Fuqin, they say, died in his sleep only several hours after Jin Zixuan had absconded with A-Li from Carp Tower. The news is several days late, now, and rests across his tongue like stale tea. They do not apologize. From the looks on their faces- these guards who were once Fuqin's, who are now his for the keeping- they would not have apologized, even if they had been asked to.
Carp Tower is a labyrinth of spies, snakes, and social climbers. Fuqin's death is convenient, and Jin Zixuan has been conveniently absent.
Rumors spread like creeping frost in late autumn mornings, chilling the lake until it solidifies, until it's just another thing that had happened. Like truths, if there ever are any.
"I see." Is all he manages to say. What more can he do to dissuade them from things they already acknowledge as absolute? Respect in the Gentries is expedient, gone as soon as it becomes bothersome.
The guards do not ask why A-Li chooses not to go with them, why Jin Zixuan allows her to, despite the perceived disrespect. He could make excuses for her, of course: that Lotus Pier is in a tenuous position; that Jiang Wanyin is so-on and so-forth about his sisters' being here. Instead, he remains silent for the entirety of their journey back home.
They've already painted out their pictures. Jin Zixuan- as terrible as he is when it comes to interacting with others, speaking and perceiving the most obvious things- is a child of LanlingJin, born and raised within its gilded halls and cut-throat politicking.
Muqin greets him as soon as their swords touch down on the first of Carp Tower's many marble steps. She wears white from the ribbons in her hair to the delicate sandals hiding her feet, but she looks far from remorseful.
"A-Xuan," She calls, taking him by the arm. The guards follow them through the halls with shifting, narrowed glances, hands on the hilts of their swords. They are not the only ones.
"Muqin," Jin Zixuan says lowly, matching his footsteps to hers as they shuffle for the nearest safe room. "How have things been?"
Muqin laughs, mirthless. Pats him on the arm and says, "Hush, A-Xuan. A-Ling is in the other room with his nursemaids. We can speak of these things later."
Later does not come, if it did, Jin Zixuan does not notice it. All he knows is that A-Ling is safe, Muqin is tired already, and there has been no evidence of foul play.
A-Yao puts it simply enough when asked.
Fuqin had been sick for so long a time, and Xuan-ge - hale, and whole after helping to win a war, married with an heir of his own - will have been able to pick up the pieces once Fuqin decided to succumb, after all.
A pretty bow to tie up the picture, and overall, not far from Jin Zixuan's own suspicions.
Fuqin had been sickly, yes, from a weak heart and the overindulgence which had exacerbated it. Fuqin did not wish to relinquish control of Lanling as Sect Leader and de facto Chief Cultivator, not to Muqin, who did most if not all his paperwork for him, and not to his children, even- or especially- the two he had acknowledged.
"The funeral will be in several days, Xuan-ge. You needn't do anything, I understand this is difficult for you, and especially because you will be taking up the mantle of Jin-Zongzhu afterward. Allow this lowly brother to arrange these things for you- I and Jin-furen. You need only worry over A-Ling."
There are more platitudes, more quiet, nonsense words. A-Yao's soft voice is reminiscent of early morning tea in A-Li's Lotus Pier pavilion, the shy sun peering through treetops as the lake pulsed against the reinforced, wooden docks. A gentle lull meant to reassure.
"A-Yao," Jin Zixuan whispers, placing an awkward hand over his shoulder. A-Yao's words falter, fade into the background din of quiet voices: nobles and distant cousins some rooms over; tittering and far more anxious than he is over the sudden death of their revered Jin-Zongzhu. Jin Zixuan smiles. "Thank you for all your help. It is… much appreciated."
The silence between them lasts for barely a moment. When it breaks, it does so on the edge of A-Yao's abashed smile.
"We may share only a father," He says. "But we are still brothers, and even if we have not known each other long, I want to support you in whatever way I can, Xuan-ge."
It is, Jin Zixuan thinks, the beginning of true understanding between them.
"Thank you anyway, A-Yao."
Paper money burns to the discordant sounds of the erhu, thumping drums and trilling flutes. Whispers roll beneath the underbelly of the ritual chants- the mourners, if they can indeed be called as such, quieting only when the priest waves out his peach wood sword, shattering a new tile.
"Muqin," Jin Zixuan whispers, careful not to glance at the hard lines of Muqin's brows hidden beneath her pointed funeral cap. She does not answer him verbally, but her fingers snake around his wrist and hold to him tightly.
Later, her actions seem to say.
The smell of chrysanthemum and lotus flowers are only overpowered by the incense, cedar wood, permeating throughout the room. It's a simple enough thought, something to stimulate his mind as it attempts to run him aground.
Fuqin is dead? It wonders, even as his eyes trace the ashes of paper houses, swords, and servants as they spread out across the floor, dark smudges against pale tiles.
