#wen ruohan wouldn’t be dead and ​they would have lost the war

[labyrynth]

jc/jgy antis when characters are backed into a corner and forced to make difficult decisions between ethics and survival:

[robininthelabyrinth]

A-Yuan wasn’t the only child among the Wen Remnants, just the youngest.

Children's Day - ao3

Lan Wangji carefully scooped up the boy out of his hiding place, tucked beneath a pile of stones, sick with fever and fast asleep.

It was a good hiding place. If Lan Wangji hadn’t played Inquiry and demanded to know if there were any living beings around in this cursed place of death, he would never have found the small child.

He remembered him – this was little A-Yuan, who Wei Wuxian had taken down into town to play, the one Lan Wangji had bought all those toys for in his confusion, the one who called him rich-gege. Barely more than two years old, having never known anything but war.

He was all that was left, now. There was nothing else left in the battlefield.

No one else left.

Lan Wangji closed his eyes in pain.

I’ll care for him for you, he promised Wei Wuxian’s ghost, wherever it might be now. Now that you cannot.

I’ll take him back to Gusu to raise as my own – wishing you were by my side.

-

-Earlier-

“Sect Leader!” one of his aides cried out when he staggered back into camp. “What – who’s that?”

Jiang Cheng looked down at the girl in his arms. She was – four, maybe? Five? He had no idea.

She looked a bit like Wen Qing.

“I found her hiding in the corner of the battlefield when she made a noise,” he said hoarsely. “The Wen sect remnants…by the time I got there, they were almost all dead already, all her family. She’s – she’s young. It didn’t seem right.”

Wei Wuxian always liked children, he thought vaguely to himself as he looked down at her. It wasn’t so much of a surprise that he would keep one there…in fact, if he thought back to that horrible meeting they’d had that one time he’d come to the Burial Mounds to try to talk to Wei Wuxian, he thought he remembered there being a small child there. This must be her.

She was bigger than he remembered, but that was what happened with small children, wasn’t it?

“Her surname is Wen?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng snapped automatically, and his aide took a step back from his vehemence. “The Wen sect is dead, you understand? All of them. The cultivation world refused to allow them to live, that much is obvious enough. Her surname…”

He looked down at her.

I failed Wei Wuxian, he thought grimly. I won’t fail his legacy.

“Her surname will be Jiang.”

-

-Earlier-

“We found this child hiding in the Demon Subduing Cave,” one of the guards reported, looking nervous. “Lianfeng-zun – what do we do with them?”

Jin Guangyao frowned down at the child, judging the child’s age to be about five or six – maybe seven, considering the likelihood of malnutrition at the Burial Mounds. If they were any younger, he would’ve said that the child ought to just execute them as useless; any older, and he would’ve had no choice but to declare them an enemy combatant, and thereby order them executed.

At this age, though…they were still young enough to be taught to forget their current surname, and to learn new loyalties, and yet old enough to perhaps remember a little of what they had learned, living as they had for a few years with the inventor of demonic cultivation.

Jin Guangyao glanced at the papers in his hands, full of barely legible scribbles, laying out powerful new spells and interesting ideas. They would help Xue Yang with his work – but not as much as a helper would, and naturally they’d just brutally executed all the other ‘helpers’ that might have been available.

Not exactly Jin Guangyao’s personal preference, but he wasn’t the one leading the Jin sect army.

Still, his father, who had been the one leading, had retired to his tent, and now Jin Guangyao was the one with the power, left to be in charge of mopping up. That, in turn, gave him a little more leeway, which meant he could implement his own thoughts, rather than badly thought out instructions.

“Put the child in my tent,” he said, and smiled. “The poor thing must have gotten lost and entered the battlefield – after we arrived. You understand?”

The guard saluted deeply. “Lianfeng-zun is kind and beneficent,” he said, and his expression was worshipful. “I will tell the others that the child is from some distant Jin branch.”

Jin Guangyao hadn’t intended for him to do that, but – well, he couldn’t exactly refute it now, could he, and anyway there were worse things to happen. Everyone would know that he had kindly taken in some orphaned child of war, which would be good for his reputation.

He smiled and nodded, and thought of the future.

-

-Earlier-

“Well, shit,” Nie Mingjue said, staring at the trio of children: nine or ten years old, he thought, maybe a little older, two girls and a boy. They stared back at him, wide-eyed and terrified – they were very clearly trying to sneak off the Burial Mounds down the back way.

Nie Mingjue rubbed his face, glad that he’d insisted on doing the forward scout work before the attack tomorrow morning himself rather than let it go to someone else. He hadn’t wanted to come to this blasted place in the first place, being that he still wasn’t sure exactly what had gone down with Wei Wuxian, who’d been a good man once. But good Nie cultivators had died at Lanling City at Wen Ning’s hands, the Jin sect claiming that that brutal attack was at Wei Wuxian’s instigation, and at the Nightless City at Wei Wuxian’s hands directly, and he didn’t have any evidence to exculpate the man, either; he had no grounds to look the families of those Nie cultivators in the eye and tell them not to pursue vengeance against the man who had slaughtered their brothers and fathers and sons, sisters and mothers and daughters, like they meant nothing.

They deserved vengeance.

Just as he had, for his father.

But at the same time…

“You’re all surnamed Wen, I take it?” he asked, and they slowly nodded. “Dafan Wen?”

Another nod.

“Wrong answer,” he said, making a snap decision. This wasn’t like his father at all, not really; he had wanted to kill Wen Ruohan, who had done the deed himself, while these children clearly hadn’t done anything. “Swear to me here and now that you won’t seek revenge for your sect or family, and you can be surnamed Nie instead.”

They looked at each other.

“Your family didn’t send you to run away because they wanted you to take revenge,” he said. It was a guess, but he could tell from the way their shoulders sagged that he was right. “They wanted you to live. Well?”

They swore.

He took them home.

-

-Earlier-

She tripped and fell flat on her face.

“Hey, girl!”

