the "you meet your mom when she is your age and has the opportunity to give her the life she deserves if you just walk through the door, but if you do, you won't exist anymore" trend with yunmeng jiang trio, who each have the opportunity to meet yu ziyuan separately and have their own reasons to walk through the door, thinking things will be so much better without them there to be on the way.
they get to see young and fierce yu ziyuan, the third daughter of the yu clan. they get to see her fire and her strength. they get to see her alive and beautiful. they get to see what she could still be, if they weren't around.
jiang yanli, the disappointing first born, who is a frail baby and even frailer daughter. she is not a boy — to the withering whispers of society's glee —, and while the yu pass down their name and inheritance through all their daughters, and the jiang are free enough to not really fight against having a female leader, she isn't strong, she isn't assertive, she isn't powerful, she isn't beautiful, she isn't even a cultivator. not really. how can it be that the strong blood of two such powerful clans produced someone as pitful as herself? she can see the way her a-niang looks at her, and can see the way she wishes and wishes and wishes, wondering how things would be if she had birthed a strong child instead.
she tries, yanli truly does, but she's at least smart enough to know her own limitations.
jiang wanyin, the boy who never was; the one who ought to inherit the clan, but that can never do anything right. he is slow, he is hot headed, he is stubborn, he is rude, he is an heir of the major clans but can never get to the other's feet. no matter what he does, in his a-niang's eyes he'll always be just the disappointment. the one who was supposed to be strong and assertive and powerful and respected, but that couldn't even be the best disciple around. the jiang clan always had a powerful line of leaders — eccentrics, each with their own quirks that came from being a more carefree family due to their rogue cultivator roots, but still respected all over the jianghu —, and there was a lot to expect from the heir who was next in line and would one day become one of them. too much to expect, but he had nothing to give.
he is only one person, but it does not change the fact that jiang cheng was supposed to be more.
wei wuxian, the one who was never supposed to be, but still reaches greater heights than most would even dream of. had he been born with the right blood, there is no doubt that he would have been deeply adored. someone who many would have envy of, and many would aspire to be like. he was charismatic, he was powerful, he was gentle, he was funny, he was strong, he was smart, he was trusted, he was just a servant's son. no matter what others said, he knew he was lucky. he knew that yu-furen hated him for it. he knew that he wasn't supposed to be anything at all, much less the head disciple — the overall best around, the one in command, the one who the disciples followed because he would get his orders directly from the leaders themselves —, but he was. he was and he wasn't supposed to be.
he knew he shouldn't have made it, but wei ying was greedy and selfish, and that was his greatest fault.
so, they choose. they choose and yu ziyuan lives, life moving on, but things don't really change that much — not like they were expecting, not how they thought things would go, not how they hoped, because if the problem is dealt with before it becomes a problem, then there is nothing wrong.
except—
she marries into the jiang clan and steps up as the new matriarch. she still fights constantly with her husband, her insecurities growing as he busies himself with sect work and time passes and she does not fall pregnant and yet he does not seem to care at all.
the whole sect follows her words and bow to her will. jiang fengmian gives her free will — and he is a better husband than most, allowing her to keep her freedom even as she marries into his clan and becomes his wife, but it is still not enough not enough not enough — and no one there seems to have something against such arrangement. at least not to her face, and not where her maids can hear.
still, she mistrusts wei changze, who is just a servant-turned-disciple who can do so much but is smart enough to remain in his place. he gives her a feeling of wrongness that crawls all over and underneath her skin, screaming at her that that wasn't it. his light grey eyes never angry, never resentful, never mirthful, never anything, and also completely wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong— she seethes at him, orders him around, makes him do the stupidiest of tasks, sends him in ridiculous and pointless nighthunts, and he always complies, always goes "yes, furen", always bows in deference and. does. nothing. else.
it infuriates her. it makes her head spin in so much anger that a headache builds across her eyes, over her temples, down her nape. it makes her feel terrified.
and when cangse sanren bounces around, so loud and bright and vibrant that the whole town immediately knows and the whispers reach lotus pier before she is even close to the jiang sect home, her heart squeezes. her light colored white robes flutter in her wake (wrong wrong wrong so wrong it is supposed to be another color something else something darker—), making her look like a heaven-sent spirit to set them all straight with sunny smiles, horrible pranks, and way too much goodness in her heart. she feels even angrier at seeing her bright smile and wrinkling eyes, so alive and filled with joy it hurts her teeth. the woman bounces and screams and squeals and has ridiculous ideas and even worse executions. she is bold and stupid and has no regard over her own safety or proper decorum. she bothers and bothers and bothers and keeps going round like a stupid fly or a moth around a lit lantern.
it makes yu ziyuan want to scream. it makes her want to cry.
and if only it was just that.
she hates lotus pier. it is undoubtedly a beautiful place, with its wooden foundation and buildings scattered over a huge lake, purple banners hanging across its length and hundreds of lotus flowers and pods in their surroundings and letting out their sweet smell that impermeated every surface. it is comfortable, if not a bit too hot with its perpetual humidity, and she could easily see herself liking it. living there for the rest of her life.
except that she doesn't. she doesn't, because at every corner she turns, at every twist of her head, she sees ghosts. whispers and traces of things that are not there. soft lilac. deep purple.
laughs, voices, footsteps, swords, words, names—
it drives her crazy.
every time, she feels something build up inside her throat. every time, she twists as fast as her whip, zidian, something right at the tip of her tongue. every time, she falters in her spot, seeing nothing but the same old thing.
because everything was just like it was yesterday.
but...
her mind swirls. swirls and swirls and swirls. it makes her vision spin as pain builds up behind her eyes.
there is something there. she knows there is, with random flashes that could very much only be part of the migraine consuming her whole popping all over, but there is something there. somethings that once was and then it wasn't. something that belongs to her and only her.
something that was taken.
and it is that thought that makes her body grow frigid. her spine pulled straight.
oh... it's like a whisper. soft like a caress. it digs into her skin like a dull blade, cutting slow and terribly.
how dare they.
it aches. it aches for something that doesn't exist but should.
she feels like snarling like a wild animal, because...
how dare they take themselves away from her?
[will continue this line of thought later. or not. got busy halfway through and don't wanna keep it in my drafts]
