#I want Nie designs for this so badly

[a-yaos-little-murder-beans]

Currently screaming over this collaboration art.

LOOK AT THEM.

[robininthelabyrinth]

🧿🤠🐇🍲🍯: Nie Huaisang hasn’t found anyone to do the body sacrifice ritual for him, and so in desperation he tries it himself. However, the ritual was not designed with a Nie cultivator in mind—something Nie Huaisang does not realize until he’s doubled over on the floor, far too close to a qi deviation, because his (admittedly tiny) saber spirit has been replaced with Wei Wuxian.

ao3

Well, that was the dumbest thing ever.

The thought so closely matched Wei Wuxian’s that he didn’t even notice that it wasn’t his own.

How could you be so stupid? Wei Wuxian tried to shout at Nie Huaisang, who was curled up gasping on the floor. The floor, which was stained with Nie Huaisang's own blood, with cuts he had made himself on himself, with the ancient body sacrifice summoning that – that –

Don’t you realize that you’d be gone? You absolute idiot! Wei Wuxian howled, even though he wasn’t actually a person right now. He didn’t know what he was, a ghost or spirit, maybe, but he was there and he was angry and Nie Huaisang’s arms were covered in blood from where he’d cut himself up in order to destroy his own soul – Nie Huaisang, the mincing sensitive little master who would complain for three weeks about having stubbed his toe! – and his robes that he had always taken such great care to keep clean and neat were a mess and he was bleeding from the nose and eyes and ears because something had gone wrong. Something had gone wrong, and Wei Wuxian hated to be grateful for it because he didn’t want to be brought back by Nie Huaisang’s death.

Not anyone’s death, really, but definitely not Nie Huaisang, who’d never hurt him or treated him badly. Even when the whole world had hated and reviled Wei Wuxian, isolating him in Yiling on the Burial Mounds, Nie Huaisang hadn’t – he’d waved jauntily to him during Phoenix Mountain, and Wei Wuxian had never doubted that if he’d somehow found his way to Qinghe, Nie Huaisang would have treated him just the same as always.

You – you –! You good-for-nothing!

“Don’t be rude,” Nie Huaisang mumbled, slowly uncurling. “Didn’t bring you back to be rude to me.”

You know what you’ve done, then? You could have died!

“Was I supposed to let someone else do it?” Nie Huaisang rubbed at his face with his sleeve, then frowned at the blood on it. “I thought about it, but I really just – couldn’t.”

So you decided to kill yourself?

“It’s like you said, Wei-xiong. I’m a good-for-nothing. I couldn’t – I can’t – I can’t fix this. So why not bring back someone who can?”

Wei Wuxian didn’t have words to express how much that was not all right with him.

Go fix yourself, he ordered. I don't care what 'this' is; I’m not talking to you until you get cleaned up.

“After all that work I did? Wei-xiong…”

Nope! You’re not dying, so you can get cleaned up before we talk, and that’s that. I still can’t believe you nearly – I don’t want it. I’ve never wanted anyone to get hurt for me.

“Wei-xiong, you’re being silly. Who said I did it for you?”

Wei Wuxian would have stared if he had eyes.

“I did it for me,” Nie Huaisang said, and finally he got up properly and staggered over to a basin to start washing himself clean. “Obviously! I'm incredibly self-absorbed. It’s about what I need from you…hey, how did you come back? I thought the ritual only worked if I died.”

It should have, Wei Wuxian agreed, unwillingly intrigued by it. I don’t know, actually. It’s strange: it should have either worked, in which case you’d be dead and I’d be possessing your body, or else not worked at all, in which case I shouldn’t be here.

“I always mess things up.”

No, really, I don’t think you messed this up? The array is perfect. There’s no reason for it not to have worked.

“These cuts won’t heal,” Nie Huaisang observed, looking at his arms. “Did I accidentally curse myself to fulfill my obligations? Ugh, why.”

As the person you were going to impose said obligations on, I’m now going to laugh at you. Hahahahaha –

“Shut up, Wei-xiong. Where are you, anyway? I don’t see any ghostly figures that might be you, and anyway, we’re in the Unclean Realm; there are ghost-repelling arrays in every stone.”

I don’t know, Wei Wuxian said, and then something else said, Ghost-repelling arrays only repel ghosts.

At first Wei Wuxian thought that it was Nie Huaisang who had said that, and he was about to ask what he meant by that, only Nie Huaisang got there first and said, “What do you mean, Wei-xiong? Are you not a ghost?”

I didn’t say that, Wei Wuxian said. That – wasn’t me.

“Who was it?”

Me.

“…Wei-xiong…?”

No, that wasn’t me. I mean, it wasn’t me that said ‘me’ just now!

Of course not, the voice said, and it was Wei Wuxian’s voice – or not-voice, anyway, whatever it was that he was using to communicate – but not Wei Wuxian speaking. It was me, of course. Master forgot to account for me in his array.

What? Wei Wuxian asked, utterly confused, but apparently that made more sense to Nie Huaisang because his knees went weak and he fell down on his ass.

“Aituan?” he gasped. “I – what – is that you?”

Yes.

Can I interrupt? Wei Wuxian asked. Who – or what – is Aituan?

“My saber!”

Your – what?!

Nie Huaisang attempted to explain. It ended up being a fairly long explanation, involving his sect’s cultivation style, saber spirits, and his own personal saber spirit, which was named Aituan, and which Nie Huaisang swore up and down did not speak prior to this.

Of course not, the voice now known as Aituan said irritably. Why would I speak? I’m a saber. We’re sensible, not like you humans – but now you’ve shoved a human spirit in with me, so what am I supposed to do? Not use his abilities as my own?

I feel like I should feel violated, Wei Wuxian said.

“When in fact you think it’s really neat?”

…yeah, basically.

Aituan huffed. Can we get back to the part where we plan a murder? he (it?) whined.

Sorry, Aituan, Wei Wuxian said. No murder.

“Uh,” Nie Huaisang said. “Actually, about that…”

-

I think we should kill him.

“I can’t do that!”

Dunno, I think Aituan has a point, Wei Wuxian said. We should probably just kill him.

“You’re supposed to be helping me, Wei-xiong!”

I’m helping! I’m a saber now, I can totally help you stab him.

“Not helpful!”

I like this human, Aituan declared. Good human. Proper blade on his hilt.

You mean head on my shoulders?

Whatever.

Nie Huaisang threw his hands up in annoyance. “Would either of you like to remember the part where I can’t actually fight? San-ge would beat me black and blue if I so much as picked up a pocket-knife in his presence!”

Get someone else to help, Wei Wuxian suggested pitilessly.

“I tried! You!”

Someone else.

“Like who?”

Hmm. Lan Zhan? He’s great.

“I don’t know. He’s er-ge’s brother, isn’t he? He might not believe me…” Nie hUaisang grimaced. “He hasn’t been much inclined to believe me before.”

Why doesn’t the loudmouth do the talking? Aituan suggested.

Oh, that’s a good idea! Lan Zhan was always inclined to listen to me before.

“I thought you said he hated you?”

He still listened!

Nie Huaisang heaved a sigh.

Your other alternative is stabbing your enemy directly, Aituan said. If you’d like to give it a try…

“…I’ll talk to Lan Zhan.”

-

“I can’t believe you’re perving after my saber,” Nie Huaisang complained.

I can’t believe Lan Zhan likes me! I mean, likes me!

I can’t believe I’m still stuck here with you idiots. Can I go share bodies with Baxia instead?

Lan Wangji just looked awkward.

Some people might mistake it for looking noble and genteel, but by now they all knew: it was just him being horribly awkward.

“I have no such intentions,” he said stiffly. “Only – if it was possible for Wei Ying to exit the saber…”

Nie Huaisang grimaced, humor falling away. “I…don’t really know about that.”

Wait, wait, wait. If I can’t – if I’m stuck as a saber – I can’t – but I really want to kiss Lan Zhan! This isn’t fair! I don’t want to have to wait until I reincarnate.

You won’t reincarnate, Aituan said. You’re a saber. Unless we’re melted down or get ground down by time…

No!

“Surely there has to be some way. Aituan, stop being a part of the problem and start being a part of the solution.”

Fine. Let him possess you.

“…what.”

He just needs a human body, right? Let him possess you. Problem solved.

I can do that?

Technically, I can do that, and you can do it because I can do it. But we’d need Master’s permission.

“There are many, many, many books about why you don’t grant your saber permission to possess you. Anyway, that’s my body!”

Yeah, I guess it would be weird for you to kiss Lan Zhan, would it?

“I mean, not really? He’s very pretty. I could swing it.”

You could?

“…you could swing what,” Lan Wangji said.

“Having Wei-xiong possess me,” Nie Huaisang explained. “So that he and you can get the whole missed opportunity thing out of your system.”

Lan Wangji’s face did a few strange things.

"Assuming that it wouldn't be an issue for you, that is, it being me on the other side..."

"No," Lan Wangji said, and cleared his throat. "That would be - fine."

Ooooooh. Does Lan Zhan like you, too?

"What? No. Don't be ridiculous, Lan Zhan doesn't like me like that."

He'd be willing to kiss you.

"Physical attraction isn't the same thing," Nie Huaisang argued. "Lan Zhan, you're with me on this, right? You wouldn't be interested in -"

Lan Wangji cut him off.

A few moments later, he pulled back and said, thoughtfully, "As suspected. It is fine."

Nie Huaisang opened and closed his mouth a few times.

"...well then," he said blankly, then frowned. “Aituan, can I revoke permission for possession?”

No idea. You'd just have to trust that we'd give it back; it's a risk you'd have to take.

“…well, as illustrated, it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever had. Let’s try it, and then once everyone’s a little more focused we can go do what we need to do. Sound good?”

-

“I really didn’t expect you to start a relationship Nie Huaisang,” Lan Xichen said to Lan Wangji, not long before the end. He sounded deeply puzzled. “I didn’t think you liked him like that.”

“Not by himself,” Lan Wangji said with a shrug. “But he’s good in company.”

“…you’re with other people too? Both of you?”

“Mm.”

Lan Xichen, knowing his younger brother’s reticent temper, especially of late, declined to ask who the other parties were. “Doesn’t that make things crowded?” he asked instead.

“…surprisingly no,” Lan Wangji said. “Not as much as you’d think.”

[bloody-bee-tea]

Confessions are hard

Happy New Year!

Jiang Cheng waves for Nie Huaisang when he sees him enter the diner and then he has to watch as Nie Huaisang flicks his fan open to hide his face behind.

He does that a lot lately, and it makes Jiang Cheng frown every time because what does he have to hide so badly that he doesn’t even step outside of the house without his fan anymore?

Jiang Cheng hasn’t asked him yet, but the question is on his tongue every time he sees Nie Huaisang.

But just like all the other times before, Jiang Cheng swallows his questions back and simply waves Nie Huaisang over. When he’s standing next to the booth Jiang Cheng got for them, Nie Huaisang hesitates.

“Get in here, would you,” Jiang Cheng says with a roll of his eyes and reaches out to take Nie Huaisang’s hand in his and pull him down next to him.

Nie Huaisang freezes and that, too, is something Jiang Cheng has observed a lot lately.

It’s even more worrisome than the fan in Jiang Cheng’s opinion but with this, too, he hasn’t asked. Yet.

If Jiang Cheng is being honest, he is afraid that the answer will be something he doesn’t like.

Jiang Cheng is by far not the most physically affectionate person—that title undoubtedly goes to Wei Wuxian—but with Nie Huaisang things are different. They have been friends for so long that Jiang Cheng feels entirely comfortable around him and so reaching out for Nie Huaisang and keeping him close comes as a second nature to Jiang Cheng by now.

He tried to curb that impulse when he realized that he fell in love with Nie Huaisang, but it made Nie Huaisang worry and so Jiang Cheng went back to his old ways. It’s still—good, to be able to touch Nie Huaisang like this and Jiang Cheng would never do anything to abuse his trust.

But maybe someone else did?

Nie Huaisang was blackout drunk during the last party, and maybe someone else was not quite as considerate about Nie Huaisang’s personal boundaries as Jiang Cheng. Maybe someone touched him in ways that Nie Huaisang didn’t like.

Just the thought makes Jiang Cheng’s blood boil with rage and he takes a deep breath.

“You alright?” Nie Huaisang carefully asks from his side and Jiang Cheng jerks at hearing his voice, too lost in his own thoughts.

“Yeah, sure, I’m alright,” Jiang Cheng presses out and then gives Nie Huaisang what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just wondering,” Nie Huaisang asks and then he pulls the menu closer to himself. “Did you order already?”

“Don’t be stupid, of course not,” Jiang Cheng scoffs out, even though he could.

They have been at this diner often enough that Jiang Cheng knows Nie Huaisang’s order by heart and he could have ordered for both of them.

But that would probably reveal too much about Jiang Cheng’s feelings and so he decided to simply wait for Nie Huaisang to arrive.

“Alright,” Nie Huaisang says as he catches the attention of a waiter.

He orders—for both of them—and then puts the menu back.

“Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng says, because while he fretted over ordering for both of them, Nie Huaisang simply did it and Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what to do with that.

“What?” Nie Huaisang absentmindedly says, busy checking his phone, but he frowns when he finally looks up. “You did want the burger, right?”

“Hell, yes,” Jiang Cheng says with emphasis because he has been daydreaming about this damn burger all day long, but still.

Nie Huaisang knows him well enough to order for him and Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what to do with that at all.

“I—oh,” Nie Huaisang says, when he finally seems to realize what he just did, but by then Jiang Cheng has himself mostly back under control so he simply flicks Nie Huaisang’s forehead.

“Now you realize,” he good-naturedly teases and watches as Nie Huaisang blushes, before he hides it behind his fan again.

“Should I apologize?” Nie Huaisang unsurely asks and Jiang Cheng frowns at him.

“We’re friends. You can know my order,” he then says and watches as Nie Huaisang slowly relaxes again.

Jiang Cheng tries very hard not to think about the lingering, dull pain in his chest that he always experiences when he brings attention to the fact that they are friends.

Friends, and nothing more.

“How was your day?” Jiang Cheng asks, in an attempt to distract himself, because he knows from experience that nothing good ever comes of those thoughts and he would much rather hear how Nie Mingjue tried and failed yet again to tell Lan Xichen that he’s in love with him.

It’s much easier than to think about the fact that Jiang Cheng is in a very similar position to Nie Mingjue.

~*~*~

“I am so fucking mad,” Jiang Cheng calls out the moment he steps inside Nie Huaisang’s apartment and Nie Huaisang pokes his head around the corner.

“About what? Do you need chips with your anger?” he asks and Jiang Cheng huffs and puffs, because of course he needs chips with his anger.

What kind of stupid question is that even.

“Alright, then,” Nie Huaisang mutters and vanishes in the kitchen. Jiang Cheng marches over to the couch, where he plops himself down. He puts his head back and takes a deep breath, trying to center himself, but the anger is still swirling in his gut, and while he knows it’s stupid—that’s just how Wei Wuxian is, after all—he can’t help himself.

“What happened?” Nie Huaisang asks when he comes back, bringing chips with him and before Jiang Cheng answers him, he makes grabby hands at them. “Alright, alright,” Nie Huaisang laughs and hands the chips over without a fight, before he sits down at the opposite end of the couch.

Jiang Cheng is not at all content with the distance between them and so he reaches out to drag Nie Huaisang’s feet into his lap.

If Nie Huaisang doesn’t want to sit close then this will have to do.

Nie Huaisang goes very still for a moment and Jiang Cheng sees how his hand moves, like it would be if he had his fan in his hand, and Jiang Cheng tries not to think about it too much.

“Wei Wuxian happened, that’s what,” Jiang Cheng says, right before he stuffs his face full of chips and it makes Nie Huaisang laugh and relax, so he counts it as a win.

As soon as Jiang Cheng’s mouth is empty he starts to retell what utter bullshit Wei Wuxian has been up to—and will no doubt get away with—when Nie Huaisang suddenly speaks up.

“Does it ever bother you?” he asks out of the blue and Jiang Cheng stills.

“Wei Wuxian? Yes, all the goddamn fucking time, did you not listen to a word I just said?” he incredulously asks but Nie Huaisang shakes his head.

“No, that I’m in love with you,” he says and it’s so completely not what Jiang Cheng expected that he freezes for a good long minute.

“Because sometimes I think it does, but then things like today happen, and I get confused,” Nie Huaisang rambles when Jiang Cheng takes too long to answer and the shaky tone to his voice finally jolts Jiang Cheng out of his stupor.

“Excuse me, you’re in what now with who?” he asks, cutting Nie Huaisang off before he can say something else that doesn’t make sense and Nie Huaisang blinks at him.

“I’m in love? With you?” he asks, clearly unsure himself now as well and Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

“How the fuck would that bother me when I didn’t even know about that!” he then yells, because if he had known about that sooner than he wouldn’t have to pine all this damn time.

“But I confessed to you!” Nie Huaisang yells back and it’s again a sentence so stunning that Jiang Cheng goes motionless.

“You what?” he demands to know and his confusion only grows when Nie Huaisang nods at him. “When the hell was that?” Jiang Cheng asks, because he is pretty damn sure that he would remember something like his best friend, the guy he’s been in love with for close to two years now, confessing to him.

“At the party,” Nie Huaisang mumbles and he takes his feet back, curls up at the end of the couch and Jiang Cheng can tell that he’s missing his fan pretty badly right now.

“At the party,” Jiang Cheng repeats, because he was there, at the party.

He was even sober, as the designated driver for the night, and so this still doesn’t make any more sense than before.

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang hisses out. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, you don’t have to play dumb like this.”

“I am not playing dumb, Huaisang, it just never happened. You didn’t confess to me!”

“But I did,” Nie Huaisang says with a small frown, clearly hurt by Jiang Cheng’s adamant answer. “I remember telling you I love you.”

“Oh no,” Jiang Cheng says and smacks his forehead, because he thinks he knows what Nie Huaisang remembers.

“I’m sorry,” Nie Huaisang says, clearly misunderstanding Jiang Cheng’s reaction and Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

“You didn’t confess, Huaisang,” he quickly tells him, because he cannot bear to see the heartbroken look on Nie Huaisang’s face, especially when there’s no reason for it.

“But—”

“You were drunk,” Jiang Cheng says. “Really goddamn drunk. And you came up to me, and you took my face into your hands, squished my cheeks and then said, and I quote: “I luuuuuuuuv ya, ma bro” before you leaned over and threw up on my shoes. Excuse me for misinterpreting that, but I don’t think that counts as a love confession.”

Nie Huaisang stares at him with big eyes, his entire face suddenly pale.

“That bastard,” he then hisses and Jiang Cheng raises his eyebrows questioningly at him.

“Let me guess, Wei Wuxian?”

“He said I confessed to you! He swore it up and down!”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but he was maybe even more drunk than you were,” Jiang Cheng says with a shrug, completely ignoring the fluttery feeling in his chest.

For now.