She looked up, eyes wide with terror – she hadn’t expected to be caught so soon – but the cultivator in front of her didn’t strike her down. He was a young man, just a few years older than her, and he looked nice, kneeling to help her up.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Did you get lost?”

Lost? From where would she get lost, exactly?

Despite that, she nodded.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Here isn’t a good place, though – we’re going to have a battle tomorrow…can you tell me where you’re from?” He frowned. “Or – can’t you speak?”

An idea suddenly came to mind, and she shook her head, lifting up her hands to mime signs like the ones she’d seen Lady Wen and her brother use sometimes when they needed to talk without disturbing others.

“Doesn’t talk,” he murmured to himself. “Clothing of white, ripped all to ribbons –”

She’d torn out any trace of the red sun. White was a common color, but she was old enough to know that she couldn’t let anyone know she was surnamed Wen.

“Oh, I’ve read about this before! Are you a bird yao that’s cultivated to humanity?”

What?

She’d been thinking of trying to pass as a traumatized war veteran, but she was only fourteen, after all; it wasn’t very believable. Of course, it was a lot more believable that bird yao – who would leap to that conclusion?

“My surname is Ouyang,” the man said, smiling brightly at her. “You should come back with me – I can teach you to speak, and we can give you a name…how about ‘Luo’ as a surname? That has to do with birds. Or we could surname you Bai, instead, since your clothing is white! Or maybe -”

She smiled helplessly at his nonsense. What a silly, cheerful man! Maybe she’d overestimated his age, he couldn’t be more than two or three years older, at most, and his brain was clearly not in the right place, filled up to the brim with romantic stories and adventure tales instead of facts.

It was a nice change, actually.

She accepted his hand as she stood.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

-

-Earlier-

Lan Wangji had returned home and submitted to a dreadful punishment. The elders he had injured on Wei Wuxian’s behalf were either in treatment or recovering.

As for the rest that had been at the Nightless City…

Many were dead.

Lan Qiren landed in the Burial Mounds, lips pressed tightly together.

He knew he was taking a risk in coming here to Wei Wuxian’s lair – no matter what Lan Wangji thought, whatever good points he’d had in the past, the man was now little better than a mad dog. He’d caused the death of three thousand people just the day before, three thousand innocents that hadn’t had anything to do with anything; why would he hesitate to attack his old teacher?

There was already talk of a siege – Jiang Cheng himself had promised to lead it, to wipe off the stain on the Jiang sect’s record, and the Jin sect had been right behind him. Even Nie Mingjue had been dragged in against his will, suborned by his sect members’ need for vengeance. As for the Lan Sect…Lan Xichen had looked so stricken by the thought that Lan Qiren had volunteered for the grim duty, despite Lan Qiren having never been much of a fighter and even less of a general. He intended to take only the smallest possible contingent, and to limit their work as much as possible to cleansing the dead rather than killing those who remained there – that much, at least, he could do for his nephew.

Either way, though, no matter his powers, Wei Wuxian would not live out the week.

If Lan Qiren desired vengeance, he need only wait.

And yet, here he was.

Alone, practically unarmed – and here nonetheless.

An old woman came out from the cave and squinted at him.

“It’s over,” she said sadly. “Isn’t it?”

Lan Qiren looked at her. One of the Wen remnants that Wei Wuxian had surrounded himself with, he assumed; the ones he’d given up his comfortable life for, claiming he was only acting as a righteous man ought. Perhaps he even had thought he was, back then.

Perhaps he really had been, back then.

“Yes,” Lan Qiren said, and cleared his throat. “After what he did at the Nightless City – the verdict is unquestionably death. But the rest of you…there are armies coming, and armies are not known for their leniency, especially not on passerby with the wrong surname. But they’re not here yet. There’s still time to flee – if you go now, you could take on a new surname and find some quiet place to live on.”

Lan Wangji had said they were civilians. Civilian life was to be prioritized above all else.

Lan Qiren was only doing what he must.

Despite his well-meant warnings, however, the old lady shook her head.

“There’s nowhere to go, and we won’t give up our surname,” she said, polite but stubborn to the last. “But thank you for taking the time to come here to tell us.”

“Wangji said that there were children here,” Lan Qiren insisted, ignoring her refusal. “If you won’t flee with them, at least send those that are old enough out on their own, and hide the younger ones. Tell them to forget their surnames – most people won’t rampantly murder children, so there’s a chance they’ll make it through, and live. Can you deny them that, just for pride?”

That gave the old woman pause.

“We’ll do what we can,” she said, and then eyed him. “How good are you at medicine?”

Lan Qiren frowned. “I can’t provide care –”

“She’s already dead. Come help anyway.”

The woman in question was not already dead, but dying – she was in her late teens, seventeen or eighteen at most, and she was in labor. From the glassiness of her eyes, the redness of her cheeks, and the threadiness of her pulse, it was clear that infection had long ago set in. It was not an exaggeration to say she was dead, little better than a corpse.

She was little more than a child.

“I don’t want her to die alone,” the old woman said. “But if you stay with her, I can use the time to try to take care of the rest. You’re not wrong, I suppose – the children, at least, deserve a chance to live on, even if it means leaving our surname behind.”

Lan Qiren looked down at the woman, unconscious already and unlikely to ever wake, and yet still whimpering. “And her child?”

The old woman looked surprised. “Can a child born like this still live?”

Lan Qiren had almost no medical training beyond the most superficial basics that were the necessity for any battlefield or night-hunt, with one sole exception: he had supervised the births of both his nephews by himself with little aid – his brother’s wife hadn’t wanted anyone else to be present, possibly in an attempt to prematurely enter her grave, possibly just out of spite. He had studied very hard in the days leading up to those births, and knew far more on the subject than most men did.

“It’s possible,” he said. “Unlikely, but – possible.”

He hesitated for a long moment.

“I can take the baby,” he finally said. “Pass him off as some war-orphan child of distant Lan cousins, sent to me on account of their deaths. I could raise him, or else give him to my cousin to raise; he’s got a large enough family that no one would question it.”

“Why would you do that?”

Lan Qiren looked at the woman who was dying, little more than a child herself. “Because of the children I can’t help.”

