qingxinling | bang! crash! the lightning flashed!! -- that's another story, nevermind, anyway!

bang! crash! the lightning flashed!! -- that's another story, nevermind, anyway!

Jiang Wanyin sweeps along the shores of the lake, glowering. This is not his beloved Lotus Pier. These waters are cold, foreign, uninviting. Clearly there's been some trap: he's been distracted by duty in this hunt, and when he followed the slight tug in his chest, he ended up getting pulled into unfamiliar territory.

No matter. He draws himself to full height, letting cool arrogance slip down his shoulders and suffuse him. Sandu is naked in one hand; Zidian crackles in the other. He can handle whatever monsters may arrive.

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"It's not so bad once you get used to it," Crowley adds, slowly taking one step away. "Even though you're trapped here forever, it's kind of like a new home. You know what they say, 家和万事兴¹."

¹It is actually what they say (surprise?), "If the family lives in harmony, all affairs will prosper." -- but unfortunately it probably sounds like Crowley just went from speaking fluent Chinese to absolute terrible Chinese.

Jiang Wanyin does not like this guy's vibe. He looks strange and acts strange and speaks strange. "What are you?" he asks, getting a closer grip on Zidian, fingers flexing around Sandu's hilt, poised to lash the spirit out of this guy's body if need be. "Some demon? Some spirit? Is this your array?"

"What?" Crowley asks, irritated now. "Demon, if you need to know."

Zidian snakes out immediately, reflexively under Jiang Wanyin's control, and wraps around the demon's wrist.

It stings a little and Crowley sighs, idly wondering if he should just stop trying to speak Mandarin the hard way. "Really? Bit of an overreaction, don't you think?"

"Even more of an overreaction than when I spoke it to Lan Wangji," he mutters to himself.

"Lan Wangji," Jiang Wanyin hisses, retracting Zidian. This demon is like none he has ever encountered before. He has half a mind to whip it properly, rending its spiritual consciousness from its physical form. But even just that touch should have been enough to have great effect, and he would hate to have an effort fail.

“Oh, you know him?” Crowley asks casually, as if they’re talking about someone over tea.

Jiang Wanyin wishes he didn't. Whatever, it doesn't look like this guy's ever going to walk into a cultivation conference. "No."

Crowley sighs. “Look, I also got everyone mixed up when I first arrived here too. It’s alright. There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

"Who's embarrassed?" Jiang Wanyin wants to know. "I'm not fucking embarrassed. Or mixed up."

"No no," Crowley reassures him. "You don't need to pretend anymore. The cultivators are confusing. They have so many different names. I'm right there with you."

"I am a cultivator," Jiang Wanyin says, brimming with indignation. He whips Zidian -- not at the demon in front of him, but at a nearby stone -- for emphasis. The rock chars and cracks with its force.

"Congratulations. Happy for you," Crowley says, mildly. "Do you have many names?"

"The normal amount," Jiang Wanyin snaps.

"What's the normal amount? I have two," Crowley offers.

Technically, it's two names and two titles. Or two and a half names and one and a half titles "Which two?"

"Crowley. The other one, I can't exactly pronounce with this mouth," he says, apologetically.

"You can call me Jiang Wanyin," he says. "Or Sandu Shengshou." One name, one title. That's enough.

"Oh." Crowley says, pointing at him, much like the Leo-pointing-at-the-TV meme (you know¹). "The burn book! The-- er, loquat. The rotting loquat!"

¹If you're reading this, you almost definitely do know.

"What," says Jiang Wanyin, dangerously. "The fuck."

"What?" Crowley asks. "Oh, I'm not calling you that. It was something a friend wrote about you. Don't worry about it too much."

"What the fuck?!"

"He wrote it in a burn book. That your personality is like biting into a loquat and discovering it's actually rotten. I wouldn't take it too personally, though," Crowley reassures him. "It was all part of a communal bonding experience. Just airing some grievances."

"Lan Wangji," Jiang Wanyin growls. He wants to kill that man. If diplomatic ties weren't so tenuous after the Guanyin temple --

This man had just said that he didn't know Lan Wangji, but Crowley understands that confusion completely. "Yes," he says, encouraging. "He's--" he raises his hand to approximately Lan Wangji's height (which is mostly useless because they're about the same height) "--and golden eyes. Very stern looking."

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