“And besides, do you really want to believe Wei Wuxian anything he says regarding to confessions? You do remember that he confessed to Lan Wangji by pushing a rabbit into his hands, yelling “He loves you so much, he deserves two dads” and then vanishing for almost three weeks? You’re taking that Wei Wuxian’s advice?” Jiang Cheng asks and he can’t help the small smile when Nie Huaisang groans.

“So you didn’t know?” he asks pitifully and hides his face in his hands when Jiang Cheng shakes his head. “I just confessed to you in the worst way possible,” Nie Huaisang presses out and that actually startles a laugh out of Jiang Cheng.

“Did you even listen to what I just said? Do you really think anything could be worse than Wei Wuxian’s confession?” he asks, because he’s honestly curious, but then Nie Huaisang glares at him and Jiang Cheng goes serious in an instant.

“I know now,” Jiang Cheng says and reaches out to wrap his fingers around Nie Huaisang’s wrists, carefully pulling his hands away from his face. “And it doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all, because I’m in love with you, too,” he then says and his voice almost doesn’t shake at all, and the nerves in his stomach feel more like butterflies than fear of rejection and this is better than Jiang Cheng ever dared to hope for.

“You what?” Nie Huaisang asks, finally looking directly at Jiang Cheng again, who smiles slightly at him.

“I luv ya, too, ma bro,” he can’t help but to say and when Nie Huaisang lets out an indignant yell, Jiang Cheng dissolves into laughter.

It’s not long before Nie Huaisang joins him—though he did take a minute or two to slap at Jiang Cheng’s shoulder—and it takes them a really long time to calm down again.

“No, but seriously, A-Cheng,” Nie Huaisang says, once they both caught their breaths.

“Seriously, A-Sang,” Jiang Cheng gives back, can’t help but to tease, just a little bit, but it’s mostly because he’s so relieved.

“Jiang Cheng,” Nie Huaisang whines and Jiang Cheng smiles as he puts his arm around Nie Huaisang and pulls him closer into his side, so that he can press a kiss to his head more easily.

“Alright, enough teasing,” Jiang Cheng whispers. “Seriously. I am in love with you. So no, it doesn’t bother me at all.”

“Good,” Nie Huaisang says and then he tilts his head, looks up at Jiang Cheng and Jiang Cheng absolutely cannot resist.

He would have, before, but now that he knows that it’s okay if he doesn’t, there’s no reason to, anyway. Jiang Cheng leans in, until he can press his lips to Nie Huaisang’s, who makes a soft, contented noise and then kisses right back.

They lose themselves in this, for a while, and when they finally stop, it’s with Jiang Cheng flat on his back on the couch and Nie Huaisang draped all over him.

“Mh, I like this,” Nie Huaisang whispers and presses kisses to every inch of Jiang Cheng’s skin he can reach.

“Me, too,” Jiang Cheng admits and bends slightly so that he can kiss Nie Huaisang’s forehead.

They fall asleep like that, perfectly content, and Jiang Cheng never wants to sleep any other way.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[loxare]

More fics I should not be writing because I should be asleep! This one is post canon, sort of setting up a Yunmeng reconciliation? Descriptions of injuries. Lan Wangji gets yelled at. Other stuff happens.

~

Jiang Cheng stood outside the door of the sect healer, waiting, simmering with fury.

He had lost his sister to her own choices, and to the sword of a cultivator who had been trying to kill his brother.

He had lost his brother scant minutes later to his own choices, to a fall that any cultivator would have survived, to a fall that had killed his non-cultivator brother.

And now, now Jiang Cheng might lose his brother again. Just when he'd gotten him back. And he would have, if the group of disciples he'd sent to deal with a pack of fierce corpses hadn't finished early. If they hadn't found Wei Wuxian lying on the side of the road, bleeding.

The assistant who had come out a shichen ago for bandages and had subsequently been bullied until he answered his sect leader's questions had said that they were still working. That they were hopeful. But that if Wei Wuxian had gotten here any later, there would have been nothing they could have done.

And so Jiang Cheng seethed. He had seen the wounds, before he'd been locked out of the room. No bite marks, so not a fierce corpse, yao, or animal. Heavy bruising, which could be indicative of bandits, if Jiang Cheng didn't keep his roads clear and ensure his people all had enough to eat. And if it hadn't been for all the sword wounds.

Even with the small core Wei Wuxian had now, no non-cultivator would have been able to touch him with a blade. Jiang Cheng had seen him fight a war, surrounded on all sides by cultivators and holding them off - winning - with just his flute. Not even playing it, just using it to block strikes and hit pressure points.

Which meant that whoever had gone after him had been a cultivator. And a good one.

It made sense. Even now, when the blame for Jin Zixuan lay solely on Jin Guangyao's shoulders, people still hated the Yiling Patriarch. Even now, he had enemies. It was to be expected. Jiang Cheng knew that Wei Wuxian would have people who hated him or his methods until the day he died. Again.

So what had he been doing on a Yunmeng road all alone?

It hadn't been that long ago that Jiang Cheng had watched his brother walk away with Hanguang-Jun. With the way Hanguang-Jun looked at Wei Wuxian, there was no way he cared so little that he would abandon him to bleed on the side of the road. Which meant he hadn't been there when Wei Wuxian had been attacked.

Hanguang-Jun had left Wei Wuxian alone.

Alone, when anyone with a grain of sense knew that Wei Wuxian had enemies.

The door opened. Liu-daifu stepped out, wiping water off of her hands with a cloth. "He'll be fine," were the first words out if her mouth, because she knew her sect leader well. "I'm keeping him sedated until he heals up a bit, otherwise he'll undo all my hard work by trying to move, but we can wake him up in a day or two."

Jiang Cheng let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Good." He worked his jaw. He didn't want to know this. As a sect leader, he should know it, so he could plan Wei Wuxian's recovery training. Maybe find out who did this. And... hm. "What was the extent of the damage?"

Liu-daifu took a breath. "Most you know. Broken leg, punctured lung," from where someone had run him through, "several broken fingers," because someone had stomped on his hand, "various smaller cuts. Two floating ribs, which is why I don't want him moving, not until they set a bit more. I'd recommend at least two weeks on bed rest, followed by very light exercise for two months. If he's lucky and follows the stretches we give him, he'll retain full motion in his hand."

Jiang Cheng closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. It wouldn't do to yell, not now, no matter how furious he was. Liu-daifu would understand, but she wouldn't be happy. "Thank you. Excuse me."

Yan Xing was waiting for him in his office. "Zongzhu. I sent disciples in plain robes to various tea houses and inns around Yunmeng to listen for gossip. If whoever did this is nearby, we'll find out."

"Good." He sat at his desk and scribbled a quick note, waving the paper once he was done to dry the ink faster. "Get someone fast to give this to Nie Huaisang. If we can't find the bastard, he can." He rolled his shoulders. "I'm going to Gusu. I should be back before Wei Wuxian wakes. If not, you know what to do."

Dipping into a quick bow, Yan Xing left.

Jiang Cheng stopped only long enough to change into less bloodstained robes before he left. He didn't bother with formal robes because this wasn't a formal visit and also they would have gotten messed up in the flight over anyways.

He flew through the night, too agitated to land and rest. By the time he landed in Caiyi, it was close to dawn. He sent a message to Cloud Recesses, then stopped at an inn to rest for a few hours. It wouldn't do to be incoherent from exhaustion.

Exactly at midday, Hanguang-Jun stepped into the inn and the innkeeper led him to the private dining room Jiang Cheng was waiting in. The look the Chief Cultivator gave him could have curdled milk. Jiang Cheng was mildly surprised that his returning glare didn't set Hanguang-Jun on fire.

They exchanged pleasantries, which barely qualified for the name, and then Jiang Cheng threw a silencing talisman at the door. It was the strongest one he had. Wei Wuxian's design, of course. Then he took a deep breath. "What. The fuck. Is your problem?"

Hanguang-Jun raised an eyebrow.

Jiang Cheng grit his teeth, but fair enough. Hanguang-Jun had many problems. He would have to clarify. "I was under the impression, when you left Guanyin Temple staring at Wei Wuxian like he'd shot the suns from the sky, that you cared about his wellbeing."

Hanguang-Jun raised his eyebrow further. "I do."

"Then why," Jiang Cheng said tightly, every word forcing itself through the tight ball of rage in his chest, "did my disciples find him alone on a roadside in Yunmeng?"

"He can defend himself," was Hanguang-Jun's lukewarm excuse.

"Oh, so that makes it alright to abandon him then?" Jiang Cheng leaned in closer. "Whether he can or not is irrelevant. He was half dead, Hanguang-Jun."

Before he could even finish his sentence, Hanguang-Jun was standing, heading for the door. Zidian snapped in front of his face, forcing him to take a step back or lose his nose.

"Sit the fuck down, Hanguang-Jun," Jiang Cheng roared. "You are not allowed to leave until you account for your actions! You do not get to pretend concern when you left him to fend for himself!" Jiang Cheng stepped in close, crowding Hanguang-Jun closer to the wall, further from the door, Zidian sparking in his hand. "He was found with multiple sword cuts. This was no accident or monster attack. One of Wei Wuxian's enemies tried to kill him. And clearly, he wasn't able to defend himself."

"Enemies?" The word came out slightly higher pitched and breathless.

How had a man this stupid become Chief Cultivator? "Yes, Hanguang-Jun," Jiang Cheng said with exaggerated patience. "Enemies. Enemies who didn't disappear when his innocence was proven. Enemies who still hate him, and what he does, and what he did. So why the fuck was Wei Wuxian lying on the road dying without someone with him?"

Jiang Cheng had never been able to decipher Hanguang-Jun's facial expressions. But the guilt and discomfort would have been easy for anyone to see. "He said he wanted to travel."

"Great. Why didn't you go with him? Or send some of those beribboned goslings that are so besotted with him along?" If Wei Wuxian still wanted to travel when he was better, Jiang Cheng might do that with his own disciples. It would be good field experience for them.

Hanguang-Jun looked pained. "He said he wanted to travel alone."

Jiang Cheng froze. "Alone." He took a deep breath. Counted to ten. Twenty. "Alone? Wei Wuxian called you his zhiji, didn't he? And you think he wanted to travel alone?" It was so absurd as to almost be funny. "Wei Wuxian can't stand being alone. Oh, he enjoys sitting on rooftops with only the stars and a jar of wine for company, but he is incapable of going for more than a few days without someone paying attention to him, and you think he wanted to travel alone?"

More likely, that dumbass had thought he'd be in the way. Or he'd ruin Hanguang-Jun's pristine reputation with his proximity. Or, and this is the one Jiang Cheng was betting on, Hanguang-Jun didn't actually say, out loud, with words, that he wanted Wei Wuxian to stay, and so Wei Wuxian hadn't thought he was welcome.

He couldn't deal with this idiocy. He snorted at Hanguang-Jun's pained expression. "Whatever. I just wanted you to know how badly you'd screwed up. And now, you're going to pay the price. You can't have him back. Wei Wuxian is a disciple of Yunmeng Jiang. If you had taken better care of him, I would have been willing to let the two of you get married with minimal fuss." A modest bride price for one, and many lotus flowers at the actual ceremony. If his idiot of a brother had eloped, which was much more likely, he would have just let it go entirely. His brother's happiness was still important to him, even after everything, and not worth destroying just so Jiang Cheng could try and wedge himself into where he wasn't wanted.

Hanguang-Jun's ears took on a distinct shade of red at the word "marry". A spark of hope lit in his eyes.

He would take great pleasure in extinguishing that hope. Jiang Cheng took a step forward, Zidian crackling on his arm. "But now, if you want to take him away, you have to prove to all of Yunmeng Jiang that you can take care of him. If you try and marry him without my blessing, it will be war."

Then, leaving Hanguang-Jun still as a statue behind him, he tore his talisman off the door and left.

The flight home was quiet. Liu-daifu fused over him when he landed early the next morning, berating him for not sleeping, not eating, generally not taking care of himself. With Yan Xing taking care of all his duties for the day, Jiang Cheng allowed himself to be bullied into eating a decent meal and then bullied into bed. He awoke with a pounding headache that the food and tea waiting for him alleviated, and was feeling mostly alive when the healers woke Wei Wuxian.

His face was thinner than he remembered, something Jiang Cheng knew Liu-daifu intended to fix, but it still scrunched up the way it always did before he woke up. Wei Wuxian blinked his eyes a few times before they focused on Jiang Cheng's scowl. "Jiang Cheng? Oh, I mean, Jiang-zong-"

"Are you an idiot?" Jiang Cheng interrupted. "Dont answer that, I know you are. But have you become an even bigger idiot since you died? Did you leave half of what little intelligence you had in the grave? What the fuck were you doing dying in a ditch alone?"

Another slow blink. With every word out of Jiang Cheng's mouth, Wei Wuxian relaxed further and further into his mattress. "I was going to... Xiangyang. They've got water ghouls."

Jiang Cheng made a note of that. Both that there was a problem in his territory that he needed to send some people to fix and that the information had gotten to his brother who had been travelling before it had gotten to him. And then he made a note of Wei Wuxian's slurred voice and difficulty focusing on his face and said, "Get some rest dumbass. You're staying until you're healed, so I'll have plenty of time to yell at you after you've slept off your anaesthetics."

Wei Wuxian nodded exaggeratedly. "Mmkay Jiang Cheng. G'night. Love you."

That last bit was mumbled into his blanket, but Jiang Cheng still heard it. He froze. A blossom of warmth spread through his chest, one that had been so familiar to him years and years ago, one he thought he'd strangled into cold silence. He smiled and patted Wei Wuxian gently on his head. After everything, his brother still loved him. "Yeah. Love you too. Rest up. You've got lots of scolding scheduled for tomorrow."

Wei Wuxian said nothing. He was already asleep. Jiang Cheng went to get some more rest himself. Liu-daifu had been glaring at him even as she'd pulled the needles out of Wei Wuxian's neck.

Tomorrow, he'd shout his brother into oblivion. Maybe the day after too, depending on how he was feeling. After that, who knew. Maybe they'd be awkward and angry at each other for the entire two months that Wei Wuxian was recovering. Maybe this would all end in tears and fucking Hanguang-Jun would get Wei Wuxian back without a fight after all. Or maybe. Maybe they'd take their sister's advice and talk to each other.

~

And then wwx wakes up and gets yelled at a lot and does a bit of yelling himself and feelings are exchanged at volume but they are in fact exchanged. And then lwj, taking the easy road, does not take wwx away and marries into the Jiang sect, which pisses jc off even more.

[i-am-just-a-kiddo]

thank you for tagging me @vishcount​ 💕 this made me somewhat emotional tbh. the untamed will just always stay with me and it’s nice to dwell on it. am gonna put this under the cut too: 

Favourite Character: Nie Huaisang 

I did not want to mention wangxian two times in this post so my third child it is. i’m not sure if i just love the version of him i created in my head since canon does not give as much, or if i love him despite the little content we have. either way, he is everything to me. the most relatable character probably - clumsy, cowardly, awkward, not that skilled in fighting; AND YET. the decision to have him be one of the main players in this entire story is just so good. truly a wolf in sheep’s clothing and i love that for him. i could write novels about him here but am gonna spare ya’ll. with all his faults, all his vices, all his ruthlessness - he was broken so early and all he ever wanted was to live his life peacefully. i am sorry i project so much of myself onto you, son. Favourite Friendship: Nielan

i am surprised myself that i am putting them here but? apparently i am. i thought about dumb gusu trio that i adore, about junior quartet, about wangxian and songxiao, but suddenly? i realised nielan are the ones that make me cry so badly even though we have seen so little of them. i love this idea of childhood friends, of them supporting each other as they take on the duties of their respective clans, as they care about their tiny brothers (don’t think about big nmj petting tiny lwj’s head, don’t think about lxc gently braiding small nhs’ hair don’t think-), as they have to face the chaos in the world all by themselves. i love nie mingjue’s temper against lan xichen’s gentleness, i love nmj’s huge heart and lxc’s quiet care, i love the way they treat each other so much. if jin guangyao had not decided to be a bitch, they could have been a nice throuple. but well, instead we have pain and suffering for these two :)  also if my memory does not betray me, sunshot campaign nielan in the donghua was awesome and i wish we had gotten more of that.  Favourite Ship: Wangxian 

this is the pairing of pairings for me. i have written so much for them i don’t feel it’s necessary to elaborate on all of it. they just fit perfectly. their story, their character arcs, the angst, their deep affection for each other. they are everything to me? wangxian is love ya’ll.

Favourite Sect: Yunmeng Jiang

This was such a tough choice okay. i love gusu with its peace, with its secluded mountains and quiet places, the snow and the forests surrounding it. but i chose yunmeng in the end because i feel like this sect allows the most freedom? from all the sects, i think i would feel the most comfortable there. besides that, i love the piers, the little bridges and the waters surrounding it. everything is so green and lively, it must be so nice falling asleep and waking up to the sound of water - water always brings me a huge sense of comfort so i think being surrounded by it at all times would be so healing. i honestly wish i could stay there all summer and move to gusu in winter. 

Favourite Sword: 

i love the design of suibian so much, it has this wooden simple look that fits so well to my aesthetic. all the swords are stunning but i think suibian fits wwx so perfectly? very utilitarian and simple compared to all the glamour, and yet it is still so expressive somehow. also if i remember correcly the blade has this red streak right? which is so cool as well. i dunno what else to say, it’s just a very dope sword and it is the one i would choose.  honourable mentions is baxia because - simply iconic; and sandu, because of froggo. 

this was so nice sigh. am tagging @sassyassassy​, @cortue​ (i think i saw you blogging abt cql?), @tresi-world​  and anyone else who sees this and likes the untamed? i am unsure who else is there rn. have fun! 

[ruensroad]

threads of love

For @this-solaris-life, who wanted to see the Sangyu from my Witch and Familiar AU and I couldn’t say no because I love them <3

---

It’d been snowing nonstop since the morning and had been off and on for most of the week. As such, Mo Xuanyu’s orders had turned predictably to warm coats and scarves, mittens, and even boots, beanies, and ear muffs. It had always amused him, somewhat, that the worst of winter came just before the spring, as though reluctant to let go. He enjoyed watching everyone walk all bundled up, like fluffy jellybeans, down Witcher’s Row. So many colors through the fog of white. For being so monochrome by design, it was the most colorful time of the year and Mo Xuanyu loved it.

The New Year always brought an explosion of reds into his shop and he’d yet to fully finish packing what remained away, even with the rest of the rainbow of materials filling the shelves again. The rich, pine greens, most recently, were his new favorite, but still they paled in comparison to his stack of yellows, so unloved, but so delightful and charming when worn by those few that favored it. To be able to work with the bright gold now brought a smile to his face.

His order list was full, but his shop was empty, allowing him some time to relax and focus on his knitting, given his magic was further hard at work building each new garment to desired specification in the flustered chaos of his workroom. It wasn’t a spectacular sort of magical gift, but it was his, and if he could spread even just a little bit a joy through the gloom of winter, it was worth the constant headaches.