The old woman was quiet for a little while.

“Very well,” she said, and leaned forward to whisper the name the young woman had thought about for her child into his ear. “That works with Lan as a surname, wouldn’t it? That’s not bad.”

“Not bad at all,” Lan Qiren agreed, and rolled up his sleeves, settling down beside the girl. “Not bad at all.”

[ibijau]

Last Request pt1 / On AO3

“That doesn’t sound very wise,” Lan Xichen said and even Nie Huaisang couldn’t have missed how exhausted he sounded. But of course, with the war going the way it had gone, that was hardly a surprise. Even Nie Huaisang was affected. More than affected. Until this letter arrived, he thought he’d lost everything.

But then that letter had arrived, just that morning. It came from Meng Yao, a man who Nie Huaisang had never met in person, but who his brother had written about at length, back when he had still written at all. Meng Yao had been Nie Mingjue’s right hand man for a while, someone for whom he'd had nothing but compliments. In fact, they’d gotten on so well that Nie Mingjue had apparently organised an engagement between his right hand man and his little brother, shortly before he died. And Meng Yao, knowing this, had taken great risk to return to the Unclean Realm after the death of Nie Mingjue, so that he could protect Qinghe Nie in his fiancé’s place until Nie Huaisang managed to come home and take his rightful place.

If he were honest, Nie Huaisang did not want to return to Qinghe. He’d never been particularly popular within his sect, and knew he was no war leader. But then again, there was no war anymore. They’d lost. Nie Mingjue was dead. Lan Wangji was almost certainly dead. Jiang Cheng, after wasting months looking for Wei Wuxian in vain, probably considered himself lucky that Qin Cangye had offered to let him marry his daughter, while his sister was rumoured to perhaps get married to Jin Zixun, now that she no longer had enough prestige to ever marry Jin Zixuan.

Nie Huaisang was lucky he still had a sect, and luckier still that Meng Yao was willing to help him with it. If he went back, he’d be a sect leader in name only, while Meng Yao would run things for him… not that he expected there to be many things to be run. If Qinghe Nie was in the same state as Gusu Lan…

Nie Huaisang looked up at Lan Xichen, whose face was grey and tight, looking more like a living corpse than the bright young cultivator who everyone had considered the most eligible bachelor of his generation. Lan Xichen had just returned to Gusu, but apparently it was generally agreed he wouldn’t stay. It was the price Gusu Lan would have to pay to survive. Having already lost Lan Wangji, they also had to exile Lan Xichen, and be led by Lan Qiren who Wen Ruohan judged unthreatening.

“I have to go,” Nie Huaisang said. “It’s what Da-ge wanted.”

Lan Xichen threw him a rather unimpressed look, as if to say that Nie Huaisang had never cared before what his brother wanted, and that it was a little late to start worrying about that.

“It could be a trap,” Lan Xichen pointed out.

“You said it’s in Meng Yao’s handwriting,” Nie Huaisang retorted. “You said he’s trustworthy, and I know Da-ge trusted him too.”

“You’d have to go all the way to Qinghe,” Lan Xichen insisted. “And you wouldn’t be able to fly.”

“I suppose it is a bit far from me.”

“Forget about it being far. The Wens closely monitor the skies, searching for rebels. Which is what you are for now. If they can capture you, they might use you as a puppet to take control over Qinghe Nie.”

Nie Huaisang shrugged, and looked down again at the letter. “Well, it’s also theirs if I don’t go home, isn’t it? Meng Yao can use his position as my fiancé for a little while, but sooner or later it won’t be enough, and the Wens are going to make some excuse to destroy everything that’s left. But if I’m there, it’s more difficult. I’ll have legitimacy… and Meng Yao’s smart, right? Da-ge always said how smart he is. If I’m here to lend my name and title, I’m sure Meng Yao will find a way to solve this!”

Lan Xichen grimaced slightly, thinking perhaps that Nie Huaisang, true to himself, just wanted to dump all of his problems on someone else. Which was absolutely true. Nie Huaisang existed only to wear nice clothes and collect pretty things and do nothing of any use whatsoever. He was so grateful to Meng Yao for being around, and to Nie Mingjue for taking care of him one last time by providing him with a husband who would deal with difficult things for him.

“I promised Mingjue-xiong I’d keep you safe,” Lan Xichen said. “He sent you here to be safe.”

“But how safe am I in the Cloud Recesses, and for how long?”

Again, Lan Xichen made a face, though this time he was quick to cover it with an empty smile. Nie Huaisang couldn't blame him. If they were willing to get rid of their own sect leader, surely it wouldn’t take long before they also decided they couldn’t keep a guest as dangerous as Nie Huaisang.

“I have to go,” Nie Huaisang said in a forlorn tone, thinking already how uncomfortable it would be to travel, especially when he would have to be discreet, and what money he’d brought with him when he’d left home was running low. He might not be able to get the best rooms at inns, might have to settle for second best, and how tragic was that? And he’d have to travel as fast as he could, too, which meant no sightseeing, and very little tasting of food, and he wouldn’t get to buy as many souvenirs as he’d like, and…

“Then let me walk you there,” Lan Xichen offered, startling Nie Huaisang out of his carefully planned miseries. “I owe this to your brother. I will get you home, where you will be safe.”

“Xichen-gege, that’s unreasonable!” Nie Huaisang cried out. “The Wens are looking for you even more than they’re looking for me! They’d merely imprison me, but you? They’d kill you!”

Lan Xichen nodded calmly, as if thinking little of his own death.

“No matter where I go, I will be at risk. If I must wander away from home, let it be of use to someone. I couldn’t protect my brother, and I couldn’t protect Mingjue. If I also turn my back on you, I won’t be able to live with myself.”

Nie Huaisang broke into tears, touched by such a noble declaration. Of course, he broke into tears at just about anything these days, including at lunch when there had been a very tiny piece of carrot in his meal that looked lonely and sad and miserable without anyone to protect it, but for once the tears really felt justified.

