[Young Master Xian]—❈—49.2:: Interlude:: Xian Weiju

Thank you all for your patience through this trying time.

You are incredible each of you.

Enjoy the chapter.

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Xian Weiju

Of the seven Xian children, Xian Qigang was the loser with aspirations far too great for his talent, and Xian Weiju was the slacker with ambition too lacking for her ability.

For a more normal family, by which one means a family that was not the first and only addition into The Fifty Great Clans in the last four centuries, Xian Weiju’s lacking ambitiousness would hardly raise an eyebrow. But when you are a child of Xian Qi, possibly the greatest talent in The Sunrise Empire, well… there are expectations.

Weiju had zero desire to live up to those expectations.

As the fifth child, Weiju had been lucky to see what trying to meet the expectations of others had done to her older siblings. She could see what it was still doing to her mother.

For the people Weiju grew up around, nothing was ever enough. An unending race to a finish line that constantly moved. A thousand runners shoving and jostling for space on the track. Anyone who fell, trampled without a moment’s hesitation.

Not even the Royal Family was safe from this. For them, it was a constant balance between empowering The Fifty Great Clans enough to protect and strengthen the Empire, but never so much that the Royal Family itself could be overpowered.

More wealth, more power, more resources… Weiju didn’t much care for it.

In Weiju’s eyes, they were rich enough. They were powerful enough. And anybody who wanted more, could go get it themselves.

Growing up, she did the bare minimum. Studied as little as she needed to. Trained only as much as was required.

Her mother had tried, of course. For a woman like Xian Qi, few things were as anathema as one not giving their all every second of every day.

She tried first to motivate Weiju. Then she tried bargaining. Finally came the threats. Nothing worked.

Eventually, Xian Qi had realized that her daughter was unshakably diligent at shirking responsibility, and she’d all but written her off to focus on the children who were useful to her.

Weiju had rejoiced.

With some careful application of effort, she got herself a cushy job with Border Patrol as Commander of a sky ship.

That was thirty-four years ago.

Not much had changed for her since, except for meeting Lin Jian, possibly the luckiest find of her life.

Weiju’s life was exactly how she wanted it, comfortable, low in responsibilities, and far from her family’s drama.

Then, after nearly three decades, her mother called.

When she’d felt the gentle pull of the summoning powder, wrapped in the familiar signature of her mother’s qi, Weiju had panicked for a moment.

Her mother did not do small talk, and even if she did, it wouldn’t be with her disappointment of a daughter.

No, if Xian Qi was summoning her, it was to discuss something important.

Important meant responsibility, and the only responsibility she could imagine her mother still willing to give her was marriage.

Weiju did not want to get married.

While their rise had been meteoric, the fact remained that the Xian clan was new to their wealth and status.

And as much a force of nature as Xian Qi was, she couldn’t maintain the family’s position on her own.

The Xian clan currently only had six scions (six-and-a-half, if one counted that banished imbecile), and the oldest three had already been used to make political connections through marriage.

As the fifth child, Weiju knew it would be her turn soon. She was seventy-five years old now and there was simply no avoiding it forever.

The problem with marrying to further her family’s standing however, was that the marriage contract was unlikely to put her above her husband.

Maybe if she was like her older brother, the so-called genius, it could be negotiated, but Weiju wasn’t the genius of the Xian children, she was the slacker.

At best, she and her husband would be equal. At worst, she would be subordinate.

If she had the opportunity to choose her own spouse, she would pick Jian and be done with it.

She didn’t feel anything as childish as love for him, but the man was dependable, competent, and he fucked better than she’d thought anything could fuck.

Weiju had never imagined that a cultivator could repurpose qi techniques meant for killing into other, more pleasurable purposes, until she took the Northern assassin into her bed.

Maybe she would get lucky. Maybe her husband-to-be wouldn’t mind her keeping Jian in her bed.

Or maybe her mother would pick a woman for her spouse, and there would be no expectations for them to share a bed in the first place, since Weiju had shown a clear preference for males sexually.

She’d dwelt on these thoughts fruitlessly for years now, sharing them with no one but Jian, and when she felt her mother’s summon, fear had risen for a moment before she quashed it down and answered.

The conversation, if one could call it that, hadn’t been what Weiju had expected.

“Contact this girl,” Xian Qi said without so much as a hello. “Do as she says.”

And Weiju felt the bicentennial woman pass her the qi signature of some peasant rank in the Weaving phase.

What in the world?

Things only got stranger from there.

Apparently, Qigang had changed. Lucked into a Celestial Plum, of all things, that he found in a hidden realm somewhere in the mountains.

There was also a wave of Wild Qi corruption unlike anything Weiju even knew could happen, sweeping in from said mountains, and the only people who seemed to know anything about it, were either indisposed or, as the servant, Meng Yi, said; “We are thankful for the help you have given, Young Mistress Xian, but I believe it would be best to have my Young Master answer your queries when he wakes.”

Which basically meant, ‘I don’t know what my boss may want to lie about, so I’ll shut my mouth until he’s awake to do it himself.’

Annoying, but it wasn’t in Weiju’s nature to punish servants for loyalty to their masters.

As for said master, Qigang, he didn’t look good.

Weiju had never met her useless brother before. She’d left home long before he was born and she’d never had a reason to go back since.