Of course, the pain was significantly less than it used to be, thanks to one Nie Huaisang, who’s stubborn will and balancing of his own magic had lessened the mental load. It helped, too, that his familiar was a bit of a diva and loved modeling all of Mo Xuanyu’s designs, no matter how silly they seemed on paper. As such, Mo Xuanyu’s magic and inspiration had started to thrive and the workload far more easier to carry. He liked to think the world had brightened, too, the moment Huaisang had first smiled his way, or gushed over a new fabric. He hadn’t realized how stagnant he’d become until Huaisang had swept him along in a gleeful cascade of color, and now he couldn’t imagine ever going back.

It also helped that the man was a peacock, literally and figuratively, who loved all the attention he got from customers. Naturally charming, Mo Xuanyu knew he had Huaisang to thank for no less than half of his new clientele, who had started bringing snacks or fluffed up perches and other gifts for him to enjoy. As though he needed to be more spoiled than he already was.

Mo Xuanyu smiled to himself and started on the last row of stitches, weaving the gold yarn around a pair of bright pink crochet hooks Huaisang had gifted him with. Honestly, he spoiled Huaisang more than anyone and taking the time to work more just to see him smile proved it.

But with all Huaisang brought into his life, all the joy and laughter, it was worth it. It would always be worth it.

As though summoned by his thoughts, warm hands settled on his shoulders and squeezed lightly, while a chin propped on top of his head. “So, this is the super secret sweater you won’t let me see unfolded?” Huaisang asked, playfully pulling on Mo Xuanyu’s braid. “Is it for a child? Are we having a kid?”

Mo Xuanyu swatted at him, getting a round of sweet giggles. “No,” he huffed, because they’d already had that talk, but that didn’t stop the blush forming across his face.

“For a pet?” Huaisang asked next, fingers starting a slow massage up and down his neck. Mo Xuanyu instantly relaxed into it, not even realizing he’d grown so tense over the hours of work. It was always a relief when Huaisang made him melt.

“I suppose you could say that,” Mo Xuanyu gave him that much, because it was true enough, though the fact Huaisang was calling himself a pet had him bubbling with laughter. “Patience. You’ll see.”

“Can I feel it at least?” Huaisang was pouting now, but it was all in good fun, and Mo Xuanyu allowed him to take the ball of yawn to feel its smooth, silken texture. His surprise was instant. “This is from your special stash, isn’t it?”

Mo Xuanyu smiled wider, but gave him nothing. “Mn.”

“A-Yu,” Huaisang sighed and went back to rubbing his neck. “You are talking to me here. You know I am not patient.”

“You are for the right things,” Mo Xuanyu pointed out, refusing to sway.

“True…” A soft kiss was pressed to the top of his head and Mo Xuanyu shivered to feel it. Even two years being loved and it sometimes still felt new. Brand new. “I waited for you.”

“You did,” Mo Xuanyu looked up at him, turning his face a little, and was rewarded with a kiss between his brows. “So many years… one more minute will not kill you.”

“A-Yu,” Huaisang pouted, tugging on his braid again, and Mo Xuanyu laughed, pleased as he finished the line of stitching. At last, nearly two weeks of work and he was finished.

“Fine, fine, you can see it now.”

Huaisang moved in front of him and Mo Xuanyu did his best not to look nervous as he held up the golden sweater. A warm brown thread had been woven over the front of it in four bold, blocky letters after a hashtag and he hoped it looked good, not tacky.

“Oh my gods, does that say DIVA,” Huaisang gasped and carefully extracted the sweater from his hands. “Holy shit. Who is this for? I want it. Can I have it? I’m keeping it.”

Mo Xuanyu laughed at the idea of his boyfriend and partner stealing someone’s clothes because he liked them, even if they’d never fit. What a surprising thief!

“It’s for you,” he said, shaking his head, and hid the shake in his hands by clasping them in his lap. He hoped, one day, the nerves of giving gifts would not scare him so badly. Hoped that one day, the fear of rejection would never touch him again, especially when Huaisang was already smiling at him like that.

“For my other form?” Huaisang asked, sounding excited, and reverently traced the letters.

Mo Xuanyu smiled, face starting to heat up again, and nodded. “To keep you warm. I noticed you haven’t been strutting around as a bird much lately. Not that I can blame you. It gets cold in here.”

He was kissed for that, a proper, sweet kiss to his lips that left his whole body tingling. His magic sang softly in delight, the way it always did when Huaisang was near, and he melted into it, the fear shoved down to deal with another day.

“Put it on me?” Huaisang asked, handing it back and shifting before he’d even answered. He flapped his iridescent wings excitedly before standing tall and still, waiting.

Mo Xuanyu carefully eased it over his wings and around his body, ever thankful his magic could guide him through perfect measurements every time. It was loose enough Huaisang could move and none of his feathers ruffled the wrong way, but snug enough to be warm, the way it was meant to.

The #DIVA stood out proudly on his chest and Mo Xuanyu couldn’t stop the soft chuckle at how pleased his familiar looked in the shimmering gold.

“Do you like it?” he had to ask and smoothed down the last of the wrinkles.

You made it, of course I love it, was Huaisang’s easy answer, then he was stepping in close and laying his head on Mo Xuanyu’s lap, a soft trill in the motion. Mo Xuanyu smiled in relief and gently smoothed his palm over the silken feathers, scratching lightly under Huaisang’s eye the way he knew his familiar loved most.

“I’m glad,” Mo Xuanyu murmured, truly glad for it, for the acceptance and love and color Huaisang brought to his heart, and when he leaned down to kiss Huaisang’s beak, it was with a song in his soul. Thank you.

[aspiratixxn]

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: None at the moment

Summary: 

If the perfect blank canvas walked in, wouldn’t you want to paint it too? Or in which one Wei Wuxian colors the entire world of one Lan Wangji.

Start from the beginning [AO3] [Tumblr]

-----------

Closing the shop is as much of an ordeal as opening it in the mornings. It follows the same procedure, putting the tools into the autoclave and disinfecting every single surface anyone has touched, which is everywhere. A-Yuan sits sleepy in Mianmian’s chair as Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang clean to the sound of quiet alternative playing through the speakers. 

“So. Your brother.” Wei Wuxian leans against the pole of the mop. He’s been meaning to upgrade to a swiffer at some point but ah well, someday sometime. “I didn’t know he was getting a tattoo, much less with those two. Who’s that Lan Xichen anyways? Never seen him around.” 

Nie Huaisang laughs as he takes down the pinned designs. They cycle through a few folders every week to give people fresh perspectives on their styles and such, plus it makes this place look far more lived in. “Well, they’re new in town I think. Lan Xichen and his brother. Moved into da-ge’s apartment complex maybe,” he counts on his fingers, “four or five days ago? Like super new. Anyways, apparently Lan Xichen’s the kind to bring osmanthus cakes to the neighbors and da-ge had Jin Guangyao over and bam, just met like that!” 

Wei Wuxian isn’t all that prying about other people, especially when it comes to people like Nie Mingjue who could and would break your spine in half if you bugged him. Not that he would to his little brother’s friends but Wei Wuxian was never quite sure of how real the threat actually was so he chose instead to keep a low profile. “So then they’re friends now?” He quirks an eyebrow when Nie Huaisang begins to snicker. “Not friends?”

“Oh definitely friends. But y’know how da-ge and Jin Guangyao have known each other for a really long time?” Wei Wuxian nods. Family friends or something brought them together and since they were close in age, they had become close. Friends isn’t necessarily the right word in Wei Wuxian’s opinion but he’s not here to judge. “Well so they’re dating-”

“WHAT.” Wei Wuxian’s screech wakes A-Yuan who makes adorable grumbling sounds as he clutches a pillow close to him. “What.” Wei Wuxian whispers, eyes huge and it’s all Nie Huaisang can do to not fall over laughing.

“Yeah, so they’re dating, it’s a long story,” he whispers back between giggles. “It was really weird cause they’ve never seemed like, to like each other but I guess stuff happened when I wasn’t looking. And they’re dating and whatever and according to da-ge, Lan Xichen just kind of naturally fell into it.” 

“Soooo, a trouple?” Nie Huaisang makes a face at the term (it’s always sounded weird to him) but shrugs and nods anyways. “Wow.” Wei Wuxian kind of feels like he needs to sit down. Moreso at the shock that 1) Nie Mingjue dating and 2) Nie Mingjue dating Jin Guangyao and 3) Nie Mingjue dating Jin Guangyao and also dating new in town handsome man Lan Xichen and 4) deciding to get matching tattoos together within a week of knowing each other. “Huaisang, d’ya think this is your brother’s way of proposing or something?” He’s met with a shrug and a semi-mischievous smile. Wei Wuxian knows exactly what that means and sighs, turning instead to finish mopping instead of thinking about that whole mess. He doesn’t miss how Nie Huaisang sneak up to him, holding the binder of designs to cover half his face. 

“Soooo, Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang sing-songs next to Wei Wuxian, eyes alight with amusement. “I saw you were, ehem, captivated by Lan Wangji?” 

A dreamy sigh. “Yeah, he’s just. So pretty.” 

So pretty. Dressed beautifully in a long coat, plain white shirt and jeans. A difference from his earlier look in slacks and a button up. Wei Wuxian wonders why he was dressed up in the morning like that. He sees again those red-pink ears, adorable especially with Lan Wangji’s lips pressed together. Pretty, pretty shades of gold hazel eyes that Wei Wuxian swears he’s never seen before. Nie Huaisang snorts, nudging him with the corner of a design printed on stiff paper. 

“Well, my da-ge managed to snag his brother in a week so I don’t see why you couldn’t do the same.” Wei Wuxian feels like she should be kind of offended by that. Nie Mingjue isn’t exactly the romantic type. He snickers at the thought of Mingjue doing something sappy and romantic. “Though admittedly that Lan Wangji looks kind of like a stick is up his ass into his brain.” 

Wei Wuxian sighs, another dreamy sigh, “Yeah, he does.” Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes and shoves him. “Hey!” 

“Yes, yes, let’s just get this cleaned up so you can take A-Yuan home. Isn’t it spaghetti night?” It’s a wonder that Nie Huaisang remembers these facts when Wei Wuxian doesn’t, and it’s his own goddamn schedule! “And I bet Wen Qing asked you to get something from the store.” Bullseye. 

Wei Wuxian lifts up the mop and turns the wet end towards a scandalized Nie Huaisang, who books it quick next to A-Yuan, leaning over dramatically and loudly saying, “A-Yuan! Save me! Your Xian-gege is being mean to me!” Which leads to A-Yuan standing between him and the mop, arms outstretched and a pouty look on his face.

“No being mean Xian-gege!” Nie Huaisang sticks out his tongue at him and it takes all of Wei Wuxian’s meager self control not to smack him in the head with the mop. “Xian-gege!” He looks down at A-Yuan who’s making the hands to be picked up gesture. “Can we go home yet?” 

“In a sec bud.” Wei Wuxian finishes the mopping at lightning speed and shoves all the supplies away before scooping up A-Yuan who shrieks with joy. “Huaisang, are you going to come over for dinner or are you gonna go moon over Jiang Cheng?” For his credit, Nie Huaisang only sputters a little bit. 

In the end they split ways, though Nie Huaisang promises to stop by later that night for late night baking. A-Yuan gives Sang-gege a big hug goodbye and then they’re off, walking down the bustling street to the local market to get some milk and some tiramisu for Wen Qing. 

“Wei-gongzi!” Ah, Wen Ning, right on time by the radishes. It’s like the Wen siblings have a sixth sense for where exactly Wei Wuxian is going to be. It’s kind of uncanny. “Wei-gongzi! A-Yuan!” Wen Ning skids to a stop just before them, his backpack looking dangerously full to be running like that. 

“Wen Ning, what’s up? Why the rush?” Wei Wuxian leans against the little race car cart they got where A-Yuan sits and fake honks at people passing by. The car contains the long awaited milk, a whole tiramisu cake, some vegetables of varying colors, and right now Wei Wuxian is debating adding radishes or not. He doesn’t particularly like them but Wen Qing and A-Yuan do so he shrugs and takes one, plopping it in as Wen Ning catches his breath. 

“Oh! Uh, well I just didn’t want to miss you guys.” Wen Ning readjusts his load and stands tall (or not that tall) with a grin. “Plus today’s spaghetti night and I brought,” he lowers his voice, “the good stuff.” Wei Wuxian flings an arm over his shoulders and pulls him close, with which Wen Ning takes squeaking.

“Wen Ning, you sir, are the light of my life, my beloved little brother.” Wen Ning flushes and scrambles. 

“Don’t let Jiang Cheng hear you say that! He’ll have my head.” He can already imagine Jiang Cheng puffing out his chest, face toasted redder than a lobster as he complains about how ungrateful Wei Wuxian is for being adopted into the Jiang family and if he wanted so badly to have Wen Ning as a little brother he should just marry Wen Qing or something! Which Wei Wuxian may have considered at one point in his life but a few caveats to that plan have yet to be solved. Namely Wen Qing being distinctly not into Wei Wuxian (for a variety of reasons she has disclosed many times) and that she wasn’t really all that into men to begin with. But she was a damn good friend and back when they were all worried about getting deported, Wei Wuxian had offered without hesitation to marry Wen Qing and claim Wen Ning as family. Thankfully it hadn’t come to that but he maintains that he would’ve done it anyways.

Besides, they were the ones who introduced him to adorable A-Yuan who, ever since they first met, has always been the first priority in Wei Wuxian’s heart. A-Yuan was Wen Qing’s cousin’s sister’s something or another kid. An orphan. Wei Wuxian knew how dangerous that could be with a kid that young and had called up a lawyer immediately, processing adoption papers faster than anyone thought could be done with that convoluted system. 

Wen Ning and Wei Wuxian wander the grocery store aisles, debating over what type of juice to get (peach in the end) and if they should buy fruit sandwiches or not (they did). They leave with significantly more stuff than they came in with. The only saving grace is that Wei Wuxian’s apartment isn’t too far off, a block and a half. The well lit building greets them with a soft glow.

In the past, Wei Wuxian had lived in some shady ass places. When he first started Yiling Tattoo it was small and struggling. He hadn’t made a name for himself yet and though Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang helped out sometimes, they weren’t mainstays either. It was really just Wei Wuxian busting his ass, churning out designs every day and building up his presence. Infamy some might say, for his policy of never turning down a tattoo request at the time. Obviously he’s developed standards since then but it was rough.

Since he’s gotten A-Yuan though, his life has changed so much. He’s only had A-Yuan officially for around six months now but he hauled his ass out of his old ratty one bedroom apartment and got himself a much nicer one. He and A-Yuan share a room and a queen sized bed but it’s okay because A-Yuan loves sleeping with his Xian-gege. He bought real furniture and tableware instead of keeping his tattered college age couch (that has definitely seen some shit) and eating off paper plates. He learned to cook and bake just for A-Yuan. He has A-Yuan’s doodles posted up on every possible surface along with his own renditions and it’s a beautiful chaotic mural that he’ll hate to take down if he has to move. 

He and Wen Ning kick off their shoes at the entrance and he passes over the groceries to Wen Ning so he can stoop and help A-Yuan with the velcro on his light up sketchers(™). A-Yuan might be a little sleepy but that doesn’t stop him from pulling Wei Wuxian to the living room floor and pulling on his sleeves.

“Ah, don’t worry Wei-gongzi I can start! Let A-Yuan play around with you for a little, he’s been a good boy today.” Wen Ning has the warmest look as A-Yuan echoes his sentiment, pulling hard on Wei Wuxian’s sleeves as he breaks out his markers with one hand as best as he can. 

Of course Wei Wuxian caves, sitting down and shedding his jacket, exposing lines and lines of black that course up his arms in every which way. His entire left arm is filled pretty much with doodles from when Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang were practicing designs on skin for the first time. He had liked the marker drawings so much that he asked them to tattoo him right there and then and they, surprised, had agreed. His right arm is a bit more symbolic, with tattoos designed by Wen Ning and Wen Qing and reflecting all the events in his life. He likes to reminisce over them to remind himself of where he came from, how lucky he has been his whole life. He’ll tell them to A-Yuan as bedtime stories, building nostalgic memories in his heart and maybe instilling them in that curious mind too. 

He leans against the couch and turns on some music, something quieter to fit the cozy atmosphere. He settles on lo-fi versions of classics, starting with put your head on my shoulder. Wen Ning hums quietly along as A-Yuan colors in flowers and mountains from Huaisang, colors in lotus flowers and dragons from Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian must have dozed off because the next thing he knows is Wen Qing knocking on the door and being let in by her brother. She looks tired but satisfied so the meeting probably went well enough. She sets her bags at the dining table and ties up her hair, quietly speaking with Wen Ning. Though she shoots a look at Wei Wuxian, it softens when she sees him colored up and down by A-Yuan, who is currently filling in storm clouds in shades of pale pink and baby blue. He raises a hand in apology, knowing he should be helping with dinner but he can’t bear to pull away. Wen Qing, in all her patience, understands and waves him off. 

There’s tiramisu in the fridge. He mouths at her and she laughs, a sound of chimes and bells. Wei Wuxian looks over the scene and thinks ah, I am blessed. It’s a good day and he can’t be more thankful for it. 

-------------

Lan Wangji is not having a good day. 

It had started with a slightly out of place morning. Waking up at 5am was normal but for some reason, he had woken up closer to 5:30 and that was already no good. Lan Wangji prided himself on having a set morning routine, starting with an hour of meditation and stretching before making a light breakfast and packing up all his items for the day. Sometimes, if he felt particularly inclined, he might also make something extra for lunch besides the night before leftovers. But since he woke up late, that meant he had to cut his meditation time and it left him feeling irritable at best.

He had nearly forgotten one of his musical scores and had to turn back on the way down the stairs to get them, leading him to quicken his pace. And by some cruel twist of fate, someone had rudely body slammed him, sending his papers everywhere. 

Lan Wangji is strong. He has always believed that a healthy spirit lies in a healthy body. Thus, he was also mildly surprised, among his annoyance, that this other person had managed to topple him at all. If he studied physics perhaps he’d understand how that worked but regardless, he had been stuck picking up his musical scores and trying to avoid having people step on them and his fingers as he did so. He hadn’t even been listening to the other man’s babbling until they had looked up and fallen silent. “Holy shit, you’re so fucking cute.”

Lan Wangji had looked up too and been met with stormy grey eyes, wide with awe. Ruffled hair quickly slung into a low, short ponytail that exposed his pierced ears, silver and black glinting in the mid morning sun. A pair of lip piercings too, on the left bottom lip. If he squints a little, he swears he can see a silver ball on the other’s tongue. His ears burn as he averts his gaze down, which wasn’t the smartest thing he’s ever done. He’s met with a solid chest and lithe arms and rough hands. Rough hands holding his music scores. In a mess. 

All of a sudden, any… Well, whatever that feeling was is gone. It’s replaced with disdain as Lan Wangji snatches up the sheets and storms off, throwing a harsh shameless in his wake. 

Yeah, today’s not a good day. 

Lan Wangji makes it to his class with time to spare, which gives him time to calm himself. He brushes through his hair with his hands, quietly musing that he needs a haircut soon. It’s getting long and he might need to tie it up soon, just like that man from the morning. With another flush, Lan Wangji shakes his head and shoos those thoughts again. After all, it’s not like he’ll ever meet him again right?