“Xichen-gege, I’m not worthy of your kindness, but I’ll take it anyway! Da-ge is lucky to have had friends like you and Meng Yao, and I’m lucky as well to have the two of you to take care of me!”

Lan Xichen smiled sadly, and let him cry as much as he needed, which was terribly kind of him. Everyone else was always scolding Nie Huaisang for crying so much, but Lan Xichen let it happen and never said a word, even hugging Nie Huaisang and rubbing his back when the tears really got too strong. Then, when Nie Huaisang had calmed down, Lan Xichen made sure he drank something, and only then did he start talking about the practical side of their plan.

Almost immediately, they agreed that they would have to leave in secret. Lan Qiren would be told, because Lan Xichen couldn’t bear to go away without giving his uncle a proper farewell, but no one else in Gusu Lan was to know. Nie Huaisang was to pack only the most essentials of his possessions, and would pretend in the morning that he was going into town on an errand, as he had often done since he’d come to take refuge in the Cloud Recesses. Meanwhile, Lan Xichen would pretend to go into a short seclusion in preparation for his departure, but would actually secretly leave and meet Nie Huaisang in town.

“I’ll ask an innkeeper I know to send a message that I’m staying the night,” Nie Huaisang offered. “I’ve done that in the past, so it won’t surprise anyone. And when I don’t come back immediately, they’ll assume I’m still there for at least a day more. So even if there’s Wen sympathisers in the Cloud Recesses, they won’t notice right away that something’s wrong.”

“Meaning we only have to worry about spies outside,” Lan Xichen said. “Your face isn’t so well known that discovery is a risk as long as you dress down, but I will probably have to wear a mask. That and removing my ribbon should be enough.”

Privately, Nie Huaisang had doubts that Lan Xichen would be much good at hiding. Nevermind his face, his attitude was unique, he radiated calm and kindness like nobody else did. But since Lan Xichen was too earnest and too honest to change, a mask would have to do.

After arranging a few more details of their plan, Lan Xichen left to go warn his uncle while Nie Huaisang, all alone, tried to decide what to take with him. It was difficult, and a few times he caught himself on the verge of calling for help, just because he didn’t know at all how to do these things. He just wasn’t supposed to be doing things on his own. It was too hard, and he didn’t like it. Really, he couldn’t wait to be home again, and never have to make any efforts ever for the entire rest of his life.

Since travelling by sword wasn't an option, and Qinghe was such a great distance away, and Lan Qiren had given his nephew a small fortune as a parting gift, Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen bought horses. Or rather, Nie Huaisang chose horses, and Lan Xichen paid for them. Otherwise Lan Xichen, being an educated gentleman, would have gotten them the very best horses there were to be had in Gusu, as he had been taught to do, which Nie Huaisang argued would make them far too noticeable. Instead, Nie Huaisang chose for them a pair of decent horses, both a muddy brown colour and with a slight tendency to bite, but sturdy enough to probably last the whole journey to Qinghe. 

With horses like these, dressed as they were, with Lan Xichen wearing a mask and Nie Huaisang a large straw hat, they easily passed for ordinary travellers. Indeed they got out of Gusu without attracting any attention, and quietly travelled for the rest of the day until they found an inn on the side of the road where to spend the night. They paid for some food, and for a room where they retired as soon as they were done eating. Nie Huaisang, for one, found himself quite tired by this more active day than he was used to, and would probably have instantly fallen asleep, had he been alone.

But he was not alone, and even though Lan Xichen had not removed his mask, it was impossible to miss how forlorn he looked. And for good reasons. Nie Huaisang’s home might be altered when he’d get there, and it would never feel the same again without his brother, would never feel as safe, but it was still home, he still could go back there. Lan Xichen, after losing his brother, and his best friend, had now lost his home as well and would likely never return there, not unless Wen Ruohan’s new empire collapsed… and even then, would it still be a home for Lan Xichen, when they had been so ready to sacrifice him for their own safety?

Nie Huaisang didn’t really know how to comfort the other man, except by distracting him. So he complained about his bed being too hard, his blanket too thin, the inn too dark, and how very scared he was, until Lan Xichen, ever patient and indulgent, agreed to share a bed so Nie Huaisang would be more comfortable and feel safer. And maybe Nie Huaisang’s complaints hadn’t been so fake. With Lan Xichen holding him, he really did feel better. Like when he was a child and would climb in bed with his brother because something had scared him in the night.

Maybe Nie Huaisang cried a little at the memory, and if he did then Lan Xichen had to have felt it, holding him close as he did, but he said nothing. Nie Huaisang had always cried easily anyway, while Lan Xichen had once confided he found tears difficult to come by. It was fine for Nie Huaisang to do the crying for both of them.

The days that followed resembled that first one. They would spend their days riding their horses as far as they could, stop somewhere for the night, share a bed, Nie Huaisang would cry, and they’d fall asleep. It wasn’t the worst of routines, and though after some days Nie Huaisang found it all a little boring, he reasoned that in their situation, boring wasn’t a bad thing. Excitement was the last thing they could wish for when the Wens probably wanted to capture them both.

Still, Nie Huaisang could only last so long without something to keep him busy. So as they rode together, he took to asking Lan Xichen about a number of things. Sometimes he was curious about the war (but Lan Xichen never liked to talk about it), or about the history of whatever region they were currently crossing… but of course, his main subject of curiosity was that man he was supposed to marry, Meng Yao.

“And what can I tell you that Mingjue-xiong won’t have told you already?” Lan Xichen wondered the first time Nie Huaisang asked about that particular topic.

“Oh, plenty! You know how he was. Sure, I know that Meng Yao is a serious worker, and he has to be someone trustworthy for Da-ge to have liked him so well! I know he’ll be a good person for the sect, but I’ve got to know if he’ll be a good husband for me, too!”

Hearing this, Lan Xichen’s posture stiffened, though his face remained impassive. He was already not the most expressive of people normally, always smiling calmly, but the mask just made that worse.