It is not that Jin Zixuan was particularly sad. Fuqin had always been distant, had deliberately kept him at arm's length. Though he was sure that Fuqin had, in his own way, held some love for him, he was also sure that Fuqin had other interests.
No, the real issue lay elsewhere. Beneath the shattered remains of his childhood memories, of Muqin, frenzied, making certain that he was hidden from Fuqin and his erstwhile proclivities for as long as possible- well, no child truly believes their parent could be gone, one day. That they could be anything other than infallible.
Just as a young Jin Zixuan had by accident stumbled upon his father in the tender embraces of a woman that was not his mother, this current Jin Zixuan must cope with the fact that not only was his father not the righteous man he thought him to be but that mortal illness, of all things, would end him.
Jin Zixuan bows his head, hands clenching as he watches the trailing ends of his white ribbon slither across the floor. Another tile is shattered, and the fire plumes dark smoke into the air as the priest whizzes by with his sword. He feels a tap on his shoulder, an unfamiliar hand-
When Jin Zixuan turns, he sees A-Yao, cheeks dimpling.
"Xuan-ge," A-Yao tells him quietly, squeezing his shoulder once before pulling away again. "It will be alright, Xuan-ge."
Jin Zixuan takes a shallow breath and nods.
The feast after is a rumbling, disgraceful mess of drunken revelry and indiscreet presumptions. While many of the Sects did attend the ceremony(except the Jiang's, A-Li, who had sent an envoy in the form of their stand-in First Disciple, Lin Huiyin), none of the other Great Sect's had chosen to stay after the feast's official end. Jin Zixuan understood, in some capacity, that Fuqin and the company he kept were not well liked by those outside of Lanling's borders and general influence, but, well.
Zewu-jun had left as soon as the Lan Sect curfew set in, and was followed shortly after by Chifeng-zun. Nie Huaisang, bereft of his older brother and the Jiang siblings as his playmates, had toddled off at the first sight of alcohol spilling across Yao-Zongzhu's table top.
Jin Zixuan wishes he had the ability to follow them. While he had never minded the after-parties Fuqin had liked to host, he rather preferred the independence of choosing where he would like to go, and-
"Jin-Zongzhu," Ouyang-Zongzhu had taken to calling him, bumbling across the feasting halls with a wicked frown. "Barely two weeks, Jin-Zongzhu, and your wife is not in attendance."
Ouyang-Zongzhu had not complained for the entire seven days and nights he had been here. Not the first day, when Muqin had made abundantly clear that Fuqin's corpse was in no position to await his transfer into the Jin Clan's Mausoleum, and not yesterday when they had confirmed that they would only partake in 13 days of official funerary procession.
"A-Li is needed in YunmengJiang at this moment, Ouyang-Zongzhu."
"Jiang-xiao-furen should know better than to place anything above the needs of her husbands family, now in mourning."
Jin Zixuan frowns, standing. The loose mourning robes he wears glance across his bared shins when he moves forward, towering over Ouyang-Zongzhu. Perhaps it was not wise, using his height to intimidate someone who had been a close ally of his father, and at the feast after his funeral at that. But the fact remained that Ouyang-Zongzhu had spoken out of turn, and no matter how concerned he seemed to be over the wellness of the Jin nuclear family, it was rude for him to have done so.
"Ouyang-Zongzhu, wh-"
"Xuan-ge! There you are!" A-Yao calls out, fingers folded into skirts of his robes as he rushes up the short line of stairs leading to the dais Jin Zixuan, and now, Ouyang-Zongzhu were occupying. He bows lowly to Ouyang-Zongzhu, quickly, and seemingly embarrassed, too- as if he hadn't realized Ouyang-Zongzhu had been with him.
"A-Yao?" Jin Zixuan questions, grateful, at least, for the excuse to look away from the other Sect Leader.
"Jin-Furen has been looking for you, Xuan-ge. I apologize if I have disturbed your conversation-"
"You haven't." Ouyang-Zongzhu huffs, promptly turning his back on them and stomping off.
"A-Yao-"
"Are you alright, Xuan-ge?" A-Yao asks softly, brushing invisible dust from his robes. His smile is a small, sincere thing that crinkles his eyes. Jin Zixuan softens, just slightly, and shakes his head when A-Yao raises a brow.
"Nothing, A-Yao, or well- nothing you should concern yourself with. The Sect Leaders are merely… concerned, I think. A-Li is not here, and-"
"You don't have to explain, Xuan-ge, I understand."
Jin Zixuan sighs, feeling for Suihua's hilt- still strapped to his belt, thrumming with energy- and tries to hide the relief coursing through his veins as he feels the soft leather, the strings of A-Li's gifted jade tassel.
"Are you truly alright, Xuan-ge?"