It takes a special kind of luck for this to happen,  he’s sure of it. He had gone home after lunch, spending the afternoon practicing in his guqin in his apartment. Each note plucked methodically, clearly. The silence between speaking volumes. His brother had knocked on his door later, when the sun was just beginning to cast it’s glow across the cityscape. 

“Wangji, come with us.” Lan Xichen’s tone, while gentle, brooks no argument and Wangji sighs, throwing on his Gusu coat before heading out. 

“Where?” Lan Xichen has gotten very accustomed to his younger brother’s monosyllabic conversational skills but he doesn’t seem inclined to answer in a fruitful manner.

“You’ll see.” Lan Wangji just sighs quietly and trails after the gaggle that is Lan Xichen followed closely by Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao. Originally, Xichen and Wangji had moved into the same apartment together. Xichen had, of course, gone around greeting the neighbors and had apparently met, liked, and essentially moved into Nie Mingjue’s apartment, leaving Wangji alone in their own. Not that he minded necessarily, since his brother would still return and sleep at their own place sometimes. They cooked together in the evenings and both Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao were frequent guests. At one point, Mingjue had even offered to have the brothers move in, as his apartment was one of those three bedroom ones. But Wangji had declined, citing his need for his own space. Xichen on the other hand, had decided to have it both ways, spending most of his time at Mingjue’s place but still remaining on the lease and paying rent at his own apartment, used mostly as a workspace now. 

It’s not that convoluted a story but Wangji finds himself lost in the process somehow, and of course Xichen isn’t going to reveal anything. So Wangji just doesn’t bother asking. If his brother is safe and happy then that’s enough.

His thoughts dance around that particular subject until he bumps right into Nie Mingjue’s solid back, taking a few steps back with a quiet apology. Mingjue accepts it with a wave of his hand and Wangji looks up to see where they are, only to be met with bright red text that reads Yiling Tattoo. 

Huh?

Lan Xichen does not hesitate to step inside and neither do his two lovers. Wangji is left outside alone momentarily, senses assaulted with… Actually, nothing bad at all? It smells disinfected mostly though the front waiting area does smell more human. The music that plays is not blaring rock and roll or metal, rather a happier style of indie/alternative that Wangji doesn’t mind. As he steps inside and towards the counter, he marvels at the sheer number of stunning designs that cover every inch of the walls, from the simplest infinity symbols to the large dragons that soar across to the delicate dancing, laughing fairies. It’s beautiful. So caught up with studying every design, in fact, Wangji doesn’t notice who’s at the counter itself until he hears a book slam and turns his head to be faced with that very man who ran into him that morning. 

Said man has shed his jacket, revealing art inked all over his arms and neck. Wangji wonders briefly what it might look like across the rest of his skin. He’s got a… seductive, for lack of better wording, smirk and his eyes dance with a kind of hunger that makes Wangji want to step back. “So, what’s a beauty like you doing here?” 

Lan Wangji knows his ears are burning and it’s all he can do to keep it from invading his cheeks. He scours his brain for an answer of some kind, feeling annoyance at how forward this man is but also some kind of molten heat he can’t describe. His brother, of course, saves him again with that sharp smile of his. An appointment, with Wei Wuxian. It takes a moment for him to process what he’s heard and his eyes widen fractionally as he glances at his brother’s back.

Xichen is getting a tattoo? No way, uncle would absolutely have his head if he did that. But then… Why would they be here? 

Wei Wuxian is gesturing for them to follow and though Wangji doesn’t necessarily feel like he should, he gets a light tug on his sleeve from his brother as they begin to walk back. Whatever silliness in Wei Wuxian’s demeanor has vanished, replaced with an easy going professionalism and pride. 

The shop is beautiful, just like the front. Clean, ordered in different work stations. Wangji’s eyes flit back and forth, taking in the rows of inks that sit on Jiang Cheng’s table and watching as Nie Huaisang finishes a touch-up with a smile. The back room is well lit though the walls are more black than white with the sheer number of designs pasted. It must have taken years to amass this collection. 

Wangji takes the seat furthest from the desk, placing his hands on his knees and sitting up straight. He's not particularly listening to the conversation at hand, instead studying the way Wei Wuxian’s hands twirl his pen, how he rests the end on his lip. How he chews on his lip as he’s thinking, brow furrowed in concentration. How his penmanship is atrocious but quick and deft. Watching Wei Wuxian engage in a conversation in his element is an art in and of itself and Lan Wangji finds that he can’t look away.

The consultation must have taken hours but to Wangji it feels like minutes. He notices that Wei Wuxian has a small dark mole on his ear lobe. He notices that Wei Wuxian will stick his tongue out ever so slightly when he draws. He notices that Wei Wuxian doesn’t brush back his hair that has come loose from his ponytail. And Wangji finds that he wants to reach out and brush it back himself. 

Seeing the design drawn up is a process no less stunning than when Wangji is composing music. And just like any artist, Wei Wuxian presents it with pride. Wangji is no fool, he knows beauty when he sees it. He inhales sharply, eyes tracing the carefully painted flames. How Wei Wuxian managed that with a ballpoint pen is far beyond him but it looks like they were painted with an ink brush, licking towards the edges of the page. The moon peeks out behind darkly shaded clouds, an illusionary glow seeming to shine from the paper. And the flowers, so delicate, blossom right before Wangji’s eyes, swaying in the wind that feeds the flames and moves the cloud. It’s a living art piece. It’s beautiful. 

Wangji is shaken out of his reverie by the sound of the printer and though he knows that his expression likely has not changed during this, he wonders why Wei Wuxian stares at him with the intensity of the sun. The forms are signed, the meeting wrapped up and Wangji stand with slightly stiff knees, from tensing up the whole meeting. He hadn’t even noticed. 

Exiting the backroom reveals a much quieter space with many patrons gone. They make their way back to the counter with Mianmian pulling up a schedule and asking for their availability. Jin Guangyao answers quietly while Xichen pays and Wangji is once again startled when he hears his own name, his brother gesturing at him. Emotional support. Wangji chokes on air and only just manages to not send a scathing glare at his brother. 

Wei Wuxian smirks (dear god) and says something in that purr of his and Wangji blushes despite himself. He throws another shameless out and turns, striding out with his heart beating erratically. Xichen isn’t too far behind and he’s laughing, laughing. The audacity of it. 

“Well, Wangji, it seems like you might be seeing more of him after all.” Wangji jerks his shoulder away from his brother’s touch, fuming quietly. 

The rest of the night is just as slightly off as the morning. He ends up taking his dinner late, leading to something less nutritious than usual  being made. He doesn’t take his usual thirty minute meditation break before starting work and that makes his brain feel like a hive of bees. He makes a third mistake on his guqin and his entire body decides, that’s it for the night. Nothing is working as it should be. As Wangji slides the guqin into its case carefully, tucks away his sheets into their proper folders, he laments those thirty minutes that he had somehow slept through. A small part of his mind whispers, ah but you would not have met him had you woken up like usual. And Wangji sighs, puts his head down on the table, and grips his hands into fists. 

This is ridiculous. He’s being ridiculous. And yet all he can hear is a quiet so, what’s a beauty like you doing here?

[robininthelabyrinth]

I've never done this before? Is this even the right place for prompts?! I found your fic a week ago, and you're so good! It's totally cool if you don't write this (it's so hokey) but I'd love to see His Excellency LWJ having to celebrate his birthday publicly. It's awful, he gets lots of bad presents. Maybe he gets ugly headdresses and sect leaders trying to hook him up with their daughters. His gremlin husband runs interference and gives him The Best Present. (NHS gets him something tasteful.)

ao3

Untamed verse

On the morning of his birthday, the Chief Cultivator, Lan Wangji, wakes up on time, as always, and finds his normally-fast-asleep husband wide awake and wearing nothing but a ribbon. He does not leave his bed for another shichen, missing breakfast; he will need to make it up to his family later.

He does not care. He knows it will be the only good gift he receives today.

-

The first gifts begin arriving at lunch: the political ones, the ones aimed at honoring the Chief Cultivator rather than Lan Wangji himself. Mediocre artwork that he would never allow to deface his walls, local ‘specialties’ so vile that even Wei Wuxian chokes on them, invitations to come view various local attractions that are so obviously requests for assistance that they can barely be described as being badly-hidden.

At least four different sects gift him with empty scrolls that are just the right size for him to write the Lan sect rules into and which are obviously designed for expressly that purpose. It is not subtle. 

The more irritating Lan clan elders forgo even this obvious step and simply provide him with the sect rules themselves – again. There is a fairly obvious emphasis on the provisions that would suggest that his marriage to Wei Wuxian might not have been the wisest decision he’d ever made.

Lan Wangji accepts them all, and wants none.

-

In the afternoon, Lan Wangji opens letters. Some of them, blissfully, relate to actual work he has to complete in his role as Chief Cultivator. Most do not.

Several of them offer – in not especially subtle terms – their daughters or sisters or nieces to be his concubine, since obviously his current spouse will be incapable of bearing children for him.

Wei Wuxian finds those letters, and spends at least a shichen cackling, pretending to be pregnant. There is a brief interlude. Later, Wei Wuxian even suggests that Lan Wangji consider accepting the offers just long enough to go judge the quality of “the goods” that he is being offered before rejecting it as insulting and degrading to all those involved.

He stops only after Lan Wangji notes that the niece referenced in the letter he was holding is younger than Lan Sizhui. They both agree never to discuss it again.

-

Sect Leader Yao invites him to come around to a family dinner sometime. 

This is, somehow, even more insulting than the concubines.

-

Shortly before dinner, Lan Wangji receives the gifts which have been categorized as personal.

His uncle gives him practical things, as he has always done – a new sheath for Bichen and replacement strings for Wangji, in this instance – and Lan Wangji supposes that he should appreciate them more than he does. It is only that his uncle often gives him practical things, and it does not feel as though any particular effort has been made regarding his birthday.

His brother sends him a painting. It is lovely. Lan Wangji would rather have seen his brother, who remains in seclusion.

Lan Sizhui has thoughtfully composed a small song for him, as he has done every year since Lan Wangji adopted him, and he and Lan Jingyi perform it together. Lan Wangji has not yet found a way to tell his beloved adopted son that his top-notch skills at musical cultivation do not translate into a talent for composing, and long ago resigned himself to taking the secret to his grave. The song does not cause his qi to deviate on the spot; that is already something.

Lan Jingyi gifts him with a rabbit. It might have been a good gift if it wasn’t one of his own.

-

When night falls, Lan Wangji receives the gifts which have been deemed ‘important’ – in other words, the ones from the sect leaders of the other Great Sects. Lan Wangji is not sure why these gifts are always presented at night, as it means he will not be able to write appropriate thank-you notes until the morning.

It occurs to him, not for the first time, that perhaps that is the reason.

Jin Ling sends him something from the Lanling treasury – a dagger, gilt gold. Lan Wangji would never use such a gaudy object. Wei Wuxian suggests pawning it on their next night-hunt, and Lan Wangji suspects that that may in fact be its intended use, beyond Jin Ling simply wanting to get rid of the thing.

Jiang Chen sends him a horrifically ugly statue.

“Did – did he go blind?” Wei Wuxian asked, staring at it with an expression of awe, and possibly fear. Lan Wangji does not blame him.

It is truly beyond the pale. Mere words cannot encompass its hideousness.

“No,” Lan Wangji said grimly. “He will insist on seeing it on his next visit. Politics therefore require me to place it in a public location.”

“…has he done this before?”

“There are sixteen in the closet.”

Wei Wuxian covers his mouth, but the motion is inadequate to conceal his laughter. Lan Wangji studies the statue – Jiang Cheng truly outdid himself this year, as Lan Wangji is unable to even determine what was the original subject matter the (potentially deranged) artist was attempting to depict – and mentally vows to himself that the hairpiece he invariably presents to Jiang Cheng in return will be even more grotesque than usual this year.

Possibly something that will make his hair stick up like a cockatiel.

“At least Nie Huaisang got you something tasteful,” Wei Wuxian comments, unrolling the artwork and holding it up against the wall. Lan Wangji hopes he is not planning on putting it there permanently. “This is a perfectly lovely cityscape! Nothing like those terrible ones from earlier.”

“It is pornography,” Lan Wangji says, and Wei Wuxian chokes.

“Are you sure?” his husband wheezes. “I don’t – it’s a cityscape.”

Lan Wangji is sure. He does not need to check to confirm it. It has always been pornography.

However, because he loves his husband, he walks over to the table and examines it briefly.

“The second window in the inn,” he finally says.

Wei Wuxian squints at the painting. “Which one is the inn..? The second – oh. Oh. Wait! That’s you and me!”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says. “It usually is.”

“Usually – no, you know what, I’m not going to ask you which ones they are. I’m going to examine each painting you own until I find the rest of them.” He paused. “Can I hang this one up?”

“Not in the main room,” Lan Wangji compromises. Mentally, he swears revenge against Nie Huaisang. 

He does not expect anything to come of that oath. Unlike Jiang Cheng, Nie Huaisang has proven irritatingly difficult to annoy, even when one is making a sincere effort.

On second thought, perhaps that is for the best. 

“Well,” Wei Wuxian said, after he’s finished hanging up the offending item. “After seeing all those presents, I feel like I’ve fallen down on the job. All I have to offer you is more of the same thing I gave you this morning.”

It is nice, Lan Wangji contemplates, to be proven wrong in his assumption that he would receive only one nice gift all day.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Chapter 5 of The Quiet Room (ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4)

-

Nie Mingjue took three tries to wake up.

In all truth, he wasn’t that badly injured – if it hadn’t been for how tangled his spiritual energy already was, steeped in resentment from his wayward cultivation and burned by trying to keep a saber’s pace from within a human body, a night’s rest and some tonics would probably have been enough to put him right. But it was, and he was, and so the concern of his doctors was all the more pronounced.

The first time he woke, it was to Nie Xiaoxuan, a cantankerous old doctor who’d lost all patience with her patients years before Nie Mingjue had been conceived, looking down at him with a scowl, saying, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Go back to sleep!”

A needle had descended, leaving him not much choice about the matter – it was a good thing he was used to such rough treatment, or else he might’ve worried. Instead he found some comfort in how some things were always the same, and his Nie sect’s objectively awful bedside manner was one of them.

He slept.

He woke a second time to arguing outside his door in the middle of the night, whispers and hisses that were so loud as to be unworthy of being called lowered voices –

“– the Sect Leader deserves to know!”

“Nie-er-gongzi gave the order, and it was obeyed. There isn’t any need to disturb the Sect Leader’s recuperation over nonsense.”

“Nonsense?! Do you know what the implications will be? Nie-er-gongzi is still young, he doesn’t understand –”

“Sect Leader was once younger still. There is still sect discipline, or are you making an official challenge to his judgment? If so, you should be bothering Nie-er-gongzi, as the one who gave the order, and a council of peers that would be assembled to determine if his judgment was flawed.”

“I  - no. I won’t.”

“If there’s no challenge to the quality of Nie-er-gongzi’s judgment, then there’s no reason to talk to the Sect Leader.”

Nie Mingjue smiled, proud of his sect and of his brother – even if he didn’t know exactly what it was that Nie Huaisang had ordered that had caused such a stir – and went back to sleep.

He woke up the third time to the sounds of a guqin.

He’d always been slow to wake from an induced sleep, and this time was no different – his body was heavy, confining, and it was a long time before he managed to open his eyes. A half-shichen at least, and yet the guqin continued steadfastly onwards.

So by the time he did manage to open his eyes, the first words out of Nie Mingjue’s mouth were, “Wangji, please stop making a racket.”

The sound of the guqin paused.

Nie Mingjue turned his head to look at him. Lan Wangji looked better than he had the last time he’d seen him, in that horrible mixture of nightmare and reality that had been their flight from the Cloud Recesses and the terrible strain of flying all the way to Qinghe in a single night.  If either of them had been lesser cultivators, they wouldn’t have been able to manage it; even at their level, it was considered highly unwise, and they had known that they were spending life energy rather than spiritual qi to buy them the strength they needed.

At least it had been late enough that both children, initially excited by all the rushing around involved in their escape, had quickly lapsed back into sleep instead of descending to tears.

Still, better was a low bar. By the end of their flight, Lan Wangji had had blood soaking through his white robes, his eye locked on the horizon and unable to focus on anything nearer, his entire body wracked with occasional shudders – if he’d been anyone else, he would have been screaming.

He still look pale and bloodless, his eyes hunted and guilty and tired, stark white bandages visible beneath the pale (but not white) robes that looked like something Nie Huaisang had once owned, but he didn’t look about to expire, so Nie Mingjue would take that as a victory.

“I would have thought,” Lan Wangji said carefully, laying his hands on the guqin chords to stop the sound, “that you would prefer that it not be silent.”

“There’s silence and then there’s silence,” Nie Mingjue said, trying to shrug and abruptly realizing that that was a bad idea. His shoulders and neck and back all hurt – possibly he’d dislocated something in trying to get out of that horrible room. Probably, even. “Not wanting to be locked in a room designed to be as close to nothingness as possible doesn’t necessarily mean that I don’t want some peace and quiet once in a while…I shouldn’t have called your playing a racket. It’s very good. There was just a lot of it.”

Lan Wangji blinked, then shook his head. “I do not take offense,” he said, simply enough that Nie Mingjue believed him. “It is a surprise that you think the way you do about silence, even now. I myself have been…struggling, with the concept.”

“It’s very loud here,” Nie Mingjue said knowingly, and Lan Wangji averted his eyes. “It’s all right if you don’t like it that much, you know. Has Huaisang talked with you about the options for soundproofing?”

“He has,” Lan Wangji said. “I have not yet accepted.”

“Why not?”

“It feels –” he hesitated. “Like a step backwards. My Lan sect has always valued silence, quiet – not just valued, but imposed, even on those for whom it is not appropriate.”

Like you, he meant, or maybe he was thinking about little Lan Jingyi, the orphan he’d stolen away from his own sect – truly stolen, since unlike little Lan Sizhui Lan Wangji had no guardianship rights over him to justify taking him away.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t objected to it, figuring that it didn’t make much difference to the amount of scandal he would undoubtedly causse whether he had taken away one child or two when he convinced the Second Jade of Lan to abandon his ‘seclusion’ in favor of refuge at the Unclean Realm. Anyway, if Lan Wangji had concluded that it would be better for the child to leave, then it probably was – Nie Mingjue trusted his judgment.

Just like you trusted Lan Xichen’s?

“Each sect has a different cultivation style,” he said, deciding not to think about that right now. “With both strengths and weaknesses. My Nie sect has a martial style, aggressive and overpowering; your Lan sect, although it still follows the orthodoxy of sword cultivation, focuses on contemplation, thoughtfulness, and, yes, quiet. Who is to say which is better than the other? They’re just different.”

Lan Wangji was frowning.