“This will be a political match,” Lan Xichen gently pointed out. “And between two men, at that. I don’t think you have to worry too much about this marriage. Meng Yao is an honourable man, he wouldn’t demand…”

“But if I have to be married, I want to be fully married,” Nie Huaisang cut him with a pout. “Xichen-gege, tell me about my future husband. Is he fun? Does he read? Ah, I'm so worried, Da-ge was so complimentary of him, maybe Meng Yao is just like Da-ge and that won’t be much fun… is he handsome?”

“Yes, he is handsome,” Lan Xichen said with some hesitation. “At least, I think you will find him handsome. I will warn you that he is not very tall. About your height, I would say.”

“How rude, calling me short!” Nie Huaisang complained. “But it’s fine. I can’t easily kiss someone much taller than myself, so it’s easier if we’re the same size. Does he like men, you think?”

“I think we are treading dangerously close to gossip,” Lan Xichen said with startling dryness. “And Meng Yao is a man who suffers enough from gossip already.”

He sounded upset enough that Nie Huaisang forced himself to give the question the consideration it deserved. It was rare for Lan Xichen to be angry at anyone, least of all at Nie Huaisang, so clearly the objection had to be a serious one. And yet…

“I don’t think it’s gossip,” Nie Huaisang decided after a long reflection. “I think it’s only normal to want to know if my husband might be attracted to me. I know I can be. I’m not very picky. If someone is attractive, and they’re nice to me, and they say they’re interested in me, that’s good enough!”

“I’m sure it would take more than that,” Lan Xichen retorted.

“No, it really wouldn’t,” Nie Huaissang said, before laughing. “Do you know, for a while I even had a crush on you, because you were so nice all the time? Ah, but I got over it, don’t worry. I know you’re just nice with everyone, so don’t worry, I won’t make things weird. And besides, I’m going to marry Meng Yao, so he’s the one I need to be in love with now.”

Lan Xichen said nothing for a while. Nie Huaisang feared to have offended him by stupidly mentioning that old crush of his. He’d never heard anything about Lan Xichen cutting his sleeve, and of course some men didn’t like for other men to think of them in that manner, which always puzzled Nie Huaisang. He wasn’t too interested in girls, but if one told him she found him attractive, he’d be flattered, not angry. It really was a pity that more people weren’t like him, who was so reasonable about most things.

Nie Huaisang was starting to get worried about really upsetting Lan Xichen when at last, the other man spoke again.

“As far as I know, Meng Yao likes men and women the same,” Lan Xichen said, his voice oddly cold and detached. “I cannot say whether there will be attraction between the two of you. Those things are unpredictable of course. But with what I know of him, and what I know of you, I think there should be no incompatibility at least.”

“That’s a relief! I trust your judgement, Xichen-gege, I really do.”

“Your trust honours me.”

“Now, tell me more!” Nie Huaisang insisted. “I’ll be so embarrassed if I meet him and I don’t even know anything about him. If this were a normal wedding, the matchmaker would have given us some information. Where is he from? I know about his family of course, at least a little, but that’s not much!”

“I will not gossip,” Lan Xichen warned, and Nie Huaisang, who prided himself in getting gossip out of people even when they were determined against it, assured him that it would not be expected of him in the least.

Very cautiously, Lan Xichen explained Meng Yao’s rather delicate family history, with a mother many had shamed him for, and a father who Nie Huaisang wouldn’t have been proud of. But Lan Xichen insisted that Meng Yao has received as good an education as his mother could afford, that he’d been a diligent student, that he’d been successfully employed as a bookkeeper for a time, before deciding to try again to join a cultivation sect and making his way to Qinghe from Yunping.

“He’s from Yunping?” Nie Huaisang exclaimed. “And that name, Meng... Could it be that he's...” He stopped himself. That probably would have counted as gossip, and while he loved hearing scandalous stories, he tried to be careful not to spread them, least of all when they concerned someone he might be friends with. Still, it seemed like an odd coincidence. “So, why didn’t he try to join Yunmeng Jiang, after it failed with the Jins?” Nie Huaisang asked as innocently as he could. “Surely that'd have been closer to home.”

“As I understand, he was advised against even before trying for Lanling,” Lan Xichen explained. “There was a great friendship between Jin furen and the late Yu furen, so it would have been difficult for Yunmeng Jiang to accept one of Jin zongzhu’s illegitimate children as a disciple.”

That all rather fit with one certain drunken conversation Nie Huaisang had with Jiang Cheng, a little after Wei Wuxian had been kicked out of the Cloud Recesses. Nie Huaisang thought of mentioning it, but figured it maybe wasn't his place. Jiang Cheng wouldn’t have liked it, and they were both sect leaders now, so he couldn’t afford to make Jiang Cheng angry.

How boring, to have to be reasonable about things.

“I guess, especially since Yu furen had anger issues," Nie Huaisang said instead. 

“Gossip.”

“It’s not gossip if it’s true!”

“Then let’s at least have some respect for the dead,” Lan Xichen gently scolded.

“Well that’s unfair. So all someone has to do is be awful in life, and then die, and nobody can say anything?” Nie Huaisang complained. “It’s too easy. Will I have to be polite about Wen Ruohan too when he dies?”

Even through the mask Lan Xichen visibly grimaced.

“Well…

“Or about Jin zongzhu? Xichen-gege, I don’t think I could be polite about him.”

“Brat,” Lan Xichen called him with a smile, in the exact tone Nie Mingjue used to do. It was so similar, in fact, that they both froze and exchanged a wounded look.

It occurred to Nie Huaisang that his brother would never call him that again. It was a small thing to mourn, which added up to a thousand other small things about his brother that he was also becoming aware were gone for ever. And that was all while away from home, when there was little to remind him of Nie Mingjue. If his heart kept breaking like this already, how bad would it be when he reached the Unclean Realm, where there wasn’t a room, nor a courtyard, that didn’t hold some memory of his brother?