Jin Zixuan sighs again and turns to look at A-Yao, shorter than him, but far more perceptive. Muqin may not like him over much, but even she had to admit that he was far from incompetent.
And, anyway, even if Jin Zixuan was new to being an official brother to anyone, he's started to enjoy it. Greatly.
"A-Yao, do you think we rushed this? Fuqin's funeral, I mean."
A-Yao taps his chin, considering.
"Even if there is cause for question," A-Yao says haltingly, eyes roving over the area, as if he were fearful someone would overhear him. Jin Zixuan smiles, something A-Li says should calm others: a friendly face, after all, is far more welcoming than the a plain, stoic one. Jin Zixuan doesn't know how well it works, but A-Yao smiles, too, when he catches sight of his face, and that is all that matters. "Xuan-ge is Jin-Zongzhu, now, and Jin-furen is- was Fuqin's wife. Xuan-ge and Jin-furen had the final say here, and regardless of whatever anyone else thinks, it can only be correct as Fuqin's closest of kin. If we do not consider the politics in all of this-"
A-Yao smiles, wry.
"Fuqin… Fuqin was not… 13 days is not a short time to celebrate the life of one such as Fuqin."
There's still chatter in the feasting hall, still cheers and drunken merry-making. It doesn't quite set his teeth on edge in the same way as it once did, and Jin Zixuan is glad for the change.
"The party will go on for some time yet," A-Yao says, turning so he can gesture at the crowds of minor sect leaders and their entourages, distant Jin family members lining up the hallway, clinking full cups of wine with others. "Xuan-ge has been tired lately. He should take this time to check up on A-Ling, to retire for the evening and rest."
Jin Zixuan smiles, clapping A-Yao on the back in the same way he remembers seeing from Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin. Brotherly, and though not terribly affectionate, far more companionable than he had allowed himself to be with his younger half-brother thus far.
"Thank you again, A-Yao." He says. A-Yao smiles, waving him off.
"Sleep, Xuan-ge. You deserve the rest."
There's screaming in the servant's passageway; shrill, naked terror. Jin Zixuan draws Suihua on instinct, mind racing as he chases after it, so near to A-Ling's rooms, his mother-
"A-Xuan!" Muqin screams, a handmaiden and A-Ling's nursemaid hiding behind her. Across the floor, just in front of A-Ling's nursery, a woman, hair spread out like dripping ink, eyes wide in death as her blood quickly stains through the carpeting.
"What-"
Muqin looks exhausted, concerned and, ultimately, unsurprised. She throws a qiankun pouch at him without looking before marching back into the room.
"Jin-Gongzi," A-Ling's nursemaid says. Shen Biyu, he thinks her name was. A woman from Muqin's former sect.
"What is it?"
"Jin-furen has long been suspicious of those in Carp Tower who may seek to do Jin-Gongzi harm. The qiankun pouch contains essentials for Jin-Gongzi's travel: a change of clothes, gold and silver to last a month, and extra talisman."
"What-"
"A-Xuan," Muqin sighs, finally exiting the room once again. A-Ling sleeps soundly in her arms, bundled in several blankets, a silencing talisman pasted just over his chest. "You will need to leave quickly. As fast as you can manage."
"This was an assassination attempt." Jin Zixuan grits his teeth, Suihua shaking in his hands. No one refutes him.
"Should I not, then, stay here to help manage the Sect? I- I am not yet Jin-Zongzhu, the position of power will become tenuous-"
"It already is, A-Xuan." Muqin says firmly, though not unkindly, She bypasses the woman spread across the floor, clutching A-Ling close to her chest, when she nears him, she kisses A-Ling's cheek and gestures for him to sheathe his sword before she hands A-Ling over.
"And I should leave you here to deal with this? Alone?"
Muqin places a hand over his cheek, far gentler than he expects her to be. Her palm is cold and trembles against his skin, but she smiles at him, and her smile is gentle, too.
"Jin Guangshan may have died earlier than I expected him to, but the result, this boldness, I had always known to look out for. You are my only son, and A-Ling is my beloved grandchild," She pauses then, as if she's run out of words to say. She thumbs at the skin just beneath his eye and tells him, soft as she had started, "Lotus Pier has suffered many losses in the last several years, but it is strong, still. A-Li, even if she disliked my husband, would not have neglected to attend his funeral without good reason."
Jin Zixuan's feels his eyes widen, the shock of his mother's words rushing over him. Muqin, at the sight of him, laughs quietly, coldly.
"I don't particularly care for that boy, Wei Wuxian, but he is powerful, and he loves A-Li. Go now. I will send you a letter when it is safe to return."
And so, under the cover of night, his son strapped to his chest, and still in his mourning robes, Jin Zixuan heads off to Lotus Pier.