“Sometimes I think Wen Mao made a mistake when he abandoned sects based on preference and style in favor of raising up his clan,” Nie Mingjue confessed. “And your ancestors and mine, too, in following his lead. Look at Huaisang – to cultivate a saber is his heritage, his birthright and his duty to our bloodline, and so he must do so despite being clearly unsuited for it.” He paused, then sighed. “Not that he’s all that suitable for anything else, either.”

Lan Wangji shot him a quelling look, disapproving, but in the sort of way that Lans had when they were amused by you.

“Still, we’re all cultivators, each of us fighting against fate,” Nie Mingjue continued. “While we must be guided by our traditions, we must also each find the path that suits us best. You’ve always enjoyed the quiet, Wangji; you welcome peace, prefer order, thrive within the confines of your sect’s rules. Finding the point at which you and your traditions part ways does not mean that you are morally obligated to give up everything about them.”

“Not even when those traditions have caused so much harm?”

“Even so,” Nie Mingjue said firmly. “We’re all on a path, and in choosing to take a new turn, you are not disregarding the past, but adding your wisdom to that of those who came before you. I made changes to my Nie sect’s cultivation style once I became sect leader, just as my father did before me; my brother will make still more when he takes the position after I go. Each of my Nie sect disciples practices the Nie sect style, but each one takes it and makes it their own. Keep what helps, discard what hurts.”

“But in this case, is it not the very same thing?” Lan Wangji asked. His brow was still furrowed, the matter clearly one of great concern to him. “I have always turned to the quiet for comfort and strength, sought seclusion to temper myself and test myself, and yet – in the absence of all noise– I found myself slowly going mad, locked away and alone. You yourself nearly died from it. What lesson can I take from this, if not that the quiet is evil?”

“You can take the lesson that too much quiet can be an evil, in the same way too much medicine can be a poison,” Nie Mingjue said. “I might hate your jingshi, since it doesn’t suit me, but I’m given to understand that it often helps, too. It brings peace to cultivators who are tormented by a mind full of thoughts they cannot quiet and helps them fight the demons in their hearts, it allows those who are too connected to the world to tear themselves away. It was built for a purpose.”

“It was,” Lan Wangji said. “A purpose it has now betrayed.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t have anything to say about that. He’d once told Lan Xichen that he thought his sect’s practice of introducing children to that place until they learned quiet whether they liked it or not was inhumane and cruel, and Lan Xichen – in a rare moment of sarcasm – had asked him if teaching them to cultivate a saber spirit that would eventually consume their minds with rage was somehow meant to be morally superior.  

To each their own faults, he supposed. Perhaps the next generation would do better.

(He found himself thinking things like that a great deal, these days. He was only in his twenties, and yet his thoughts resembled an old man’s – the feeling of death stalking his footsteps, the day nearly done, his legacy a book that seemed to be nearly completed.

That had been what had driven him to stop his sessions of Clarity with Jin Guangyao, in fact. He’d been reviewing a plan for renovating the western courtyards of the Unclean Realm as part of a long-term plan to get more air and light in there and he’d found himself thinking I probably won’t be here to see this completed, and that had been when he’d realized that it was time to start seriously planning for succession.)

“Perhaps it is the conflation of different things,” Lan Wangji mused, more to himself than anyone else. “The quiet, being alone, loneliness…and yet you can have quiet without being alone, you can be alone without being lonely, you can be lonely without quiet. A balance between disconnecting from the world and connecting with other people.”

That sounded like poetry, and Nie Mingjue could see Lan Wangji’s fingers twitch towards the guqin – he’d probably been inspired.

Nie Mingjue sighed and put his hand over his eyes. His father had told him that being an elder brother meant a life of sacrifice, and he’d been right. “All right,” he said. “Go ahead and play something. I know you want to.”

Lan Wangji was silent for a few long moments, and then his fingers began to move, the too-familiar sound of the Song of Clarity rising up to fill Nie Mingjue’s ears.

“I didn’t mean for me,” Nie Mingjue clarified, rolling his eyes while his hand was still hiding them. The Lan were always so earnest. “I’m not even meditating right now, Wangji. Don’t waste your effort.”

Lan Wangji’s fingers stilled briefly, then continued.

“Chifeng-zun –”

Nie Mingjue pulled his hand away long enough to give Lan Wangji a stern look – he’d already told him several times to refer to him more casually, and however long or short his stay at the Unclean Realm was, if they were going to endure a scandal together, he was simply going to have to adjust to their ways.

Lan Wangji looked long-suffering.

“Mingjue-xiong,” he conceded, and Nie Mingjue nodded, pleased. “Please pay close attention to my playing. Identify if there are any differences between my rendition and –”

“Wangji,” Nie Mingjue interrupted, feeling pained at the very thought. “I can’t.”

Lan Wangji frowned at him, his eyes showing distress.

Nie Mingjue felt guilty at once, and exhaled a sigh. “Wangji, you know I don’t cultivate with music,” he said. “It’s all just interminable plucking to me.”

Lan Wangji’s eyebrows shot up. “Plucking?” he echoed, and Nie Mingjue winced – he’d probably shocked poor Lan Wangji’s conscience. “Mingjue-xiong…you really don’t like music, do you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Nie Mingjue confessed. “I can more or less follow a beat or rhythm, and military calls are fine no matter what instrument is involved, but the rest is all a mess of pointless noise. I can’t tell if the notes are high or low, which ones go before the others, and apparently there are different tones in music as there are in speech? Except in music, certain of them apparently sporadically considered bad, in a variety of different and exciting ways, sometimes but not others, none of which make the slightest difference – ”

He stopped talking on account of Lan Wangji having started to make an unusual hiccupping sound.

Nie Mingjue squinted. Was Lan Wangji…laughing?

If so, he was sorely out of practice. Though now that he thought it, that seemed to make some sense.

“Forgive me,” Lan Wangji said, shoulders shaking – he’d stopped making audible noise, but he was evidently still suffering from an attack of hilarity. “You speak so well, Mingjue-xiong; I had not realized that you suffered from amusia.” He saw Nie Mingjue’s frown of confusion and clarified, “Tone-deafness.”

“I say so all the time!”

“I had incorrectly assumed, as I suspect many have, that you were using the term colloquially,” Lan Wangji said. “How do you fight alongside my brother? I have seen you do so flawlessly, without any impediment, even when he wields Liebing.”

“I can follow along with what he’s doing with his qi,” Nie Mingjue said. “We have been close for so many years, and his spiritual energy is as familiar to me as my own –”

Lan Wangji flinched.

Nie Mingjue stopped talking.

His heart was heavy in his chest, weighed down with feeling, all those things he’d been so carefully not thinking about suddenly stifling him. Lan Xichen, his childhood friend, his lover, his beloved…

He’d hurt him.

Nie Mingjue couldn’t bring himself to believe that the act had been intentional or malicious, not even when Lan Wangji’s arrival made painfully clear that Lan Xichen hadn’t even bothered to supervise him. It simply wasn’t in Lan Xichen’s nature to do such an underhanded thing –

(You once thought Meng Yao wouldn’t do that sort of thing, either. Do you make a habit of blindness?)

He had known Lan Xichen for such a long time, though. If he didn’t know him, both virtues and faults, what person existed that he could say he understood?

No, Lan Xichen must have been trying to help him, not hurt him. And yet – regardless of his intent – he had.

He had hurt him very badly.

Lan Xichen hadn’t listened to him, had ignored him, disregarded him – Nie Mingjue had been as clear as he could be about how he felt about the quiet room. Perhaps he hadn’t told Lan Xichen about his youthful attempt to see if he could handle it, at first out of simply not wanting to appear weak in front of his lover, but later out of (admittedly petty) principle: shouldn’t his ‘no’ be enough? Shouldn’t Lan Xichen have trusted him?

He hadn’t.

He’d trusted Jin Guangyao instead.

Jin Guangyao with his smiles and slippery manner, with his so-believable excuses and always-present rationalizations, always the victim in every exchange they had – Lan Xichen always went to comfort him first after they had another one of their arguments, Nie Mingjue recalled abruptly. He’d called him on it once, in his anger, but Lan Xichen had explained that he knew how strong Nie Mingjue was, how resilient, and that his “A-Yao” needed his sympathy more.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t thought much of it at the time. He was resilient, and anyway he knew how frightening his rages could be; he’d thought perhaps that Lan Xichen simply wanted the excuse to be elsewhere until he’d had a chance to calm down.

He’d rationalized a lot of things. Maybe too many. But this?

This was too much.

“Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Wangji said hesitantly. “About – about my brother…”

Nie Mingjue grimaced, and Lan Wangji felt silent once more.

Nie Mingjue’s heart cried out for his lover, the kind and gentle man who might be a little too reluctant to express himself, a little prone to going with the will of the majority to avoid confrontation, a little inclined to panic at the thought of disappointing people, but whose faults only made him the more human, the more loveable.

But Nie Mingjue had slept, and slept well, and even if his heart was still tangled, his mind was now clear.

“I have long thought,” he said carefully, painfully cognizant of the fact that Lan Wangji was Lan Xichen’s younger brother, “that fate had arranged for your brother and I to meet, and that we would live the rest of our lives intertwined, our hears and minds filled with thoughts of one another. But it seems to me now that that was perhaps – not our destiny.”

“My brother has wronged you,” Lan Wangji said solemnly.

“I still believe his intent was good,” Nie Mingjue assured him earnestly. “Your brother has – more reason than most, I think, to resent my intransigence on matters of my health, and to suspect – to suspect –”

He stopped, swallowed. He had long been (politely) termed to be a straightforward man; it was not in his character to stutter over his speech, to be unable to say the unvarnished truth no matter how painful. Even if it was his lover who was causing him such pain.

“Wangji,” he said instead, and Lan Wangji looked at him. “You know that my family – does not live long lives.”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“It is not uncommon,” he said carefully, “for those in my family to begin to show signs of decline before the end. A certain rigidity of thought –”

“You are not so far down that path that your thinking has become impaired,” Lan Wangji said abruptly, his voice unexpectedly fierce. “Moreover, your refusal was not new, but consistent with your prior thoughts, your opinion expressed repeatedly and consistently. Do not make excuses for him.”

Nie Mingjue was a little surprised, having expected Lan Wangji to defend his brother, but then he recalled the matter of those thirty-three marks marring Lan Wangji’s back. Even if Lan Wangji’s conduct had been wrong, it had been motivated by love, and at any rate the others in the Lan sect had not died – no one had died, except for Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji had only been able to offer his beloved the succor of his presence for a short time before he returned to submit himself to punishment.

Impulsive, hot-headed, passionate – it might not be the actions of a Lan, but, as a Nie, Nie Mingjue found his sympathies lay with Lan Wangji in this matter. Yes, he had defended a murderer from being torn apart by the hands of his victims, and Nie Mingjue would not say that he did not think it was necessary for Wei Wuxian to die, but even those that had been duly tried and sentenced to the worst capital punishment might still be allowed the mercy of a good meal and the touch of their lover’s hand before they were executed, and a bit of disobedience against one’s elders was to be expected in any love affair.  

Was fending off a few old men to buy a few shichen of love before its premature end really worth a punishment that would have crippled anyone weaker?

“Actions matter more than intent,” he agreed, wondering how he could convey his thoughts on the subject without being offensive to the Lan sect, “but that doesn’t make intent meaningless. To act from love and affection is still better than for – other reasons.”

He wasn’t sure Lan Wangji had understood his meaning: the other man only lowered his eyes.

Nie Mingjue’s mind reluctantly returned to his own troubles.

“I’ll speak with Xichen,” he decided, even though he knew it was probably a bad idea. Lan Xichen’s conduct, however it was meant, could be understood as having brought him to the very precipice of death – enough justification to start a war, given that Nie Mingjue was a sect leader. Their respective positions meant that a disagreement between them could never be simply personal, but was also political; if Nie Mingjue allowed his soft heart to convince him to forgive Lan Xichen, he would be setting a poor standard for the future. “He can explain what he was thinking. If I find his explanation unsatisfactory, I will – tell him what I told you.”

Nie Mingjue was blunt and direct, sparing no one – not even himself – but he was not so cold as to be able to cut off a relationship that already spanned the majority of his life sign unseen. He would give Lan Xichen one chance to salvage things between them, to be shocked into sobriety by the extent of how things had gotten out of hand, to genuinely apologize –

“I think,” Lan Wangji said, very slowly, eyes still locked on the floor as if there was something fascinating there, “that brother’s explanation may omit that he was distracted by his other lover.”

Nie Mingjue’s heart froze in his chest.

“Other – lover?” he said dumbly. Lan Wangji refused to look at him. “Wangji – are you saying – Xichen has..?”

Lan Xichen wouldn’t. Surely he wouldn’t.

“Lianfeng-zun has told him lies, and Brother accepted them without verification,” Lan Wangji said, and his voice was bitter. “I believe that he feared confronting you on the subject of a man he knew you disliked, and also saw an opportunity to obtain his heart’s desire – to not give up anything and yet gain something he wanted. And Lianfeng-zun is known to be skilled in anticipating people’s desires.”

Nie Mingjue stared at the ceiling in a daze, his mind whirling.

So many little things suddenly made a belated sort of sense.

The way Lan Xichen seemed so certain that all the troubles between them were only temporary, the way that he entreated Nie Mingjue to think kindly of Jin Guangyao as if there was a stronger bond between them than a lost former friendship and a new sworn brotherhood. The way Jin Guangyao acted more intimately with Nie Mingjue whenever Lan Xichen was present, only to return to a more professional remove once they were alone – he’d assumed that was because Jin Guangyao knew that Lan Xichen would protect him if Nie Mingjue got annoyed with him for such familiarities and that Nie Mingjue would not want to upset his beloved by scolding over something so minor.

But if, for instance, Jin Guangyao had told Lan Xichen that they had been lovers once, those public intimacies, and Lan Xichen’s joy in them, all suddenly took on a new flavor –

Surely Lan Xichen knew that Nie Mingjue would never have done that to him?

Skilled in anticipating people’s desires.

Nie Mingjue had noticed Lan Xichen’s fondness for Jin Guangyao from the first, back when Jin Guangyao had been only Meng Yao, and he’d known that Meng Yao had respected and even revered the beautiful, powerful, and chivalrous Zewu-jun. He’d been pleased when they’d become friends, hadn’t minded the occasional light flirtation – he’d been so certain that nothing would come of it, trusted in Lan Xichen’s morality and their love. He himself was not skilled in wordplay the way they were, nor as sensitive to the subtle changes in a conversation, preferring to stay silent rather than risk mis-stepping, a habit formed of too much responsibility and exposure to politics at too early an age. Why shouldn’t Lan Xichen get to enjoy the cut and thrust of charming, clever conversation with an expert at the art?

They had all been friends back then. Nie Mingjue had been so proud of his prized deputy, and pleased beyond measure that Lan Xichen liked him as well; Nie Mingjue had so few friends that the addition of another one was something he treasured. Even if Lan Xichen’s good sense had surely told him that such betrayal was impossible, given Nie Mingjue’s character, he might still in his reckless desires allow himself to be intoxicated by his affections and believe it for just a little while – just long enough to taste Jin Guangyao’s lips, perhaps.

That’d be enough.

Nie Mingjue knew Lan Xichen well; he knew his lover’s faults as well as he knew his virtues. If Lan Xichen had allowed himself to act foolishly for a moment, he would have panicked at the thought of coming to terms with it, and Jin Guangyao was so good at soothing his panic. Too good: where Nie Mingjue, in his harshness, had always advised revisiting mistakes and learning from them, no matter how difficult the process, Jin Guangyao would always recommend being kind to oneself, taking care of oneself, avoiding the pain that came with tackling one’s flaws and erroneous self-conceptions head-on.

Too much care for the self would eventually mean not enough care for others, Nie Mingjue had always thought, rolling his eyes whenever Jin Guangyao earnestly held forth on his views. But Lan Xichen had liked it – and why wouldn’t he? It was easier to put yourself first, to refuse to admit mistakes were mistakes, to rationalize events until you were always the victim and everyone else wrong. It meant you didn’t have to confront your own capacity for cruelty and selfishness, could conceive of yourself as always virtuous and always good and always right.

Right, rather than righteous.

Justified, rather than just.

The way Jin Guangyao always did.

Yes, Lan Xichen might allow himself to kiss Jin Guangyao, or more if Jin Guangyao pushed his advantage – which he would, Nie Mingjue had no doubt of that – and then, after the fog of lust had cleared, Lan Xichen would realize that he’d have to confess the entire thing to Nie Mingjue.

An emotional confrontation of the sort he hated most.

And then, of course, just as Lan Xichen was most upset and vulnerable, Jin Guangyao would offer him a way out – a way for Lan Xichen to continue to see himself as a good person who had done no wrong, who didn’t need confront anything – a way to get a new love alongside the old, to have Jin Guangyao’s clever speech and gentle care while not losing Nie Mingjue’s steadfast affection and support.

It was not uncommon in their times for a man to have more than one wife and entirely possible for him to love them both equally; the idea of a triad was not so strange. But Lan Xichen should have asked.

He didn’t.

He didn’t ask because some part of him knew that the answer would be no, and, just as he had with the quiet room, that was not an answer he wished to accept.

And that…that was not something that could be blamed on Jin Guangyao, as much as Nie Mingjue would prefer to do so.

That was all Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen...how could you do this to me?

Nie Mingjue closed his eyes in pain. It felt as if all the air had been knocked out of him, like a really good punch might do - he felt hollow, weightless, disconnected, as if he had been struck by a blow that had shattered his bones and he was drifting in that blank space in the moment after the blow landed but before the pain reached his brain.

The full weight of the revelation would hit, eventually. He would feel it all, eventually.

“I see,” he said, and he did. Lan Wangji was upset over it in a way that suggested that he had only recently learned the truth. Given the speed of their travel, that meant he must have discovered it while conversing with Nie Huaisang – and that was another problem, because Nie Huaisang was their father’s son just as Nie Mingjue was, and nothing sparked their rage more than an offense against a loved one. “Thank you for telling me.”

“It is what I should do.”

Nie Mingjue nodded, his throat tight, his chest dull as if there was a knot where his heart had been - yes, he would need some time to deal with this.

“Huaisang is managing well?” he asked, not quite able to bring himself to actually ask for a little more time before he had to return to being the stern and untouchable sect leader, before he had to once again take on the mantle of power and make all the decisions – to force himself to react as a politician rather than a betrayed lover. It would be disgraceful to give into such weakness.

“He is,” Lan Wangji said. “He has given orders that you may not leave your room until the end of the week at the earliest, so as to remind the disciples of the benefit of rest following an injury.”

Nie Mingjue loved his brother.

“Very well,” he said, and decided not to ask about what Nie Huaisang might or might not have gotten into over the last day or so that had led some disciples to think they needed to disturb his rest in order to tell him. It didn’t really matter. They needed to adjust to taking Nie Huaisang’s orders as if he was sect leader in truth – especially if Nie Mingjue’s health continued to deteriorate…

He didn’t have time to think too much on that before Lan Wangji spoke again, saying, “Even if you do not understand music, you can follow the emanations of qi from an instrument, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Nie Mingjue said, a little puzzled by the sudden shift in conversation but deeply relieved to have something to think about - anything, really, as long as it wasn’t the brutal feeling of his heart being torn to shreds within his chest.