Nie Huaisang dropped the topic of his fiancé for the day, too overcome with sorrow, but he returned to it the day after, and every day that followed. At first Lan Xichen was a little reluctant to indulge Nie Huaisang, but eventually he gave in and just answered all his questions regarding Meng Yao with resigned sadness. Nie Huaisang wondered at that sadness sometimes. But the more Lan Xichen spoke, the clearer it was that he had great respect and affection for Meng Yao, though their acquaintance had been short. And poor Lan Xichen, who had already lost so much, would have to also miss the wedding of the last two friends of his who hadn’t died. Of course he would be sad about something like that. Nie Huaisang pitied him so much that he suggested perhaps Lan Xichen could come anyway, wearing a disguise, but his offer was rejected very firmly.

“I have no wish to be there,” Lan Xichen assured him. “And besides, it would be unwise. If I were discovered, it could only spell trouble for Qinghe Nie. No, I will get you back to the Unclean Realm, and then we must say farewell. Unless some great change comes to the cultivation world, I doubt we will meet again.”

Nie Huaisang protested that idea. For all that they appeared aloof and serene, after having spent so long in the Cloud Recesses Nie Huaisang had discovered a secret few people in the cultivation world were aware of: the Lans, every single one of them, were a bunch of over-dramatic idiots. They always jumped to the worst possible conclusion about problems, they were always certain their feelings were unrequited, and everything that could go wrong was sure to go wrong. Sure they were good at hiding it in public, and their sect’s rules demanded that they restrained themselves from expressing it, but the feelings were still there, all the stronger for being repressed, when shouting a bit and crying some would have made all of it more manageable.

So Nie Huaisang thought that Lan Xichen’s warning they would never meet again was just more of the same, just another Lan being dramatic.

But then, they finally crossed into territories more firmly under Wen control, and Nie Huaisang’s perspective shifted. Perhaps, he soon came to think, Lan Xichen had not been dramatic enough.

It wasn’t that thing had been easy until then. Of course they had seen suffering, and they’d heard some rumours. Nie Huaisang had been mostly kept out of all the political discussions that had followed his brother’s death and Jin Guangshan’s decision to stop the fighting. He’d heard some whispered rumours that every sect had been threatened to be destroyed and their disciples sent for another reeducation camp in the Nightless City, a permanent displacement this time, but he hadn’t believed it. Why would the Wens bother with something like that?

And Nie Huaisang had been right about that, though not in the manner he’d thought. The Wens really hadn’t wanted to deal with making people restart from scratch their cultivation process, so except for a few sects that had negotiated well enough or were under the protection of Lanling Jin or Gusu Lan, everyone else was just slaughtered because, to quote the words of Wen Ruohan, it was useless to have so many sects around when only his own had ever produced a man capable of reaching immortality, that man being himself.

It was a shock for Nie Huaisang, the first time they passed a small town only to hear that the sect residing there had been exterminated so recently that the blood in their home hadn’t even been cleaned yet. It wasn’t even a very large sect, just a man who had studied some years with another minor sect, before deciding to start his own method with his wife and some relatives as his disciples. They hadn’t even taken part in the Sunshot Campaign, Nie Huaisang learned, but that they existed at all was unbearable for the Wens.

That small sect was no exception. In the days that followed, Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen heard more and more stories of that same sort. If they were horrified then, there were no words to describe how they both felt upon learning that the sects who had been slaughtered were the lucky ones. Sometimes, for reasons nobody could determine, an entire sect would instead be captured and sent to the Nightless City, children and elders included. Not for reeducation, as Nie Huaisang foolishly hoped at first, but because the war had made Wen Ruohan accustomed to seeing his torture chambers always full, and he was not a man to deny himself any pleasures. Least of all when he apparently had a new chief torturer who kept inventing new devices and methods to entertain him, or so the rumour went.

Nie Huaisang, always a glutton for gossip until then, stopped eavesdropping after the first time he heard people discussing Wen Ruohan’s chief torturer.

Lan Xichen, on the other hand, started listening more attentively than he ever had. It surprised Nie Huaisang, when not so long ago Lan Xichen kept playfully scolding him about his taste for gossiping. But since it was said that Lan Wangji had last been seen into the hands of that terrible chief torturer before he disappeared entirely, perhaps Lan Xichen’s curiosity made sense. It was a very Lan thing to dwell on horror and tragedy. 

For his part, Nie Huaisang preferred to think about a hopeful future. Very soon now, he would be in the Unclean Realm again. He would meet his fiancé at last, and surely they would get along, because Nie Mingjue had always spoken so highly of Meng Yao in his letters and Nie Huaisang couldn’t imagine not loving someone his brother had cared for. Meng Yao was handsome, and kind, and loyal, and hard working, and he was going to solve all of Nie Huaisang’s problem. Then, in a few months, when Nie Huaisang’s mourning period for his brother was over, they would get married, and surely by then they’d have spent enough time together to be good friends, or even to be in love if they could only be so lucky. And together, they would protect Qinghe Nie against the Wens, and it would be… fine. Nie Huaisang couldn’t imagine being happy when his brother was dead while the man who had murdered his entire family ruled the world, but surely this would be good enough, right?

“I’m not asking for so much I think,” he told Lan Xichen one night, having again shared his great hopes for the future after they’d retired to a room at a small inn.

It was their last night on the road before reaching the Unclean Realm, and they laid in bed together as usual. It felt a little wrong now to betray Meng Yao by sharing another man’s bed, even when it was purely in a friendly manner, but it was so cold that night, and Nie Huaisang was truly anxious, and he didn’t want to sleep alone.

Lan Xichen, laying against his back, pulled him closer but remained silent for a moment.

“What if…” he started saying, then stopped himself. “No, perhaps I shouldn’t say it.”

“Too late, you've made me curious,” Nie Huaisang complained, trying to turn around to look at Lan Xichen. But Lan Xichen’s hold on him only tightened, keeping him facing away. “Xichen-gege, are you unwell?” Nie Huaisang asked.

“I have something to tell you, and I fear you might resent me for it,” Lan Xichen whispered.

“I find it hard to believe. I like you too much.”

Lan Xichen sighed, pressing his forehead against the back of Nie Huaisang’s shoulder.

