"Jiùjiu!! Look, there's a huǒguō!" Jīn Líng exclaims as they enter the inn to have their meal.
At the threshold, Jiāng Chéng freezes for a moment at the sight that greets him. Niè Huáisāng, eating. Couldn't he stay in his palace!? Irritated, mostly with himself but also with Huáisāng, who is just as guilty as he is, Jiāng Chéng doesn't greet him and goes to sit with Jīn Líng at a distant table near the window. No longer in the mood to play the grumpy uncle, he orders whatever his nephew wants for the hotpot. Once seated, he glances briefly at Niè Huáisāng but pride makes him immediately turn his head away. Doesn't matter. He can't take care of others. Everyone has their own problems. Life has taught him that.
"Don't order so much meat, you won't eat it all! Get some vegetables. And that. And that too. And add that," Jiāng Chéng mutters to his overly enthusiastic nephew.
The ensuing debate over the balance of a meal distracts Jiāng Chéng for a few moments, and he finally wins, filling his nephew's plate with black radishes, potatoes, leeks, cabbage, and carrots. Offended, Jīn Líng crosses his arms over his chest and sticks his tongue out at his uncle.
"Rolling over beasts will be all I'm left with, since you won't lend me Zidian anyway! And besides, I'm already very tall for my age, you're the one who's short!!"
"Tch! You're still just a little fly. And Zidian isn't lent; it's earned. In time, it will be yours. You have a bow, your sword, nets. Make good use of them."
"Ahhh, so it will be my inheritance! Gotcha!"
A victorious smile appears on his lips as he starts eating. Jiāng Chéng shakes his head and watches him for a few seconds, his heart swelling with a strange pride. It's a loud laugh that breaks the moment, and Jiāng Chéng turns his head toward... Mò Xuányǔ and Lán Wàngjī.
"What an idiot," Jīn Líng mutters, echoing Jiāng Chéng's thoughts, whose fists are already clenched on the table. How dare they show up at this inn so shamelessly?
Suddenly, an exclamation breaks through the chatter, imposing an awkward silence over the inn as wails and sobs rise from Niè Huáisāng's table. Jiāng Chéng immediately turns his head in that direction, his eyebrows furrowed with an uncommon concern. Apparently, the dish was too spicy. Jiāng Chéng clenches his teeth, his lips thinning to the point of becoming almost invisible. Having grown up with Wèi Wúxiàn, he knows when someone is putting on an act — but are these tears fake? Why is he crying in the middle of the inn, in the middle of a meal? He doubts it's about the spiciness, yet he can't move as the waitress grows more concerned, alerting the other patrons.
Finally, it's the cold, elegant figure of Lán Wàngjī who breaks the charade. The bottle of milk placed on the corner of Niè Huáisāng's table soothes the sobs, quells the rumors. Lán Wàngjī, for his part, returns to sit opposite Mò Xuányǔ to pour him some liquor. As Jiāng Chéng observes the powdered, pale face of the one he has suspected for weeks, he can't help but feel morose. With cynicism, his eyes flashing in the direction of this improbable duo, he mutters to his nephew:
"You see, Jīn Líng, when you drink too much, you act like the biggest fool. Some laugh loudly for no reason, others stop paying attention to what they're eating."
A bitter remark that, he realizes too late, was deliberately mean. He bites his tongue, but the words are already spoken. So he holds Lán Wàngjī's gaze, refusing to accidentally meet Niè Huáisāng's face.
After those words, a heavy silence falls over the inn, and for a few seconds, no one dares move. It's Niè Huáisāng who finally breaks it, with an odd calm, almost imposing, as he walks over to Jiāng Chéng and Jīn Líng's table. The Jiāng Clan leader is forced to meet the gaze of the one most affected, cloaked in pride. He waits for the blow that never comes. Instead, a jar of alcohol is placed between the dishes and plates, and words filled with distant sorrow that nothing could ever fill, an invitation that rings hollow. That hurts. A bitter reproach. A dissonant echo of an extinguished past.