“So if I were to utilize musical cultivation, you might be able to determine if I were using the same patterns as you had heard others use?”

“I suppose so,” Nie Mingjue said. It would be extremely irritating to have to pay attention to such small ebbs and flows, especially when he was also trying to meditate and draw the qi into himself for the fullest effect, but he was familiar enough with Clarity by now that he probably could if he really had to. “But why?”

“A suspicion,” Lan Wangji said. “Nie Huaisang has pointed out that Lianfeng-zun’s actions in connection to my brother are suggestive of malice against you, his actions in convincing my brother to lock you into the jingshi doubly so, and yet he comes to visit you regularly, purportedly to improve your health.”

Purportedly.

Nie Mingjue grimaced again, but this time it was with anger at himself – because the suggestion did not shock him the way the information about Lan Xichen had. Meng Yao, Meng Yao, he thought, I wish I didn’t believe this of you. I extended my trust to you twice over, and each time you have disappointed me…it’s my own fault, I suppose, for being arrogant enough to think I could change you.

“Thank you, Wangji,” he said, suddenly tired. “I understand your implication, and we will of course need to examine whether it is correct. But not today.”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji said, and stood up. “I will take my leave and go tell Nie Huaisang to move me into one of the soundproofed rooms. I require time to contemplate the subject of quiet.”

That made Nie Mingjue want to smile, though he couldn’t quite manage it, still twisted by all the revelations that had relentlessly pounded against him since he had awoken. “Good,” he said instead, turning to nod at Lan Wangji in approval. “I hope your meditation on the subject is fruitful.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji agreed. “As you said, I must find my own path, be guided by tradition but not unduly restricted by it. But there is one point in what you said that was incorrect.”

“Oh?”

“You said that I should not, without consideration, throw out my sect’s traditions,” Lan Wangji said, and he was standing stiffly, at attention, with his face as serious as it ever got. “But at the moment, it is not my sect. You have given me permission to stay here, and I intend to do so.”

Nie Mingjue’s first thought was oh that’s going to have some serious political implications, followed immediately by I guess I did do that didn’t I and someone is going to wring my throat over this, probably Huaisang, but very shortly thereafter with if this is what he needs then so be it.

Still, he could do nothing but watch, stunned, as Lan Wangji lifted his hands to his forehead and very deliberately removed the forehead ribbon that marked him as a member of the Lan sect – the symbol of his family, the symbol of his restraint, which he would normally have never allowed another person outside his family to see him without – and, just as deliberately, wrapped it around Nie Mingjue’s wrist.

“I would ask that you keep this for me, Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Wangji said, and his tone when he said Nie Mingjue’s name was the same as when he called Lan Xichen brother. “Until such time as I decide to reclaim it as my own, or discard it forever.”

“Of course,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice a little faint from shock. “Whatever you need, Wangji.”

Lan Wangji looked at him, grateful, and saluted deeply before leaving.

Nie Mingjue lay back down on the bed and stared at his wrist for a long moment.

This is going to have some serious political implications, he thought a second time. And Lan Xichen won’t ever forgive me for stealing away his little brother.

A moment later, he shook his head at his own foolishness. Lan Xichen had made his choices.

Now he would have to pay for them.

[bloody-bee-tea]

BeeTober 2020 Day 27

Rice - Fright

Day 27 of BeeTober brings some arachnophobia for poor Jiang Cheng, but luckily he has the best neighbours because NMJ is simply the best da-ge to everyone and NHS knows exactly how JC feels.

When Jiang Cheng’s rice cooker goes out with a bang—or rather a very small twitch—Jiang Cheng takes a moment to simply stare at his ceiling.

Of course the rice cooker would decide to give out today, when Jiang Cheng is alone at home and no one is bound to come over either.

And that means, he has to go into the basement on his own.

Jiang Cheng knows that there’s a new rice cooker just waiting for him—Jiang Yanli has prophesised that his would die on him sooner or later and she wanted him to be prepared—but what’s also waiting for him down there are spiders.

Lots and lots of spiders.

The last time Jiang Cheng went into the basement he couldn’t finish repotting his plants because a rather huge spider came crawling out of the depth of hell, giving Jiang Cheng the fright of his life, and he had fled his own cellar without a second thought, abandoning his plants in the process as well.

In the end Wei Wuxian had repotted his plants, but he had made quite the mess of it, as he very willingly admitted, and Jiang Cheng still did not muster up the courage to clean up after him.

Now he has two reasons to go into the basement—three, he realizes as he eyes the empty cartons he’s been collecting, always putting it off to bring them down into the basement—so at least it would be worth it, and Jiang Cheng retrieves his hand-held vacuum cleaner. He just hopes that Jiang Yanli did not bury the rice cooker under boxes of other stuff, because Jiang Cheng is not going to overhaul his whole basement in search for it.

The chance to encounter a spider is way too high after all, and he wants to come out of this as unscathed as he can.

Jiang Cheng takes a few deep breaths to steel himself before he even leaves his own apartment, and of course he immediately runs into Nie Huaisang.

“What are you doing?” he wants to know and Jiang Cheng looks down at himself.

He’s wearing a hooded sweater, hood already pulled up, so that nothing can touch his hair, and he wears the thickest boots he owns, vacuum cleaner in one hand and balancing boxes on the other.

Jiang Cheng is aware that he’s going overboard, but there are spiders in the basement. He thinks he can be excused, even though he’s certain he makes quite the picture.

“I have to get a new rice cooker,” Jiang Cheng says and Nie Huaisang frowns.

“Like this? I’m not sure they will let you into a shop like this.”

“Oh no, I’m going into the basement,” Jiang Cheng clarifies, though he doubts that makes it better. “I have a second one, because Yanli is a worrywart,” he explains and Nie Huaisang nods, because clearly that makes a lot more sense.

“Well, I hope you survive then,” Nie Huaisang says and Jiang Cheng sees him shudder.

Nie Huaisang hates spiders just as much as Jiang Cheng does, and he always sends Nie Mingjue into the basement, because Nie Mingjue has never encountered anything that frightened him.

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng grits out and then steels himself again.

He’s really damn hungry and he will get that stupid rice cooker.

Jiang Cheng hesitates in front of the stairs that lead down into the basement but he knows that he has to do it eventually. He will not simply turn back and admit defeat, especially not with how hungry he is.

So he makes his way down the stairs, deliberately keeping his gaze on the stairs instead of looking around, because he does not want to see any spiders before he even enters his own cellar.

When he reaches the door to his cellar, he puts the empty boxes down to get out his keys and then he’s in the cellar.

He freezes in the door, because when Wei Wuxian said he made a bit of a mess, he did not mention that half the plant earth is on the ground instead of inside of the bag where it should be.

“Fuck me,” Jiang Cheng groans because it looks like this won’t be a quick in-and-out like he hoped. “I’m going to kill him,” Jiang Cheng decides, but then he steps into the cellar.

He still keeps his eyes on the ground, surveying the mess there, as he ponders the best course of action.

It’s probably smarter to vacuum first before he moves all the stuff on the shelves, because he’s bound to disturb a lot more spiders there.

Mind made up, Jiang Cheng puts the boxes down and gets ready with the vacuum cleaner.

Everything is fine, at least for like two minutes, before Jiang Cheng realizes that not all black spots on the ground is dirt. And he realizes that because one of the black spots starts to move towards him.

And it’s fast.

“Aaaaaahhhhhh,” Jiang Cheng yells, stumbling backwards and pointing the vacuum cleaner at the spider.

He manages to suck it up with the vacuum, but Jiang Cheng curses the design of his vacuum because the container is see-through and Jiang Cheng can tell very well that the spider did not die.

Jiang Cheng drops the vacuum in his shock and stumbles back, right into the shelve behind him. A few boxes tumble out and hit Jiang Cheng, but he barely notices it, his eyes glued to the vacuum, his heart racing in his chest, and he feels a bit faint.

The spider crawls around in the container and Jiang Cheng knows he can never pick it up again, because who knows when the spider will find a way out of there.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jiang Cheng mutters again and again, unsure what he should do now.

He’s trembling slightly, the tremors spreading out over his whole body, and he’s frozen to the spot.

Jiang Cheng is just as afraid of spiders as Wei Wuxian is of dogs—even though he did not go through any traumatic incident with them—and just like Wei Wuxian he never learned to overcome his fear.

It’s usually not a problem, since he avoids the basement as best as he can, but of course the one time he ventures down here it all goes to hell.

The spider is still crawling in the container, clearly looking for a way out and Jiang Cheng feels close to tears.

If he has to touch the vacuum cleaner to get rid of the spider, then he will—eventually—but he will scream inside his head the whole time and he’ll probably cry too, just for good measure.

Jiang Cheng is getting ready to take a step towards the vacuum cleaner when he hears a noise outside. He’s not thinking clearly, but the first thought that comes into his mind is that it’s another spider, before he realizes how stupid that is and he recognizes the sounds as someone coming down the stairs.

“Huaisang?” he calls out, because Nie Huaisang is at least home, Jiang Cheng knows that much.

He also knows that Nie Huaisang will be of absolutely no help to him, because they are both equally scared, but Jiang Cheng finds himself thinking that this whole horrible situation would be easier to deal with if someone else was there.

“Wanyin?” a voice calls back and that is most definitely not Nie Huaisang.

Jiang Cheng has half a mind diving behind the shelves just to hide from Nie Mingjue, but when he twitches his eyes fall on the spider in the vacuum cleaner again and he freezes in fear.

Diving behind the shelves would be a bad move as well, after all, because it’s bound to be infested with spiders.

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng mutters yet again because he does not want Nie Mingjue to see him like this, but he also very much needs help.

“Mingjue, help,” Jiang Cheng gets out and it’s not long before Nie Mingjue steps into the cellar, surveying everything with a critical eye.

“What’s wrong?” he asks and Jiang Cheng has to bite back a sob, because Nie Mingjue’s voice is very steady and very calm and Jiang Cheng feels anything but.

“There’s—,” Jiang Cheng starts and it’s enough to make the tears flow. “There’s a spider in the vacuum,” he finally gets out, beyond mortified, but Nie Mingjue keeps calm.

“I see,” Nie Mingjue says, and steps even closer. “What did you need from down here?”

“Rice cooker,” Jiang Cheng presses out and jumps when the spider in the container suddenly moves quickly.

“Alright,” Nie Mingjue nods and pats Jiang Cheng’s head, before he makes a strange movement with the same hand. “I’ll get it for you.”

Nie Mingjue is not usually someone to pet someone’s head and just as that thought crosses his mind Jiang Cheng goes ice cold as the implication of what Nie Mingjue just did hit him, and he’s almost too scared to ask, but he needs to know.

“There was a spider on my head, right?” he asks, his voice very small and very shaky and Nie Mingjue nods reluctantly.

Disgust and fear roll in waves over Jiang Cheng and he has to get out of the basement right this second.

“I have to—I can’t—,” he stumbles over his words, but he can’t manage to form a complete sentence and in the end he simply runs away.

He almost falls a few times on his way up the stairs, and instead of running back into his own spider-free apartment he runs outside.

And the first thing he does there is to take off his sweater, because clearly after his stumble into the shelves it’s no longer free of spiders.

As soon as he gets it off he throws it onto the ground, not daring to look to closely if anything comes crawling out of it, because that’s a nightmare he doesn’t need on top of everything else that happened today.

Jiang Cheng takes a few steps back from the sweater and then simply stands in the cold, with nothing more than his shirt, and he almost prefers the shivers caused from the cold to those out of fear.

He slings his arms around his middle, trying to hide just how badly his hands shake, and then he takes a few deep breaths, though they hardly do anything to calm him down.

Jiang Cheng knows that he’ll think about this for days to come, and he already knows that he won’t get much sleep this night.

By the time there’s a sound behind him, he mostly stopped crying, but he still startles badly when Nie Mingjue comes out of the house, the vacuum cleaner in his hand.

“Turn around,” he gently instructs Jiang Cheng, who obeys him before he can catch a sight of the spider still trapped inside.

Normally Jiang Cheng would freak out even more now, because he can’t see the spider anymore, but he trusts Nie Mingjue to have this handled in a way that does the least harm to Jiang Cheng’s very frail mental health right now.

Jiang Cheng hears him working on the vacuum cleaner, presumably throwing the contents and the spider into the garbage bin, and then Nie Mingjue steps up next to him.

“It’s all dealt with,” Nie Mingjue reassures him. “I cleaned up, stacked the boxes again and got your rice cooker.”

Jiang Cheng is entirely beyond feeling embarrassed when a sob breaks free at that.

“Thank you,” he gets out and his heart races for entirely different reasons when Nie Mingjue smiles at him.

Jiang Cheng is in no way equipped to deal with this onslaught of emotions and he sways slightly on his feet.

“Anything else you need?” Nie Mingjue asks him, his voice still low and clearly concerned and it’s enough to make Jiang Cheng blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“A hug would be nice,” he says and Nie Mingjue is very quick to open his arms for him.

It’s not difficult at all to step forward and Jiang Cheng doubts there’s a better feeling than being embraced by Nie Mingjue. His smell is very comforting and his arms are secure and strong around him and for just a moment Jiang Cheng can forget this horrible, no good afternoon.

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng says again and Nie Mingjue starts to stroke his hands up and down Jiang Cheng’s back, making him almost melt into the embrace.

“No problem,” Nie Mingjue says and his voice makes a very nice rumbling sound. “I’m quite used to dealing with something like this,” he goes on and Jiang Cheng feels a little less mortified by the whole ordeal when he remembers that he heard Nie Huaisang scream for Nie Mingjue more than once already.

“In fact, why don’t you join us for dinner tonight?” Nie Mingjue suddenly asks and cups the back of Jiang Cheng’s head when he wants to pull away.

It seems like the hug is not yet over.

“Huaisang doesn’t like being alone after there was an incident and I’m sure he’d be thrilled to have you over. You can even sleep at our place, since Wei Wuxian is not coming home today, right?”

Jiang Cheng goes hot all over when those kind words bring tears to his eyes again and he doesn’t trust his voice to hold out, so he simply nods.

“Alright,” Nie Mingjue says. “We’ll grab your things and then get started on dinner. You must be hungry.”

“Starved,” Jiang Cheng admits and this time when he tries to pull away, Nie Mingjue lets him. “My rice cooker died on me, that started this whole mess.”

“Then we’ll have to whip up something quickly,” Nie Mingjue tells him and then seems to hesitate. “Will you be alright if I hand you the vacuum?”

“You promise there’s no spider in there anymore?” Jiang Cheng asks, the first tendrils of fear already setting in again, but Nie Mingjue nods.

“I checked it over and cleaned it out personally, there’s nothing in there at all.”

He sounds completely sure, and Jiang Cheng has no reason not to trust him, so he takes one last deep breath and then holds out his hand.

“Okay.”

He still startles slightly when Nie Mingjue puts the vacuum in his hand, but it’s not as bad as it would have been if Jiang Cheng had to deal with it on his own.

Nie Mingjue picks the rice cooker and Jiang Cheng’s discarded sweater up and then he follows Jiang Cheng to his own apartment.

Jiang Cheng would feel coddled, but he’s actually really grateful that he doesn’t have to do this alone, because after a scare like this he sees spiders everywhere, even though he logically knows that it’s unlikely that there are spiders all over his apartment.

Still, he’s quick to gather his things and before he can so much as blink, they are inside Nie Mingjue’s apartment.

“Da-ge?” Nie Huaisang calls out. “What took you so long?”

“We have a guest tonight,” Nie Mingjue calls back and winks at Jiang Cheng. “There was an incident in the basement.”

“An inci—oh,” Nie Huaisang says when he comes out into the living room and his gaze falls on Jiang Cheng. “Fuck, one of those incidents, huh?”

Jiang Cheng is aware that he must still look like a wreck; he couldn’t bring himself to pick up his sweater, even though Nie Mingjue promised him he shook it out as well, and his eyes must still be red-rimmed from the tears earlier.

“One of those incidents,” Nie Mingjue agrees and shoos Nie Huaisang into the kitchen. “He’s going to take a shower, and he’ll room with you tonight.”

“Pushy,” Nie Huaisang says with a wrinkled nose at his brother, but before Jiang Cheng can offer to simply go back to his own apartment, Nie Huaisang already bounded over to him.

“Of course you’re rooming with me, tonight,” he tells Jiang Cheng. “Incidents are the worst and it’s not good to be alone afterwards.”

Jiang Cheng feels choked up all over again at his words and his eyes burn.

“Come on, a good shower will help and da-ge makes the best comfort food,” Nie Huaisang says as he drags Jiang Cheng over to the bathroom.

“Want me to check it with you?” Nie Huaisang asks, because clearly he understands that Jiang Cheng will see spiders everywhere right now, and Jiang Cheng can only nod.

They do a check of the bathroom—completely spider-free, much to Jiang Cheng’s relief—and then Nie Huaisang leaves him to shower.

Jiang Cheng still feels unsettled, and he still jumps at every dark spot he sees, but with the delicious smell wafting into the bathroom, and Nie Huaisang’s and Nie Mingjue’s voices filling the silence, he finds that it’s not as bad as it usually is.

Maybe this day won’t be a complete disaster after all.

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[robininthelabyrinth]

an au, if you're interested: the Wen Sect annex Qinghe Nie shortly after the Sect Leader's death, and young NMJ and NHS are raised as Qishan Sect cultivators, with all of Wen Ruohan's "gentle encouragement" to ensure it happens. What does the Sunshot Campaign look like, with the Wen wielding the force of Qinghe Nie as?

Nie Huaisang liked to braid his brother’s hair.

Proper Nie braids, the way it should be, no matter where they were or what happened to them – it’s very calming to him, and he liked to think his brother enjoyed it, too. He’d certainly fought hard enough for the privilege.

Wen Ruohan wasn’t very big on privileges, though he made certain exceptions for Nie Mingjue. Outside of formal events, which were an exercise in control and humiliation, Nie Huaisang’s brother could dress as he liked, provided he stayed within the boundaries of the Wen sect colors of white and red; the remaining details were left to his own discretion.

Since then, Nie Mingjue mostly wore white.

Not pretty white with embroidery, the way the Lan sect did, and definitely nothing with the red sun; just sheer unrelieved white.

Funeral clothing.

Nie Huaisang wasn’t sure if it was meant to mourn their father, who’d died so long ago now – Nie Huaisang was too young to remember much about him – or if Nie Mingjue was merely mourning everything that had happened since then. The loss of their sect, of their identities, of…

Nie Huaisang’s hands slowed, and then paused.

After a moment, Nie Mingjue stirred. “Huaisang? Is something the matter?”

“Would it be easier,” Nie Huaisang said, “if you were married?”

He could feel the way Nie Mingjue’s shoulders tensed under his hands.

“I’m not going to marry Wen Ruohan,” his brother said after a moment, his voice harsh. “He killed our father, stole our birthright, and imprisoned us here. I’m not going to marry him.”

“Wen Chao said that he’d probably make you Madame Wen, if you agreed,” Nie Huaisang said. “You wouldn’t have to kill people for him, if you agreed.”

