A collection of 100-word drabbles for the Wens of Qishan Event 2022, prompted by friends on Twitter.
Notes
Imported from Archive of Our Own. Original work id: 39284160.
Summary
Prompted by tucuxi.
Sizhui can shoot, of course. Though the Lan emphasise archery less than sword-work or musical cultivation, he's spent hours, days, outside, aiming at straw bales, hitting ever closer to their hearts.
Now, watching his cousin, it doesn't seem enough. Wen Ning is a dead man whose eyes no longer crease when he smiles, but neither do they waver when he sets them on a target and pierces it with arrow after arrow from his bow.
"Were you always this good, qianbei?" he asks.
When Wen Ning replies, "Oh... I'm not so skilled," Sizhui's eyes fill with tears he can't explain.
Summary
Prompted by The_Archangel_of_Zeref.
Wen Zhuliu, the Core-Melting Hand, kneels and pushes his forehead into the flagstones of the Sun Palace.
“Zongzhu, my life is yours.”
Looking down from her cousin’s throne—her throne now—at her cousin’s right-hand man on the floor, Wen Qing presses her lips together. “Your life debt was to Wen Ruohan, not to me,” she says. “Stand.”
“Thank you, Zongzhu,” he says, once risen to his feet. “My life is yours.”
She considers. “Then take your place,” she says.
He moves to the foot of the stairs, his impassive face turned out towards the courtiers in front of her.
Summary
Prompted by wayofcloudbrain. This chapter bumps the rating up a little. ;)
“It’s a washing machine,” Wen Mao said.
“I know what it is,” Baoshan Sanren replied. “What I want to know is, why is it on top of your mountain?”
“You don’t even have running water,” put in Lan Yi.
“Maybe your disciples can’t power such devices without it…” He yelled outside, “Run faster, Wen Jiahui!”
A crash—a series of shouts—and then the machine’s thrum shot into a higher register.
Grinning, Wen Mao hoisted Baoshan Sanren up on top of it. He tugged Lan Yi by the wrist into her lover’s embrace. “Now do you two understand the benefits?”
Summary
Prompted by EHyde.
Wen Zhuliu stared for a long moment before speaking. “I only left for a few hours.”
“A few hours is a long time,” Wen Chao replied bitterly. He shoved his trouser leg back down and held out his hand to be pulled up from the ground. “You brought horses, right? Xiongzhang is still unconscious.”
Disciples aided him onto one horse and lifted his brother onto another. A third would bear the colossal head of the yao they’d slain.
“No need to tell anyone about the curse mark,” he muttered. “I’ll… deal with it.”
Wen Zhuliu nodded. He understood, of course.
Notes
I’m pretty confident in the idea of Wen Chao being occasionally, uncharacteristically self-sacrificing in towards his older brother or his clan, telling himself a whole self-pitying narrative about how, naturally, Wen Xu is the favoured son and the heir and the stronger cultivator of the pair of them, it’s only expected that Wen Chao will put him first, etc… and then switching back to his usual obnoxious self as soon as he gets distracted. He’s telling himself now that he’ll keep his taking on of the curse mark a noble secret in his heart, but you just know it’ll get brought up at the very next screaming argument these two have, to the confusion of Wen Xu and everybody else except Wen Zhuliu.