"You should drink too, Jiāng-Xiong. After all, it's always been our tradition when coming here. And you came."
It's true. Jiāng Chéng had almost forgotten this inn and the laughter that now wounds, scraping at the heart and ears. Wèi Wúxiàn's endless chatter, Niè Huáisāng's glances over his fan and sly smiles, Jiāng Chéng's furrowed brows but his willingness to follow them everywhere, to make the same mistakes with a youthful carelessness. But today, nothing is the same. Nothing ever will be, and hasn't been for a long time.
Niè Huáisāng finally returns to his seat, turns away from him, thanks Hánguāng-jūn with politeness, a smile in his voice. Faced with all this, Jiāng Chéng keeps his head high. Why, after all, should he offer any apology? Niè Huáisāng and he haven't seen each other in years, haven't kept in touch. Jiāng Chéng doesn't need anyone's support: he's proven that. So, with defiance, he stands up and, in a cold and blank tone, solemnly declares:
"The Jiāng Clan has always been grateful to the Niè Clan for supporting the fall of the sun and for sheltering the other clans in that war bastion. In honor of that time, I thank you, Niè-Zōngzhǔ, and in memory of that time, I will remain courteous. But the rest is none of your concern."
With a near-graceful motion of his hanfu, Jiāng Chéng turns away from the nearby tables and commands:
"Jīn Líng, come. You're done eating."
Without waiting for him, Jiāng Chéng exits the inn, his head held high. He had wanted to shout in Niè Huáisāng's face. To ask him why he hadn't come to see him back then if their friendship mattered so much to him. Why had he stayed silent when his parents died, except for a distant sympathy? Why stay silent when Yanli died? Why not come to Lotus Pier? Because there was no Wèi Wúxiàn to welcome him and have fun with? Why? Why, Niè Huáisāng? Because you're worth nothing, Jiāng Chéng. You've always been less loved than Wèi Wúxiàn, less appreciated, and you're doomed to be so your whole life. You're not honorable, far less than Liǎnfāng-zūn and Zéwú-jūn. Who would choose you over them to mourn a brother? Him, who knows the pain of loss and the burden, the weight of solitude within his own clan?
Suddenly, two arms wrap around him and a head rests against his back, near his shoulders. This time, it's not Jīn Líng, who is smaller, but Niè Huáisāng, who rushed after him and now seems unwilling to let him go. The hands tremble, the words are scattered but pierce Jiāng Chéng's heart.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry, I'm sorry Jiāng-Xiong. For everything."
His anger deflates as Huáisāng's hands grip his with desperate strength, and they stand there for a moment, trembling together, without saying a word. Jiāng Chéng looks up at the sky and feels tears rolling down his cheeks. Tears he had refused to let fall for years, keeping them locked in his heart as he refused to dwell on the past, on the losses, on those who would never return. Because he had to keep moving forward. For his clan.
"I'm really sorry... I..." Niè Huáisāng continues in a whisper.
Jiāng Chéng realizes then that there's still someone waiting for him. A friend who doesn't want to abandon him, who won't abandon him despite all the silences and the hurtful words spoken in the grip of unspeakable pain. Someone to learn to turn to. Someone who may not leave. So, Jiāng Chéng squeezes back those hands that hold his, and the sobs calm, soothing.
"I don't care how many times you reject me. I'll wait as long as it takes, even if it means waiting another ten years. Things won't always be like this, that's a promise. So, I'll wait."
At those words, echoing his thoughts, he squeezes those hands a little tighter, offering a silent response. A I will come. Let me come back to you. Then, after a few seconds, he gently releases his grip on his friend and turns to him for a moment, offering a glance almost warm, a glimmer of hope.
Wait for me.
YOU ARE READING
I will wait for you
Fanfiction[ COMPLETE ] "Jiāng-zōngzhǔ can guide you for that, his muscles are young and prominent." Of course, his words were spoken loud enough for the Zōngzhǔ to hear them and also attract his angry eyes. Far from sharing the laughter of Wèi Wúxiàn, Huáisān...