Nie Mingjue was the Wen sect’s saber. He trained the Wen cultivators and led them in battle; wherever Wen Ruohan pointed, he went, and where he went, people rarely survived. That was the deal Nie Mingjue had struck, years ago, when the Wen sect had invaded Qinghe the very day after their father was murdered – a premeditated two-pronged attack, designed to eliminate all obstacles.

Nie Huaisang didn’t remember much from that day. They had been weak, defenseless, vulnerable – the food at dinner had been poisoned, spies from within turning on them. He himself had been one of the most sick, unable to stop himself from constantly vomiting, his veins turning blue as the poison spread through his young body; without the antidote, he would have died that day.

After all, it hadn’t been him Wen Ruohan had come for.

Their father had been right, it seemed, to have gone to such lengths to hide the fact that his eldest son was a misaligned reincarnation, a man’s soul born into a body that didn’t match. It had been a tricky situation: if Nie Mingjue had been a woman, Qinghe Nie would have honored their word to make a marriage alliance with Qishan Wen, direct heir to direct heir, and if he’d been a man born into a man’s body, there would have been no question of any marriage alliance at all.

But Nie Mingjue was neither, and Qishan Wen didn’t recognize misaligned reincarnations.

Their father had decided to live up to his principles: his son was his son, not his daughter, and therefore the marriage agreement was inapplicable. He could always marry off another daughter, if he had one.

They’d kept it a secret for over a decade – but in the end, Wen Ruohan found out. He felt that he’d been cheated, and he was determined to take what he believed he was owed.

Wen Chao had once told Nie Huaisang that the original plan had been to marry Nie Mingjue to Wen Xu. Nie Mingjue would have the position of first wife, as a sop to Qinghe Nie’s honor, but that was all, and never mind how everyone know how badly Wen Xu treated his women, concubine or official wife alike.

That plan had been ruined when Nie Mingjue, sick with poison and grief and far too young, had nevertheless found the strength to lift up his saber and attack Wen Xu in the entranceway to the Unclean Realm – not only to attack, but to defeat; not only to defeat, but to permanently cripple.

He’d been only moments away from claiming Wen Xu’s head when Wen Ruohan had finally condescended to come to his son’s defense.

That fight hadn’t gone nearly as well.

(The only thing Nie Huaisang remembered from that day was this:

Wen Ruohan standing there with his foot on Nie Mingjue’s chest, pressing him down into the floor with a smile as he said, “You’re very talented. I’ll do you the honor of taking you as my own bride, instead.”

“I’d rather die first,” Nie Mingjue had spat back.

“I’m sure you would, stubborn Nie that you are,” Wen Ruohan had said agreeably, and removed a jar from his waist; it had been the antidote. “But how about your brother? Your sect disciples? Would you rather they died first, too?”)

In the end they’d struck their deal. The Nie sect disciples was not put to death by poison and sword, as originally intended, but was instead absorbed into Qishan Nie’s forces, and Nie Mingjue was not forced to marry as long as he served Wen Ruohan as his weapon.

“I gave up on having principles when I burned the Cloud Recesses,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice flat. “It doesn’t bother me any longer.”

That was a lie, and they both knew it. Nie Mingjue might have traded away his principles for the lives of his family, of his sect, but he’d never given them up, not really – or else the Cloud Recesses wouldn’t have had so much time to empty out their Library Pavilion before it was put to the flame.

(Wen Chao said that Nie Mingjue had been friends with Lan Xichen, once. Sending him to do the job was meant to hurt.)

“And anyway, haven’t I told you to stop talking with Wen Chao?” Nie Mingjue added, and Nie Huaisang can see in the mirror the way his brother’s lips twist in anger. “He always tells you bad things.”

That was true, and Nie Huaisang acknowledged it. Still, Wen Chao wasn’t that bad – he had been, before, when he was still the spoiled oversexed princeling who didn’t think anyone on earth had the right to tell him no, but Nie Mingjue had beaten him black and blue over his womanizing enough times that he’d finally started to shape up in sheer self-defense.

Realizing that his father had lost interest in rescuing him had had quite an impact.

And anyway, it wasn’t like Nie Huaisang had many other friends here, especially not ones that were as useless as he was.

There was Wen Ning, who was nice, but he was an excellent archer and his sister had made him a decent doctor’s assistant, probably so that he’d have a reason not to be stuck in the Sun Palace; he was away more often than not, and Nie Huaisang couldn’t hold it against him.

There was Meng Yao, officially serving as his brother’s deputy; he was slippery as a snake, working his way into Wen Ruohan’s favor through all sorts of horrific inventions of torture, but he was efficient and useful enough to almost make up for it. Nie Huaisang knew better than to fall for his gentle smiles.

Who was there beyond that?

Wen Xu was a raving madman, having never recovered from his defeat at Nie Mingjue’s hands, and the only other person of sufficient rank to speak with Wen Ruohan’s wards was Wen Zhuliu – and Nie Huaisang didn’t like Wen Zhuliu.

Nobody did, except maybe Wen Ruohan.

“Without him telling me things, I wouldn’t know them,” Nie Huaisang said. “Like the fact that serving as Wen Ruohan’s executioner doesn’t excuse you from having to serve him in bed.”

The arms of the chair broke under the strength of Nie Mingjue’s fists, but Nie Huaisang’s hands were still in his hair, and they were unmoved. His brother would never take any action that could hurt a single hair on his head, no matter how angry he was, and they both knew it.

“He told you that?” Nie Mingjue said through gritted teeth.

“He did,” Nie Huaisang said. “You lied to me, da-ge. Maybe only through omission, but…you lied. You let me think that being his weapon would be enough for him.”

“Nothing is ever enough for him,” Nie Mingjue said. “The Cloud Recesses was burned, the Lotus Pier was split open like a rotted peach, Koi Tower is all but suing for terms of surrender – and none of it is enough.”

Nie Huaisang knew.

Oh, how he knew.

He started braiding his brother’s hair again.

They sat there in silence, surrounded by the wood splinters that had once been part of Nie Mingjue’s chair, and there was no sound by the soft whisper of heavy hair being moved, the quiet clink of metal as Nie Huaisang wove in the simple decorations his brother favored.  

“Do you want me to marry him?” Nie Mingjue asked after some time had passed. He sounded tired. “You and your clever plans – would it help if I knelt before the entire world and bowed to the Heavens and the Earth with him? If I profaned our father’s spilled blood by letting his murderer greet him as father-in-law?”

“I’m not saying that,” Nie Huaisang said neutrally.

“But it would help. In – whatever it is.”

It would.

Nie Huaisang has hated Wen Ruohan for as long as Nie Mingjue had. Wen Ruohan never paid much attention to him except as Nie Mingjue’s weakness, and even less after he’d discovered that Nie Huaisang had a weak natural talent and a disposition to be lazy and useless no matter what punishments it brought down on his brother’s head.

What was the point in paying serious attention to someone like that?

After all, how much damage could some useless person who could barely cultivate really do? The only thing he’d ever done that was remotely interesting was setting up a thriving business in erotic art – yes, it was a surprise that it was so successful, with customers in Yunmeng, in Gusu, in Lanling, in dozens of small sects across the cultivation world, yes, but…really. What a tawdry business, and all of it for no reason other than to bankroll Nie Huaisang’s habit of buying fans – and those came from all over, too.

From Yunmeng, from Gusu, from Lanling, from dozens of small sects.

Nie Huaisang especially liked the ones that Wei Wuxian, currently stationed in Yiling, would put together for him. They were always so very clever.

“He’d want children, if we married,” Nie Mingjue said. His eyes were closed in the mirror, his forehead wrinkled in pain as he seriously considered the idea of selling his body for a plan he had never permitted himself to know the details of. Nie Huaisang had never hated himself more than in this moment. “You know he’s wanted for years to replace his sons; he’s only refrained from demanding it because he knows I’d detonate my own golden core first.”

“They say that Lan Qiren is thinking of holding lectures again,” Nie Huaisang replied, changing the subject – it was true, of course. Wen Ruohan wanted Nie Mingjue to bear him better sons than the failures he had; he wanted him the way he had him during formal events, hair arranged and face painted like a proper lady in a dress to match, and he wanted him like that all the time. “In Hejian, since the Cloud Recesses is still being rebuilt. I never did manage to pass that course, the last time.”

He didn’t say that it would be a good excuse for explaining Nie Mingjue’s change of heart. His brother knew.

Anyone who was listening – and there was always someone listening – would only think that Nie Huaisang was exhorting his brother for his own selfish purposes.

That’s what this had to sound like.

“Besides, a niece or nephew wouldn’t be so bad,” he added, finishing the final braid. “Though I know you’d hate being pregnant, da-ge – they say too much exercise is bad for a child, damaging. You’d have to stop training.”

Stop fighting, he meant. With Wen Xu dead and all the leaders of the army loyal to Nie Mingjue, Wen Ruohan’s army would disappear much faster than the man would expect.

It’d be all for nothing, though, if they couldn’t get someone to drop the Nightless City’s defenses, build up over the past few years with all the treasures Wen Ruohan had looted away from the other sects. That was something no one could do but the master of the city –

Or its mistress.

“I’ll think about it,” Nie Mingjue said, and that was very nearly a yes.

“I’d like to take Wen Ning with me, he’s nice,” Nie Huaisang said. “Wen Qing, too, since he’s so sickly…do you think Wen Chao would like it, if I convinced him there’d been plenty of pretty girls there?”

Wen Chao hadn’t so much as looked at a girl since Nie Mingjue had executed Wang Lingjiao for having disfigured another woman out of jealousy, but bad reputations were hard to get rid of. Still, it was useful, both now and in the future when Wen Chao took the mantle of Sect Leader in Wen Ruohan’s stead.

He’d be terrible at it, of course, but Wen Qing hadn’t wanted the position, even if she agreed to be making most of the decisions behind the scenes; Wen Ning didn’t want anything to do with them at all, his only wish being to move to Yiling to be a mad scientist at the side of his idolized Wei Wuxian.

Meng Yao had been a tricky one to win over, since Nie Huaisang had no intention of letting him become Sect Leader Jin the way Wen Ruohan had implicitly promised him. But Nie Huaisang had found the key in one of his visits to the Cloud Recesses when he’d seen the way the man looked at Lan Xichen with stars in his eyes. After that it had been easy enough to convince Meng Yao that being Madame Lan would be just as prestigious as being Sect Leader Jin, and much more enjoyable besides.

“If you bring Wen Chao along, Wen Zhuliu will go as well,” Nie Mingjue reminded him. “And Lan Qiren has no warm feelings towards him.”

“Who does?” Nie Huaisang asked airily with a shrug.

He’d already promised Wen Zhuliu to the Jiang sect to do with as they pleased – Jiang Cheng and his vicious bitch of a mother both, the two of them seeking revenge for what he’d done to Jiang Fengmian and Wei Wuxian, the latter of which having been officially banished ever since his golden core was melted.

Really, it was all already set up. They would all meet at Hejian, long the Wen sect’s weak spot, and at the right moment Jin Guangshan would die (Meng Yao had volunteered with a grin), Jin Zixuan take his place, and then all four of the remaining Great Sects would rise in simultaneous rebellion against the Wens.

The only part left to be arranged was this.

He’d been desperately trying to figure out a way to deal with the Nightless City’s defenses before Wen Chao had told him the truth about his brother, and even afterwards he’d spent months trying to find another way.

There wasn’t one.

There was only this.

Nie Huaisang was really a bastard, wasn’t he?

He put his hands on his brother’s shoulders and met his eyes in the mirror.

“I really want to go, da-ge,” he said, his voice intentionally childish. “Won’t you help me?”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5

- Chapter 6 -

When Nie Huaisang was five, almost six, his mother suddenly started to show an interest in him again.

It was all that awful Madame Yu’s fault, Meng Yao thought. It’d started right after the Jiang sect had come to visit, a nice official visit purportedly meant to introduce the two young sons that were about the same age – Madame Yu was Madame Jin’s friend, and therefore hated Meng Shi on her friend’s behalf, but she was so much smarter about it. She was as vicious and poisonous as the spider mentioned in her title, and Meng Yao’s mother was good and talented and sneaky but she was as susceptible to flattery and wiles as anyone else, especially since she’d never been the target of such poisonous words poured into her ear before, all designed to incite her into doing something she’d regret.

Meng Yao figured out what was going on pretty quickly, and even Nie Mingjue was wary of her belated interest in Nie Huaisang, although in Meng Yao’s opinion he focused a bit too much on the possibility of harm to Nie Huaisang’s feelings and not quite enough on the fact that the only thing standing between Meng Shi and the significantly more secure position of first wife was him.

Meng Yao had his first real out-loud argument with his mother over it.

Nie Huaisang didn’t care at all, indifferent as he was to Meng Shi after all this time, except of course in the sense that he was upset that Meng Yao was upset. Nie Mingjue was charmingly worried sick about their reignited and intensified cold war – so much so, even, that he went behind everyone’s backs and arranged for Meng Yao’s first mission with Chiwen to be a bodyguarding escort mission to take Qinghe’s current mistress on a shopping trip.

Sometimes Meng Yao wanted to strange him.

Irritatingly enough, it worked out just as Nie Mingjue must have planned. There was a limit to how much teenage sulking Meng Yao could get up to on an extended road trip that required a month’s travel in each direction, and his mother wasn’t so stubborn that she couldn’t be convinced regarding to exactly how underhanded Madame Yu’s instigation had been. Anyway, in the end, she did love him more than anything, and that made forgiveness easy.

Soon enough they were back to their old ways, living in each other’s pockets as they always had, only this time they had money in their pockets and the arrogance of having a Great Sect backing them up. They made a point to stop by Yunping again to rub their good fortune into the faces of the brothel owners and other prostitutes that had once so tormented them, and even ended up buying his mother’s old friend Sisi’s freedom at a much-discounted price, given what had happened to her face.

“No one will notice in Qinghe,” Meng Shi assured her old friend, clutching at her hands with a smile brighter than anything Meng Yao had ever seen on her; it made her look ten years younger. “Half the women there have scars – scars, and sabers, too, if you look inside the main house. We’ll say you’re my maid so that you can stay with me all the time, but I won’t make you lift a finger – I promise!”

Meng Yao thought it was a good thing. His mother would have company which she’d lacked, especially since Lao Nie had stopped visiting her courtyard, and even better it was company she already knew she liked. They could sit together and play games, or music, do their hair and make-up and clothes, and never have to think even once about what a man would think of them.

Meng Yao was in a very good mood.

He probably should have realized that something terrible was going to happen.

He should have, but he didn’t, not until they rode straight back in through the gates of the Unclean Realm and Nie Mingjue rushed out in a panic to meet them. He had a black eye and bruises on his neck that Meng Yao identified at once as being caused by a man’s hand – he’d seen it before in the brothel, though not since – and although Nie Mingjue was ignoring it he favored one leg over the other in a way that suggested that his ankle was swollen and maybe even fractured under his robes.

“Da-ge!” Meng Yao cried out in pure shock at how wrong it was. Although there were spars every day in the Unclean Realm, even vicious ones that were only a shade away from true fights, no one should be able to lay a hand on the eldest young master of Qinghe like that without getting their head chopped off for it, and even a night-hunt surely couldn’t have gone that badly. “What happened –”

“I’ll tell you later,” Nie Mingjue said, and his voice was harsh, but with terror, not anger. “Come with me right now. He can’t be allowed to see you. Either of you.”

Meng Yao had many questions, but Nie Mingjue permitted none of them; he ushered them up to the guest quarters, the mediocre ones where neither honored guests nor hated enemies were housed, and hidden inside, wrapped in blankets and yet shivering, pale-faced with fright, was Nie Huaisang.

Meng Yao rushed to him at once, of course, and Nie Huaisang burst into relieved tears at the sight of him – silent tears, which was unusual for him; Nie Huaisang had always been prone to wailing.

“Don’t let him make noise,” Nie Mingjue instructed, and it was at once apparent why Nie Huaisang was doing his level five-year-old best to turn sobs into whimpers and heaving breaths into quiet pants. Meng Yao turned to look at Nie Mingjue – Meng Shi and Sisi turned, too, expressions of shock and confusion painted onto their features. Nothing like this had ever happened before, and they’d been here for years; there had to be a reason for all this panic.

“What happened?” Meng Yao asked, and “You need to see a doctor,” but Nie Mingjue shook his head, promised Later, and left, locking the door behind them – locking them in.

Nie Huaisang tugged on Meng Yao’s arm. “We have to move the table,” he said. “Da-ge said, as soon as you were here, we need to move the table.”

“Move the table…? Where?”

The answer, it turned out, was in front of the door. The table, and a bookcase, as if they were planning on resisting a siege.

“Are we hiding from a monster?” Sisi asked Nie Huaisang, trying to make light of a situation she clearly didn’t understand – that none of them understood, because Nie Mingjue hadn’t explained anything.

She was trying to make light, but Nie Huaisang nodded solemnly as if she’d only said the truth. “It’s not his fault, though,” he said, his lower lip quivering. “It’s not A-die’s fault that he’s a monster now.”

Meng Yao was so steeped in cultivation lore that he forgot himself for a moment, thought immediately of possession or demonifiation or a curse or something, and then his mother said, “When did he start hitting your brother?” and Meng Yao remembered that powerful men didn’t need an excuse to be monsters.

But no, that didn’t make sense either – perhaps it would have, if he hadn’t lived here for years, if he hadn’t known Lao Nie, but he had. Lao Nie had a fierce temper and a tendency to hold grudges, a heavy hand and a cold rationality in his heart that Meng Yao understood at first glance and that Nie Mingjue hadn’t quite figured out for all that he tried to parrot his father’s teachings, but he was generally speaking not a bad man. If he sometimes raised his hand to his sons, it was meant to teach them something – he wasn’t some customer at the brothel whose always-bruised children stayed home with shadows in their eyes.

Or at least, he hadn’t been.

Meng Yao got some broken parts of the story out of Nie Huaisang with some difficulty, being as Nie Huaisang was five and self-centered and had no tendency, as Meng Yao had at his age, to listen at doorways. There was a night-hunt, apparently, and it had ended badly – Lao Nie’s saber, Jiwei, had shattered, entirely unexpectedly, and the creature had taken advantage of the moment to gore him, with only Nie Mingjue’s quick reactions saving his life.  He’d been in a coma for three days.

Three days, and then he’d woken up, his eyes bloodshot with ceaseless rage, and he’d called for Nie Mingjue to bring him his saber.

“Qi deviation,” Nie Mingjue told him later that night, climbing in through the window with a few more bruises and a cut high on his forehead so new that it was still scabbing over. His eyes were dull with exhaustion. “He doesn’t understand that she’s gone, no matter how I try to explain it.”

