found the Sect Master of Qishan Wen, Wen Qing, playing a round of weiqi with her long time friend and sworn sister, Jiang Yanli. Standing by her mother’s side was Jiang Yanli’s daughter and heiress, Jiang Rao (zi: Rudan), fifteen years old and unapologetically the number one cultivator of her generation. Her older brother Jin Ling was nowhere to be seen, quite possibly sleeping in.

Jiang Rao noticed Yao Sheng first, and quietly signaled for her mother’s attention, 

“A-niang.”

“Hm?” Jiang Yanli looked up from the weiqi board, a black piece suspended between two slim fingers. “Oh Yao-zongzhu, good morning.”  

“Wen-zongzhu, Jiang-zongzhu.” Yao Sheng greeted and approached the table.

Wen Qing, splendid in crimson and black, with accessories of obsidian and coral dangling in her hair, turned to face him with a quizzical raise of her brow. Yao Sheng swallowed down a sudden bout of nerves. It’s been nearly seventeen years, yet she still made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The hands which were adnorned with rings and hujias had once tortured hundreds of cultivators at Wen Ruohan’s behest. Though it was later proven that Wen Qing had in fact saved and released those captured Sunshot soldiers, her name remained feared. Yao Sheng, for one, never entirely believed in Wen Qing’s innocence...

...especially given her staunch support of Jiang Wanyin and his practice of the demonic arts.

“Yao-zongzhu, fine morning, isn’t it?”

“Yes, fine indeed, though not for your disciples it seems.”

At that, Wen Qing blinked in surprise. “Oh?”

“Apparently something of value was misplaced, and all of Nevernight is out searching.” Prone to exaggerations, Yao fell easily to old ways. “Have you no knowledge of it?”

Wen Qing exchanged an unreadable look with Jiang Yanli and gestured over her shoulder at the small entourage of disciples attending to her, one of whom was the chief of senior Wen disciples. “Tianchi, approach.”

Wen Tianchi leaned forward at a respectful angle and whispered into her ear, “Sandu Shengshou reported that his Modian went missing this morning. I’ve dispatched disciples to search for it. He said there was no need to trouble you, zongzhu.”

Across the table, Jiang Yanli gave an amused chortle. “Oh A-Cheng, what can we say? He’s hardly a boy anymore and yet still can’t keep an eye on his spiritual weapon. Fortunately Modian is the loyal and obedient sort. Others cannot wield it without permission.” To Yao Sheng, she placated. “Worry not Yao-zongzhu, there’s nothing to fret about.”

But Yao Sheng was not amused. Modian - once known as Zidian - was a first class demonic weapon. How could Jiang Yanli be so blaze about it going missing??!! Wen Qing too seemed entirely unbothered. Perhaps she was the one who stole it...

Sighing, Wen Qing mumbled something under her breath, something about 要命的丫头 (Note: girl who’ll be the death of me).

“Has anyone spoken with liu-yatou this morning?” Asked Wen Qing, referring to her youngest and only daughter. After nearly a decade of only producing sons with a man (men? honestly nobody was really sure, it’s just one those mysteries of the pugilist world) whose identity remained unknown, Wen Qing had finally birthed a girl, much to the delight of all of Qishan Wen. Celebrations at Nevernight City had lasted almost a week.

“No one has seen liu-guniang since last night,” replied Wen Tianchi. (Note = liu = six)

“And her brothers?”

“Nor any of the gongzis either.”

Jiang Yanli laughed. Yao Sheng was extremely confused.

Wen Qing did not appreciate her friend reaping joy from her plight, especially since she was sure that the hooligan-ism which all her of children seemed to have inherited came from the Jiang side of the family.

“Well Jiang-jiejie,” Wen Qing stood up. “This game will just have to wait. Rao-’er, come sit here in my seat and make sure your a-niang doesn’t cheat me out of my pieces.” 

“Yes jium- Yes Wen-zongzhu.”

Wen Qing patted the child fondly on the cheek and made off to find the missing Modian. Her small entourage of disciples followed suit, and Yao Sheng, because he had literally nothing else better to do, did the same.

Unlike the disciples from earlier, Wen Qing seemed to know exactly where she was going. After making many twists and turns through Nevernight’s pavilions, verandas and gardens, they came upon a secluded courtyard where distinct loud crackling could be heard echoing in the distance, Yao Sheng would’ve mistaken them for lightning and thunder were it not for the brightly sunny day.

