Wen Qing doesn’t cook. She brews vile-tasting yet life-saving concoctions, yes, but cooking is simply not her thing. Yet one day, she shoves a steaming bowl into Wei Wuxian’s hands. It’s soup.
“Qing-Jie,” Wei Wuxian blinks, “Did you cook me soup?”
#魔道祖师 #mdzsfanart #mdzs
“Qing-Jie,” Wei Wuxian blinks, “Did you cook me soup?”
#魔道祖师 #mdzsfanart #mdzs
“The wolfberries in it are good for your eyes, since you stay up all night with just one candle,” Wen Qing glares at him, “The Yu Zhu for your lungs, and the ginger for fatigue, since you never sleep.”
Wei Wuxian looks at the bowl, then back at Wen Qing.
“And the apples?”
Wei Wuxian looks at the bowl, then back at Wen Qing.
“And the apples?”
Wen Qing gives a minute quirk of her nose, something she only does when she has to admit to something she’s not particularly excited about.
“Popo always said that it will taste sweeter with apples.”
“Qing-Jie!” Wei Wuxian crows, “You did cook me soup!”
“Popo always said that it will taste sweeter with apples.”
“Qing-Jie!” Wei Wuxian crows, “You did cook me soup!”
The soup might not be decadent, but it’s made with him and his needs in mind. And Wei Wuxian, who had been raised to accept what is given to him, doesn’t know what to say to that. He thinks he might cry.
“Eat up,” Wen Qing glares, and he laughs through the tears that came anyway
“Eat up,” Wen Qing glares, and he laughs through the tears that came anyway
The last time Wen Qing cooks him her soup is the day Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning set off to Jinlintai.
“Lanling is three days by foot, so you’ll need all the energy you can get,” she shoves a full bowl at him, daring him to refuse.
It’s the last time Wei Wuxian sees her alive.
“Lanling is three days by foot, so you’ll need all the energy you can get,” she shoves a full bowl at him, daring him to refuse.
It’s the last time Wei Wuxian sees her alive.
It’s only after Guanyin Temple, with Lan Zhan by his side, that Wei Wuxian learns the taste of home and safety anew.
It’s warm rice and chili oil Lan Zhan always readily hands to him. The slices of meat Sizhui puts atop his rice and the xiangcai he plants with the baby Lans.
It’s warm rice and chili oil Lan Zhan always readily hands to him. The slices of meat Sizhui puts atop his rice and the xiangcai he plants with the baby Lans.
But it’s only after months of settling down in the Cloud Recesses that Wei Wuxian meets a familiar, older taste. The taste of Wen Qing’s soup.
The kitchen aunties are understandably distraught when upon given a bowl of soup for a snack, Wei Wuxian breaks down in tears instead.
The kitchen aunties are understandably distraught when upon given a bowl of soup for a snack, Wei Wuxian breaks down in tears instead.
“My-“ Wei Wuxian manages, “My jiejie used to make this for me.”
“She, she had this whole garden of stuff she’d make it from - And I don’t know how - it’s so difficult to grow anything back then, but I suppose she was more stubborn than the soil, heh-“
He stops, sniffles loudly.
“She, she had this whole garden of stuff she’d make it from - And I don’t know how - it’s so difficult to grow anything back then, but I suppose she was more stubborn than the soil, heh-“
He stops, sniffles loudly.
“Your jiejie must have loved you very much,” one of the aunties says gently, patting his head.
“She did,” Wei Wuxian nods, “She really did.”
He learns the recipe afterwards, tweaking and adding to it to chase the impossibly fresh memory of his Qing-Jie’s soup.
“She did,” Wei Wuxian nods, “She really did.”
He learns the recipe afterwards, tweaking and adding to it to chase the impossibly fresh memory of his Qing-Jie’s soup.
For all that the world have moved along, for all that his Wen family’s unjust deaths had been buried under years of careful ignorance, Wen Qing’s presence has been with him what felt like barely a year ago. The taste of her love a tangible memory on his tongue.
Yu zhu for the lungs, ginger for stamina. Dried longans to replenish the blood, and Huai Shan to stabilize the kidneys. Apples to sweeten it, because the Yiling Patriarch is but a big baby.
Pot by simmering pot, Wei Wuxian recreates the taste of his Qing-jie’s love.
Pot by simmering pot, Wei Wuxian recreates the taste of his Qing-jie’s love.
And then, he makes a pot and invites Sizhui and Wen Ning for dinner.
Wen Ning doesn’t eat, but he ladles a bowl for him nevertheless, watching the recognition in his eyes as his undead senses pick up on the familiar smell.
Wen Ning doesn’t eat, but he ladles a bowl for him nevertheless, watching the recognition in his eyes as his undead senses pick up on the familiar smell.
“I-“ Sizhui whispers after a sip, eyes shining with something fragile and careful, “I remember this taste. Xian-gege, what-“
“Jiejie used to make this for Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning says quietly, and Sizhui’s gaze snaps towards his cousin, “and he used to feed you on his lap.”
“Jiejie used to make this for Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning says quietly, and Sizhui’s gaze snaps towards his cousin, “and he used to feed you on his lap.”
“Tell me more about her?” Sizhui asks when they’re done - His eyes hopeful, yet still careful.
And oh, what a fine, kind young man their little radish had grown up to be, despite everything. A-Yuan, their promise of dawn at the twilight of their lives in the Burial Mounds.
And oh, what a fine, kind young man their little radish had grown up to be, despite everything. A-Yuan, their promise of dawn at the twilight of their lives in the Burial Mounds.
“Qing-Jie doesn’t really cook,” Wei Wuxian finally begins, feeling his own eyes blur with tears, “This is probably the only thing she did cook-“
They talk until well past hai shi, their bowls empty and their bellies full, the taste of Wen Qing’s love lingering on their tongues.
They talk until well past hai shi, their bowls empty and their bellies full, the taste of Wen Qing’s love lingering on their tongues.
🍲 So someone in our discord server mentioned that if Wen Qing were to also have a signature jiejie soup, hers would probably be very medicinal, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since then because i’m weak for jiejies + food as a love language 🥺
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