It wasn’t that Meng Yao hadn’t heard all the stories about the Nie clan’s tendency towards explosive and early deaths, but this was too early – Lao Nie hadn’t actually been all that old, for all that he’d waited longer than most of his ancestors to have children, and weren’t there supposed to be warning signs about this sort of thing? And the saber breaking, a Nie saber breaking –

“It was Wen Ruohan,” Nie Mingjue said. “At the dinner party, some months back. You remember. They had that back-and-forth about that fancy new saber he got as a present.” He shut his eyes. “I was standing next to him when it happened. I felt the echo of Wen Ruohan’s cultivation right before it happened – he did something, weakened it somehow, unbalanced her. Shattered her.”

His hand had found Baxia’s hilt as he spoke, his fingers white with pressure of holding her; Meng Yao couldn’t say anything, his own fingers tight around Chiwen – Nie sabers were spiritual weapons, so tailored to their makers that one might almost think they were conscious, and there were whispers that if you cultivated enough they would really become so, rising to semi-sentience and maybe even full thought one day. A Nie disciple cultivated their saber using their own soul and spirit, making it part of themselves…even imagining such a thing was like a nightmare come to life.

Meng Yao took a deep breath and held it for several seconds before exhaling. “Okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t okay, not at all. “What happens next?”

“You stay here with Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said at once. “I’ll bring you food, water, everything you need – there are servant’s passages in the walls, or I can fly Baxia to your window –”

Meng Yao reached out and caught his waving hand. “No, not – what happens next? We can’t cower here like trapped rats forever.”

But Nie Mingjue only looked tired, tired and afraid. “Meng Yao…”

“We can’t,” Meng Yao insisted. “And you – look at you, look what he did to you –”

“He’s still sect leader,” Nie Mingjue said. “And my father. He’s entitled to do as he likes.”

“There has got to be some sect law permitting the removal of a sect leader for madness!” Meng Yao exclaimed. “This isn’t a surprise; it’s hereditary – someone must have put in place measures –”

“Measures that require three-fourths of Nie sect elders to participate, enough to fill a quota, and an heir old enough to make a reasonable argument for inheritance,” Nie Mingjue said, and they both knew that he wasn’t. He was only fifteen; who would respect him? “There was some underhandedness a few generations back, someone trying to frame someone else for it in order to steal their position, so madness is a high bar to reach. I’ve sent letters to summon back everyone above the right age, as many as people as I can spare, but until they all come – we can’t let anyone know.”

Meng Yao hunted for words, but his silver tongue could not do what his mind knew was impossible; there really was nothing for it. Tensions with the other sects were too high. Even putting Wen Ruohan aside, there was Jin Guangshan in Lanling, always avaricious, and dozens of small sects dreaming of becoming bigger at the Nie sect’s expense. It was one thing to say that Lao Nie was injured and healing; yet another entirely to reveal that the Nie sect’s leader had gone mad, mad with anger, and that they were as rudderless as a raft on the open ocean.

They couldn’t openly demand that their traveling sect elders all come rushing back at once without alerting everyone to the problem – they couldn’t even ask the other sects to help find them.

No one could know.

“So, what are you suggesting,” Meng Yao said, his smile even gentler than usual in his rage. He might not show his fierce anger the way the Nie clan did, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it. “That we just put up with it until we gather enough people to do it right, or else until he dies? How long will that take?”

Nie Mingjue rubbed his face. “I’m not sure. A year, maybe?”

A year.

“That’s implausible,” Meng Yao pointed out. “Sect business still needs to get done.”

“I’ve been doing what I can,” Nie Mingjue said, because of course he was. He was the heir – he was the rightful sect leader, even though he was far too young for it. “Great-uncle says he thinks I can pull off being eighteen, so that my signature will be sufficient for most documents…”

“I’m going to help,” Meng Yao said, and held up his hand when Nie Mingjue tried to protest. “You know I’m ten times as good at household accounts and logistics as you, and it can be mostly done on paper, so there’ll be no need for me to go out of here to do the vast majority of it. You’re not stopping me. You need me.”

“Fine,” Nie Mingjue said, because he did and he knew it. “Fine. But for the few things you do have to come out for…listen, I tell you to run, you don’t argue, okay? I don’t know if he’s still angry at you about what happened at the Discussion Conference a few years back, but I’m not planning on finding out.”

Meng Yao shuddered. “He still – remembers?” he asked, because that was worse, somehow. So much worse to know that the monster that beat Nie Mingjue to limping, that wrapped his hand around his neck and tried to squeeze the life out of him, still had the same memories as Lao Nie, who used to look at his son like he’d been a star in the night sky that he’d placed there himself. Who’d never let his disagreements with Meng Shi affect the fairness with which he treated Meng Yao, who had once put his hand on his shoulder and told him he was doing well, that he was promising, that he was glad to have someone like him in his sect…

“It’s not so bad all the time,” Nie Mingjue told him. “Sometimes he forgets, for a little while, before it starts up again.”

That just made Lao Nie unpredictable, Meng Yao found, and he hated it – he hated the way Nie Huaisang cringed at doors, the way he’d started to wet the bed again, the way they’d had to let all his pet birds loose after Lao Nie destroyed one of their cages in a fit of unexpected fury. He hated the way his mother and Sisi both donned veils to hide their faces, lest they draw attention, and took to sneaking through the servants’ quarters; he hated the way Nie Mingjue stopped fighting about going to see the sect doctor the way he always had and started making a visit there every week like clockwork and sometimes in between, and didn’t even seem to realize anymore how bad it had gotten; he hated the way it almost seemed sometimes like Lao Nie was still in there, somewhere, confused about what was happening like a man lost in a fog that he thought might be on the verge of thinning and asking for someone to fetch his saber as if it were a lantern that could help guide him out of the dark.

But his saber was gone.

“I’m going to kill Wen Ruohan for this,” Nie Mingjue said one night, lying with the side of his head pressed against the cool stone wall to help reduce the swelling – Lao Nie had thrown something at his head again, trying to get at Baxia; he’d mistaken her for Jiwei again.

Meng Yao was sitting next to him, trying to compose a response to Lan Xichen’s latest letter – it was cheerful, talking about plum blossom tea and lessons in etiquette and a new guqin for Lan Wangji, the only sour note a reference to his mother’s illness not having yet resolved, though he hoped it would by the next visit they had scheduled. Meng Yao was having to wrack his brain to come up with some sort of fiction about what they were supposedly up to in Qinghe that would not bleed resentment through the lines.

Maybe he could say they got a dog? An especially rabid one, vicious and cruel, with a tendency to turn against everyone with teeth bared and no care for how they bled even though they loved him –

Maybe not a dog.

“You can add it to all the other crimes he’s committed,” he said absently, and he knew that Nie Mingjue would take it as referring to the man’s overall maliciousness – Wen Ruohan was an iron-fisted tyrant, vicious and mean, and he wasn’t quiet about his enjoyment of ‘punishments’ that were more torture than anything else; Lao Nie had vocally criticized him over it, and with him no longer there to rally disdain against it, Wen Ruohan would undoubtedly only get worse – but actually Meng Yao had meant the crimes Wen Ruohan had committed against them. Against the Nie sect, against the Nie clan.

Against Nie Mingjue.

Death was too good for the bastard, but for once Meng Yao would be fine settling for less so long as it happened.

Nie Mingjue huffed in agreement, as Meng Yao had expected, and finally closed his eyes to sleep the way Meng Yao had been on his case about doing for the last half-shichen. When he was deeply asleep at last, breath regular and easy for all that his brow was still furrowed in fear and worry that no longer went away, Meng Yao, who had been staring at the hypnotically beautiful sight of Nie Mingjue’s chest steadily moving up and down, alive and not too hurt, saw a shadow out of the corner of his eye.

“Huaisang,” he said, not even bothering to sound stern. “You should be asleep already.”

Nie Huaisang came up to him and put his head on his shoulder. “I want to help,” he said softly.

Meng Yao blinked. “With what?”

“Whatever we have to do,” Nie Huaisang said. He was watching Nie Mingjue breathe, too. “Whatever we have to do to make it right.”

Meng Yao wasn’t sure what to say. “Huaisang –”

“I want to help, er-ge,” Nie Huaisang said, and there wasn’t any doubt in his voice, any uncertainty. “Da-ge may be stronger, but you’re meaner. If anyone’s going to kill the one who did this, it’ll be you, and I want to help.”

Nie Huaisang ended his pronouncement with a huff, a familiar sound, and for all that it was a sound more characteristic of the Nie than his mother, Meng Yao couldn’t help but smile because he knew what that sound really meant: it meant I hate him, it meant he hurt da-ge, it meant I don’t know how to care about the world, I only know how to care about the ones I love, and for them I will burn it all down.

Meng Yao knew exactly how that felt.

It seemed that Nie Huaisang was vicious thing after Meng Yao’s own heart, underneath it all, and Meng Yao marveled all over again at his luck at having a living brother of his own blood – not any of those hypothetical bastard half-brothers and sisters Jin Guangshan sowed like he was trying to grow grain for the harvest, but his mother’s child.

A monster, just like him.

“All right,” he said. “If I can, I’ll let you help.”

[bloody-bee-tea]

A happy New Year

Who says Happy New Year stories can only be written close to New Year’s Eve? No one, that’s who.

Jiang Cheng is ready to leave. He has been ready to leave for the last hour, and while usually he doesn’t give a damn about what anyone thinks about him, he can hardly leave this New Year’s Eve party before midnight.

He will leave five minutes after the new year started, though.

Jiang Cheng sweeps his eyes over the present people again. Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang are much more drunk than they should be, trying to get Lan Wangji to drink as well. Yanli is trying to keep them from doing anything too stupid while Jin Zixuan is hovering over her shoulder like the love-sick puppy he is and Mo Xuanyu is trying to egg Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang on.

Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao are off to the side, watching the drunken shenanigans with amusement and worry, and when Jiang Cheng’s eyes fall on the third person standing with them, he pushes himself off the wall.

He spends enough of his time making eyes at Lan Xichen. He refuses to do it in the new year as well.

Jiang Cheng knows that his affections for Lan Xichen will never be returned, and it’s high time he finally accepts that as well.

Jiang Cheng has barely taken a few steps into the room, before Wei Wuxian spots him and bounces over to him, to drape himself all over Jiang Cheng’s shoulders.

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian whines and when Jiang Cheng is hit with a frankly disgusting cloud of alcohol breath he pushes Wei Wuxian’s face away from him.

“Get off me,” he grumbles, but Wei Wuxian only clings harder to him.

“Don’t leave,” Wei Wuxian whines in his hear and Jiang Cheng sighs.

“I’m not,” he promises, because he isn’t. There are still seven minutes left until midnight, after all.

“You were walking,” Wei Wuxian complains, even as Jiang Cheng continues to walk, Wei Wuxian’s almost dead weight hanging limply off him.

“To get some fresh air,” Jiang Cheng explains to him, though he’s not sure how many of his words really reach Wei Wuxian in his drunken state.

“No leaving before the time,” Wei Wuxian says, as if that makes any sense at all, and Jiang Cheng finally pushes him off completely.

“No leaving,” he promises, because he knows his brother will just continue to cling to him otherwise and Wei Wuxian smiles very brightly at him.

It immediately makes Jiang Cheng tense. And rightfully so, it seems, when Wei Wuxian turns around to face Nie Mingjue, Meng Yao and Lan Xichen.

“Did you hear, Xichen-ge, he’s not leaving yet!” Wei Wuxian calls through the room, all eyes falling on him and Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes to keep the urge to kill his brother at bay, and then he simply stalks out. He lets out a relieved breath when he closes the balcony door behind him, even though he almost immediately starts to shiver, since he didn’t bring his jacket.

Jiang Cheng leans onto the railing instead of turning around to look at Lan Xichen, to see how he reacted to Wei Wuxian’s words.

He doesn’t want to know, he keeps telling himself. He doesn’t.

Lan Xichen is everything Jiang Cheng aspires to be, one day. He is a successful CEO of his family’s company, highly praised for his ruthlessness in dealing with official business and loved by his employees and family for his gentle and understanding character.

Jiang Cheng knows his personality is too far off to achieve the last part but he still hopes for some respect from his employees, once he firmly settles into his new role at the family company.

It’s not what he wanted to do, take over the company, but he has had years to come to terms with it, since his parents have made it quite clear that this was supposed to be his path. This, and nothing else.

Jiang Cheng thinks he’s never seen his mother as proud as when he received his business degree. It almost makes up for the fact that he has hated every second of that major.

When the balcony door behind him opens, he whirls around, scathing reply ready on his tongue, but he snaps his jaw shut when he sees it’s Lan Xichen who steps up next to him.

“It’s cold,” Jiang Cheng says, without looking at Lan Xichen. “You should get back inside.”

He’s not prepared to deal with him in person. He never is. He can do it in his office, like he had to just recently, but this? In this intimate setting? Not a chance. Jiang Cheng loves him too much, thinks him too beautiful, inside and out, to ever deal with him like this.

“You didn’t bring a coat, either,” Lan Xichen gives back and comfortably settles next to Jiang Cheng, clearly intent on staying.

“Lan Jingyi?” Jiang Cheng asks after a truly uncomfortable silence and Lan Xichen smiles down at his hands.

“With my uncle for tonight, as is Sizhui,” he gives back.

“Would you not rather spend New Year’s Eve with your son?” Jiang Cheng asks.

Lan Xichen has only adopted him a few months back, but it’s clear he loves him dearly. Jiang Cheng was beyond happy for him, and for Lan Jingyi for having such an amazing father, but it just drove home the fact that Jiang Cheng must be nothing but a stupid child in Lan Xichen’s eyes.

Here he was, becoming the perfect father, while Jiang Cheng regularly had breakdowns over his work at the company.

“He’s too young to stay up until midnight,” Lan Xichen says with a shrug. “And besides, I hoped to see you.”

“Yeah, right,” Jiang Cheng mutters under his breath and turns his head away from Lan Xichen.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your degree,�� Lan Xichen continues, seemingly not put off by Jiang Cheng’s brusque demeanour.

“Thank you, I hated it,” Jiang Cheng honestly gives back.

“Why did you choose it then?” Lan Xichen asks with a small frown and Jiang Cheng scoffs.

“Because I had to? My mother didn’t leave me much choice.”

“Oh, I apologize, I meant the other one,” Lan Xichen says, chuckling and Jiang Cheng freezes.

He can’t know about that. No one knows about that, not even Yanli and Wei Wuxian. His mother would kill him if she finds out.

“I don’t have another one,” he stiffly gives back and Lan Xichen turns towards him fully.

“Then it wasn’t you I saw at the graduation party for the architecture majors?” Lan Xichen pleasantly asks. “And it isn’t your work that’s displayed so proudly in your office?”

“What the fuck,” Jiang Cheng mutters, because no one, no one has come to the conclusion that the sketch of a mansion in his office is his own design.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jiang Cheng gives back and Lan Xichen bows his head.

“I will not tell anyone, if it’s not your wish. I’m sorry I brought it up, I just thought how talented you are. It was meant to be a compliment, nothing more.”

“I’m not talented,” Jiang Cheng sighs and then decides to just fuck it.

Lan Xichen already knows, after all.

“I hate business,” Jiang Cheng says and decidedly does not look at Lan Xichen. “I never wanted to be CEO, but I knew I had to take that position. I wanted one thing for myself, so I took architecture at university, first as a hobby, but. Yeah, I stuck to it. I had a double major, not that anyone knows that, and I found a small independent firm who agreed to take me on as a freelancer, and to keep my name out of it.”

“That is incredible,” Lan Xichen honestly says and Jiang Cheng has never done well with praise, so he turns his head away.

“Shut up.”

“Would you tell me the firm?” Lan Xichen asks, and Jiang Cheng glares at him.

“It’s supposed to be a secret!”

“And it will remain that,” he promises. “My brother is looking to build a house where his rabbits get a few rooms to themselves, if not a whole floor. So far he wasn’t very lucky in finding someone whose sketches please him.”

“I don’t need you to give me jobs,” Jiang Cheng bites back, but Lan Xichen just smiles softly at him.

“I’m not. My brother will diligently check the work of all the employees there and choose the one whose style he likes best, if any at all. He turned down all the major companies so far.”

Of course Lan Wangji would be picky as hell.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t want to admit it, but a house that’s partly inhabited by rabbits is quite the challenge. He can’t deny that he already has a few ideas though, and his fingers itch for a pencil and some paper.

“Fine,” he eventually huffs. I’ll send you a mail when I’m back at the office.”

“Thank you,” Lan Xichen earnestly replies and Jiang Cheng cannot take it when he smiles at him like that.

He turns around, only to see everyone inside focused on their watches.

“Seems like it’s time,” he says and can feel how Lan Xichen turns around next to him as well.

“Seems like it,” he agrees and Jiang Cheng startles badly when Lan Xichen carefully takes his hand in his.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and while Jiang Cheng wants nothing more, he can’t.

Not like this.

“Don’t do this because of some stupid tradition,” he snaps and snatches his hand back, even takes a step to the side.

He almost hurts with want, but not like this. Not because it’s a thing that everyone does. Either Lan Xichen means it, or he can fuck right off.

“Okay,” Lan Xichen softly agrees and Jiang Cheng’s heart sinks in his chest.

Of course he wouldn’t really mean it.

“Happy New Year,” Lan Xichen says when everyone inside starts cheering or falling into each other and Jiang Cheng clenches his fists.

What a great way to start with his New Year’s resolutions.

“Happy New Year,” he still says, because for all that he hurts, he cannot be rude to Lan Xichen.

They stay outside for a few moments longer, spend in blessed silence, before Jiang Cheng decides he’s had enough. When he pushes himself away from the railing, Lan Xichen catches his hand again.

“May I kiss you?” he asks again and Jiang Cheng can feel anger bubble up in him.

“Midnight has passed,” he snaps back but Lan Xichen just meets him with an even look.

“Yes, it has. So there is no tradition to fulfil. I simply wish to kiss you. Have for a while, to be honest,” he explains and Jiang Cheng flushes at his words.

“You—how can you just say that?” he wants to know as he buries his face in the hand he still has free.

“Hinting didn’t get me anywhere,” Lan Xichen says with a shrug, only causing Jiang Cheng to blush further. “I thought a more direct action might bring better results.”

“If you’re toying with me,” Jiang Cheng threatens, though he doesn’t know how to finish that.

If Lan Xichen is toying with him, Jiang Cheng’s heart will break and it will crush him. It doesn’t make for a very effective threat.

“I would never,” Lan Xichen promises and gently tugs at Jiang Cheng’s hand, still in his. “May I?” he asks again and this time, Jiang Cheng isn’t strong enough to say no.

Hopes that there is no reason for him to say no.

“Yes,” he whispers and Lan Xichen doesn’t hesitate. He cups Jiang Cheng’s face in his and guides their lips together.

It isn’t heated at all, for which Jiang Cheng is glad, because he’s sure his knees would have given right out, but it’s firm and steady, making it clear that this is not a one-time thing.

“Happy New Year,” Lan Xichen mumbles as he brushes their lips together again and Jiang Cheng sighs against his lips.

“Happy New Year to me indeed,” he mutters and shivers when Lan Xichen presses his laugh into Jiang Cheng’s cheek.

He’s going to get addicted to this, he already knows it, not that he minds that much. There are worse things to get addicted to, after all.