“It’s about Meng Yao,” he whispered. “There are certain things about him I have kept from you. I thought it did not matter, but now… now I think you do need to know this before you get back to the Unclean Realm.”

And with this, Lan Xichen set out to explain why, exactly, Nie Mingjue had stopped writing about Meng Yao after the man had left to join Lanling Jin. Through circumstances that Lan Xichen confessed had never been fully explained to him, Meng Yao had seen an opportunity to pretend to join the Wen sect and spy on them. There, as with the Nies, his diligence had soon been noticed, and he’d risen in rank fast, eventually working directly under Wen Ruohan. But where Nie Mingjue had made Meng Yao his right hand man, Wen Ruohan had instead named him his chief torturer, and put him in charge of extracting information from captured enemies.

“This Meng Yao told me himself,” Lan Xichen explained. “He lamented that he’d been put in such a position which he assured me went against his disposition and sensibilities. He told me that when he could, he tried to give people a merciful death. And this position, this proximity to Wen Ruohan, gave him a unique chance to spy on the man.”

What he learned that way, Meng Yao had apparently shared it with Lan Xichen, who in turn made sure it reached other sect leaders, and in particular Nie Mingjue, who owed many of his successes to Meng Yao without ever knowing it.

“Why shouldn’t he know it, though?” Nie Huaisang asked.

“It was Meng Yao’s own request. He told me that he knew your brother disapproved of spies, however necessary they can be for a successful war, and he feared that his friendship with Nie Mingjue would be fractured if Mingjue-xiong found out what he’d had to do to help the Sunshot Campaign. And he did help! He really helped, we owed him several victories. But now I wonder at the cost of those victories.”

“You think he’s the man people are talking about,” Nie Huaisang said. “The one who will torture just anyone, even little children, if it can amuse his master.”

“Yes.”

Nie Huaisang frowned. “I did not take you for a man who listened to gossip, Zewu-Jun.”

“I normally would not,” Lan Xichen whispered, his hold on Nie Huaisang’s waist now so tight it made it hard to breathe. “But what I hear echoes certain questions that have plagued me for weeks.”

“It’s still gossip.”

“But how did Meng Yao leave the Nightless City? How did he get to the Unclean Realm? For that matter, how come the Unclean Realm hasn’t been seized and destroyed, now that Nie Mingjue no longer lives to defend it?”

“Is that all the trust you have in the disciples of Qinghe Nie?” Nie Huaisang exploded, sitting up to glare at Lan Xichen. “You think we are so weak we would fall the instant we lost Da-ge?”

“No, I think your brother’s disciple would fight to the death in his memory,” Lan Xichen replied, sitting up as well, looking miserable even through his mask. “But where are Wen Ruohan’s armies? Where is the siege being laid to the Unclean Realm? I asked the innkeeper earlier, he said the Unclean Realm has been quiet as far as he knows. Surely that strikes you as odd?”

“It must mean that Meng Yao has things under control!”

Lan Xichen sighed, and shook his head.

“Huaisang, do you not have too much trust in a man you have never met?”

“But you are the one who made me trust him!” Nie Huaisang retorted. “You and Da-ge! Do you think he would have prepared my engagement to anyone unless he trusted them with his life?”

“I think that Mingjue never mentioned such an engagement to me!” Lan Xichen said with great heat. “I think that being his close friend, he would have told me if he had such plans for you! I think if he was so desperate to know you were safe, then perhaps he would have asked me instead of giving you away to a man whom he hadn’t spoken to in months! It makes no sense to entrust you to a stranger when I’m right here!”

That explosion of anger startled Nie Huaisang, enough so that he felt safer getting up from the bed. He didn’t like angry people, and he didn’t like screaming, and Lan Xichen knew that, so how dare he raise his voice and scare Nie Huaisang? Though at least, as soon as he saw how scared Nie Huaisang was, Lan Xichen promptly apologised and forced himself to calm down. Still, the harm was done, and Nie Huaisang knew he would spend that last night alone in his own bed. He could not even sit next to Lan Xichen now, his heart beating too hard from just that moment of fright.

“Since you don’t like other men, of course Da-ge couldn’t ask this of you,” Nie Huaisang argued. “I don’t know why it makes you angry, it’s not like you might have wanted to marry me.”

“What I want is irrelevant,” Lan Xichen quickly argued. “I just think it is odd for Mingjue to have wanted this.”

“But the letter had a copy of the engagement agreement,” Nie Huaisang retorted. “And Da-ge’s seal was on it.”

“And how difficult would it have been to write that contract after his death, to put his stolen seal on it? It does not even need to have been the real one. Meng Yao would have seen that seal many times while working for your brother, and I know for a fact he has the most extraordinary of memories. What he sees once, he will always remember. Isn’t it possible, then, that…”

“But then it means Da-ge was wrong to have trusted him in the first place,” Nie Huaisang cut him. “Is that what you’re saying? That Da-ge was wrong?”

The very idea upset him to the greatest degree. It was quite odd. As long as Nie Mingjue had lived, Nie Huaisang had delighted in contradicting him and proving him wrong. Now that he was dead, he couldn’t bear to think that Nie Mingjue might ever have been wrong about anything. He wanted to agree with everything his brother had ever said or done, as if that might bring him back from the dead.

Not to mention if Meng Yao couldn’t be trusted, it meant Nie Huaisang would have to deal with many awful things on his own, and he knew he wasn’t capable of it. So Meng Yao had to be trustworthy, or else what would he do?

“Zewu-Jun, I’m really disappointed in you,” Nie Huaisang insisted. “To doubt like this your own friend! And didn’t he save you? Hasn’t he proven already that his loyalty isn’t to the Wens? You said we owe him victories, you said he saved your life, and now you’ve changed your mind about him? I did not take your friendship to be such a fickle thing, Zewu-Jun!”

Lan Xichen tensed at the accusation, though his face, hidden under his mask, remained apparently impassive. It only made Nie Huaisang angrier. If he dared, if their safety had not depended on not being recognised, he would have launched himself at Lan Xichen to tear away that damn mask and find what emotion truly hid under.

