Jiang Cheng knows that he should feel wrong carrying Suibian at his waist. He sees the looks, the way people’s eyes flick to it, over and over.
It should feel wrong, but it never does.
It’s not that the sword is unfamiliar to him — it’s his brother’s sword. He knows it as well as he knows Sandu. He’s sparred against it, has been smacked with it, has tripped over it in the dark.
But it’s not his.
No cultivator should carry another cultivator’s sword. Handing Sandu over to the Wen clan had been one of the hardest things he had had to do. Getting it back had been like regaining a limb, had been only slightly less meaningful than regaining a golden core.
Who would dare carry that, for another person? Who would dare try and draw it?
Lan Wanji had — Jiang Cheng hadn’t been able to believe his nerve, laying hands on Suibian like he had any right to Wei Wuxian’s heart and soul — only to discover that the sword had sealed itself shut.
In the heat of battle, when Jiang Cheng calls forth his sword with a burst of spiritual energy—
It’s Suibian that responds first.