Fix You

chapter 1

“The Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian, is dead–”

       ”paid for his crimes in blood, and we are finally safe from his tyranny–”

        “But that raises another question. Are we truly safe from corrupt cultivators such as–”

        “There will be clouds with a chance of–”

        Jiang Cheng turned off the television, unceremoniously dropping the remote between the recliner and the side table. “Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath, all while fishing for the missing remote. Enough was enough. He was all they ever talked about anymore. Anytime he turned on the tv. Anytime he walked down the street. At work. In texts from friends and family. Jiang Cheng knew. He already knew. So why?

        Endless bottles of emperor's smile littered the floor of Jiang Cheng’s living room. Shijie would know what to say. Shijie was still in the hospital–in a coma because of Wei Wuxian. The very same Wei Wuxian who swore to be his right hand man. The same Wei Ying that ran through the streets with him. The same Wei Ying that stole lotus pods with him in the summer, ate watermelon with him, and grew up with him. 

        It was just him, Wei Ying, and Shijie.

        Only Wei Ying was dead and nobody knew if Shijie would ever wake up again. A visit was long overdue, but nothing could motivate him to see the state she was left in. The only remnants left behind of their sad… pathetic little family. And it's all your fault, Wei Wuxian. 

        bzzt-bzzt. bzzt-bzzt.

        

        His phone fell from the table, likely too close to the edge due to his negligence. At least, that's what his mother would have told him if she were still alive. It was an unknown number, so it could be a scam call… or it could be related to business.

        “I am so not drunk enough for this shit,” or he was too hungover, “Hello.” If the irritation was a little too obvious… good. Who in their right mind calls someone on their vacation at–he glanced at his discarded watch on the side table, 3am?

        “Is this Jiang Wanyin, ” a soft, inquisitive voice answered. If only to confirm his worst fears, the voice added “this is Lan Xichen, I was worried you wouldn't answer. Look, about the incident–”

        “Who gave you my phone number?” Jiang Cheng winced. He hasn't spoken in how many days now? Aside from yelling at the TV and ordering himself takeout. “I don't answer business calls from my personal number–”

        “This isn't about business. It's about our brothers.” Of course it's about him. Even in his death, he's all anyone wants to talk about.

        “Save it. I don't really care–”

        “Are you… alright?” Now that question caught him off guard. “I know you two struggled. Being close to someone who resorts to such things can be… difficult. I'm sure you didn't want this.” What was he talking about? “So if you ever need to talk…”

        Who gave this prick his number? Forget that. Better yet, who gave this prick the audacity? Now that's a better question.

        “I don't mean to pry, but I can hear you gnashing your teeth on the other end of the line.” Jiang Cheng spared a moment to roll his eyes. Here we go again. Yet another tirade against his supposedly horrible temper. 

        “Did I say something to upset you?” That question caught him off guard. One, because anyone with two brain cells to rub together would know that what he said was really fucking annoying on a good day. It wasn't a good day. Two, nobody ever gave a fuck about Jiang Cheng's mood or they influenced it. As if they could influence him.