She’d heard of him, of course, but, this was the first she ever saw him.

It was not a good first memory to have.

Pan Cai, who was apparently here on orders from the Xian Matriarch to observe Qigang, told Weiju what she knew.

It wasn’t much, but it, along with the situation Weiju arrived to, was enough to form a picture.

At the end of that first day, Weiju reported to her mother.

What she had to say was objectively bad news, but Weiju had no idea how the woman would react.

On the one hand, Qigang was the embarrassment that had been sent off to... right, Silver Springs, to die. But, on the other hand, he had eaten a Celestial Plum, which were apparently everything they were rumoured to be, and he was clearly more than the useless waste of qi resources he’d been once.

Hell, if the amount of loyalty he’d somehow managed to inspire in those two peasant girls was any indication, he’d grown as a person too. Either through guile, or by being a cultivator truly worthy of respect.

His loss might actually be a loss now.

In the end, Xian Qi reacted exactly how Weiju really should have predicted her to react. The powerful cultivator simply took in the news silently, amended whatever plans she had brewing for her son without a word, and commanded; “Report to me if anything changes.”

That was it.

No worry, no concern, not even relief that he was still alive, simply an adjustment of expectations. Numbers shifted to compensate.

For the first time in many years, Weiju wondered if the woman loved any of them.

If it would even matter if she did.

Things did change. Qigang began to recover.

It was an impossible miracle, but it was happening, and Weiju reported it.

This news got a bigger reaction from Xian Qi, and Weiju tried not curl her lips at it.

The Matriarch looked pleased. Almost, but not quite in that way that would suggest that she was simply happy that her son would be okay.

Weiju could see it in her eyes; Qigang’s value was climbing by the minute.

If she was a nicer person, Weiju would have felt bad for Qigang for the mess his life was bound to become as soon as he woke.

Qigang healed quickly, but even after healing fully, he didn’t wake. No one understood why.

To be fair, no one, but the maid who was practically glued to his side, seemed to understand much about Qigang.

Said maid didn’t seem to be worried, so Weiju set the matter from her mind and forgot about it.

Or, at least, she would have, if her mother didn’t check in every day.

On the third night with Qigang still unconscious despite having healed, Weiju’s consciousness returned to her body where it lay in the bedroom she’d been given in Qigang’s manor.

She sighed and settled back in bed.

It was smaller than she was used to, the bed, but still comfortable, and she let the expensive material soothe muscles that were far too advanced in cultivation to require soothing.

Her exhaustion wasn’t physical. She hadn’t felt physical exhaustion in many years. No, this was mental... or, perhaps, emotional.

“Your mother again?” Jian asked, just suddenly there beside her bed, as was his wont.

He was dressed in sleepwear, so clearly he’d left his bed to come here. But, whether he’d done so just then, or if he’d been there since her mother summoned her, Weiju didn’t know and stopped trying to a long time ago.

She nodded in answer to his question.

It was late in the night, approaching midnight if not past it already. But apparently, her mother didn’t sleep, and so thought it was perfectly okay to pull her daughter out of hers for the dozenth, if not more, pointless conversation in a row.

“I don’t know why it’s so hard for her to understand that if there was something to report, I would inform her,” she complained. “But then I guess she wants to keep a close eye on her new prize.”

Jian said nothing, as was also his wont.

Weiju sighed again.

“Do I sound bitter?” she asked.

“Yes,” Jian said, then he crawled into bed with her.

She curled up into him.

His warmth was nice.

“I don’t envy Qigang,” she said.

“You do a little,” Jian said. Honest to a fault. Another wont.

Weiju scowled, angry. Not at Jian, no. At herself.

“I don’t want to be,” she said.

Jian squeezed her gently. He said nothing.

Weiju sighed once more.

“I need a distraction,” she said.

Jian moved, reaching for her breast, but Weiju stopped him.

“No,” she said, moving onto him instead. “I want to watch you melt under my touch.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Melt?” he asked, one of his rare, small smiles gracing his pink, supple lips that could drive her half mad with skill and grace.

Weiju blushed pink. They both knew who was the superior performer in bed of the two of them.

“Oh, shut it,” she said without real heat.

While Jian had likely forgotten more about bringing her to orgasm than she’d ever learnt about him, Weiju could be diligent when motivated, and over the years, she had definitely learnt how to please her man too.

First, she reached for his manhood, lightly grazing it with her fingers through the thin cloth of his sleepwear.

She felt it twitch, and a saucy smile graced her lips.

Reaching in, she fished out his member, feeling its warmth grow hotter as it steadily swelled in her soft grip.

Keeping her eyes locked on his, she leaned down slowly, only to stop when she noticed his attention shift in momentary distraction.

“Your brother’s awake,” he said, focus returning to her.

Weiju felt a bead of elation swell at the news, right before it was mercilessly crushed by the realization of everything that came with the news.

She sighed. Then she leaned in and kissed the tip of her lover’s penis before returning it back into his clothes.

“I guess I’ll make you melt later,” she said, trying for levity that they both knew she didn’t feel.

Jian pulled her into a silent embrace. And, though Weiju knew it would have to end, she did her best to pretend that it never would for the minute it lasted.

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Thanks for reading, all you incredible people.