Over the garden walls, Yao Sheng saw Wen Qing’s sixteen-year-old son and heir Wen Shuo (zi: Zhuozhen) laughing as he floated in midair upon his sword. His second brother Wen Jin (zi: Zhuojie) hovered beside him on a sword of his own and appeared to be goading someone from below, “Again! Again!”

A thunderous crack split the air as the tail end of a glowing red whip shot into the sky. Wen Shuo and Wen Jin dodged easily, but their eleven year old brother Wen Di (zi: Zhuoyan) did not share their agility. The poor dear panicked as Modian coiled around his sword, jerking it hazardously this way and that half a dozen times. Wen Di barely held on for a minute before tumbling from his spiritual weapon, arms flailing, and landing on the roof, directly on top of his nine-year-old brother Wen Heng (zi: Zhuoyun). Across the courtyard on a tall birch tree, Wen Heng’s twin Wen Lu (zi: Zhuozhao) guffawed. 

“Shut up you a-hole, she got you too!” Hollered Wen Heng from underneath Wen Di.

“Yeah I know, dumbass, why do you think I’m on this tree?” 

Jaws dropping, Yao Sheng dared to sneak a look at Wen Qing. The expression he saw made him wince, and he half wondered how many of Sect Master Wen’s children was going to get a good whooping today.

A more sensible individual would have excused himself then, but Yao Sheng was a busybody through and through. Wordless and listless with curiosity, he trailed behind Wen Qing as she made her way into the secluded courtyard...

...he just didn’t expect a first-class demonic weapon would come sailing towards his head, a hairbreadth away from taking off the skin on his face.

Cross-eyed, Yao Sheng stumbled back. He had seen Modian back in its original form, when Yu Ziyuan wielded it in her youth. It had been purple then - like its namesake implied - but now it glowed an ominous red, with wisps of dark smoke coiling along its length. At the other end of the whip, holding its leash was a little girl, no more than six years old, dressed very prettily in a pale red dress with little lotus flowers the shade of sunset embroidered along the hem. 

The little girl gave Modian a little tuck, but when she could not recall the weapon back into her palm, she stomped one tiny feet and yanked the black blindfold from her eyes. 

“How dar - dare...”

The child stuttered when she saw who was standing there.

“M-Mother!” A chorus of guilt-ridden voices cried out. One after another, the boys on swords, roofs and trees swiftly found solid land, crowding around their little sister like a murder of crows.

“都闹够了吗?” Wen Qing asked her children, the tail end of Modian caught in one hand. (Note: 都闹够了吗  = have you all been a disturbance enough?) 

Yao Sheng did not know many who could achieve such a feat. Modian was a most stubborn weapon; it did not yield easily. Feeling suddenly more uneasy than usual, he took a cautious step back.

A wise move, for it seemed that leaving would be a very good idea. Wen Qing turned to him and the ice in her eyes made it perfectly clear that he had overstayed his welcome. “Yao-zongzhu, I’d invite you to stay and watch me beat my misbehaving children, but I’m afraid that would be awkward for you.”

“Uhh...” Yao Sheng cleared his throat and bowed. “Would you look at the time, Wen-zongzhu. The conference would be starting soon. I will take my leave. Don’t ... don’t be too harsh on the children - they’re -”

“Yao-zongzhu, how Sect Master Wen disciplines her children is hardly your business.”  A commanding voice interrupted out of nowhere.

Yao Sheng flushed as Sandu Shengshou, Jiang Wanyin, the grandmaster of demonic arts, sauntered into view. 

“Still here? What are you waiting for? A palanquin to come and pick you up?” Jiang Wanyin always had a poor temper, and his method of cultivation certainly didn’t do anything to help. How he managed to not lose control, qi deviate and die after all these years of continuous practice, Yao Sheng would never know.  

And honestly, he didn’t want to know. Yao Sheng, for once in his life, took a hint and fucked off without another word. Before rounding the corner, he cast one last fleeting glance over his shoulder at Wen Qing’s strangely large family, just in time to catch the littlest Wen child dash into Jiang Wanyin’s arms.

As the girl clung to Jiang Wanyin’s legs, Yao Sheng could’ve sworn he heard her sweet songbird voice calling him diedie.