“I told you before starting that you might resent me for what I had to tell you,” Lan Xichen quietly reminded him. “I am sorry if I have upset you, and if you now think less of me than you did once. It pains me to think we might part on bad terms. Still, I don’t regret telling you this, and I feel more at peace now.”

“Your peace came at the cost of my own,” Nie Huaisang snapped. “You may be glad to have spoken, but I wish you’d kept silent!”

To this, Lan Xichen had nothing to reply. Sensing they would only argue more if they kept talking, Nie Huaisang strode toward his bed and hid under his blanket, without so much as a goodnight. He spent the night furious at Lan Xichen, first for burdening him with knowledge he had never wished to have, and then later for forcing him to spend their last night together cold and miserable and lonely, when he had grown so accustomed to being held through tears and nightmares alike.

When morning came, neither Nie Huaisang nor Lan Xichen mentioned their argument, and they behaved as normally as they could, when they both knew they would likely never meet again after that day. They shared a simple breakfast, Nie Huaisang carefully tied his hair with all the elegance he could spare, and they left together. They both remained silent as they walked out of the small town, and as they followed the road that would lead them toward the Unclean Realm. Then, about a shichen after they’d left the town behind, Lan Xichen suddenly stopped walking. Before he could speak, Nie Huaisang had already understood.

“Can you really not stay a little longer?” he begged. “Just a little, just a few more steps…”

“I already came closer than I promised myself I would,” Lan Xichen said. “If I could, I would walk you to the gate of the Unclean Realm, to the door of your room even. But my presence puts you in too much danger, and so I will not be selfish. We must say goodbye, Huaisang.”

“Don’t go!” Nie Huaisang cried, throwing himself into Lan Xichen’s arms. “You can’t go!”

“Are you scared?” Lan Xichen asked, wrapping his arms around Nie Huaisang’s shoulders.

“Yes. Not of Meng Yao! Or… or maybe yes. I don’t know! I don’t know what I’m scared of, I just know I’m scared! I don’t want you to leave me. If you’re here, I won’t be scared! Xichen-gege, you can’t leave me, you just can’t!”

Lan Xichen only sighed.

“Maybe I just won’t go,” Nie Huaisang whined. “What good am I to my brother’s sect? Maybe I’ll run away with you instead!”

“Would you?” Lan Xichen quickly asked, in a tone so eager that it startled Nie Huaisang and made him look up.

If Lan Xichen’s mask still made his expression hard to read, it couldn’t hide the way his eyes shone with more emotion than Nie Huaisang had ever seen in him. Worse still, one of Lan Xichen’s hands came to cup his cheeks with unbearable tenderness, the gesture of a lover more than that of a friend. For a brief moment, Nie Huaisang thought Lan Xichen might kiss him. This rogue thought was soon followed by another, more unwelcome still: that Nie Huaisang would enjoy being kissed by Lan Xichen.

It was like he had said some weeks ago: it didn’t take much for him to get attached to someone. The person only needed to be handsome, and kind, and to show interest in him. Lan Xichen was the first two, enough so that Nie Huaisang had long had a crush on him, one he’d fought hard to get rid of. But apparently the fact that Lan Xichen was willing to look after him on such a long journey, to give him the affection he craved while mourning his brother, that had been enough to rekindle his old flame.

Nie Huaisang laughed, mostly at himself.

“Ah, Xichen-gege, you’re really too kind! But as useless as I’ll be in the Unclean Realm, I’d be worse at your side. No, you’re right, I must go home. Home is where I belong, isn't it?”

Lan Xichen said nothing, but dropped his hand from Nie Huaisang’s cheek and took a step back, breaking their embrace.

“I’ll be going then,” Nie Huaisang said. “I have to get going. But… Xichen-gege, do you think we’ll meet again?”

“It might be best if we don’t,” Lan Xichen replied. “But I will always be glad to have met you. Even if our paths never cross again in this life I will always count you as my friend.”

“Well I think we’ll meet again,” Nie Huaisang retorted, upset to be so easily abandoned. “In fact, I’m sure of it. I want us to meet again.”

“Then perhaps we will,” Lan Xichen replied, smiling enough it showed through the mask. “I’ve never known you to not get your way. But for now, let’s say farewell. Hurry home now. Your fiancé waits for you.”

Nie Huaisang grimaced at the reminder, and again scolded himself for stupidly letting himself feel things he shouldn’t for Lan Xichen when he was supposed to marry Meng Yao, whom his brother had personally chosen for him. It was really shameful of him, and if he wasn’t careful, he was just going to turn into another Jiang Fengmian, when he’d always privately thought the man was nothing short of an idiot for the way he treated his wife.

“Farewell, Zewu-Jun,” Nie Huaisang said, bowing deeply. “I hope you are lucky in your wanderings.”

“And I hope you are lucky in your marriage,” Lan Xichen replied. “Farewell now,” he said again, yet did not move.

It was Nie Huaisang who had to move first, turning toward the Unclean Realm without another word and forcing himself to walk straight ahead. He walked and walked until he could bear it no longer and turned around to find that Lan Xichen was still there, standing where he’d left him, staring at him even now.

Nie Huaisang, untrained in the art of resisting temptation, found it harder than ever on that occasion. If not for an engagement contract bearing his brother’s seal, he might have run back and begged Lan Xichen to take him with him after all. But there was the contract, and there was the seal, so Nie Huaisang resumed his walk toward the Unclean Realm.

It was his brother’s last request to see him marry Meng Yao, Nie Huaisang could not disappoint him again.

[nillegible]

Time Travelling Wen Ning, Part 7:

(Previous Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 )

“Da-ge?” says Nie Huaisang, coming into Nie Mingjue’s room. Nie Mingjue had brought his paperwork from his office to his personal quarters when he’d taken his leave of the impromptu feast for the Nie cultivators’ safe return to Qinghe Nie after that disastrous discussion conference. His men were still out there, celebrating, and while no one spoke the words ‘hurray he’s dead,’ out loud because it was terribly rude, the sentiment was obvious in the shared smiles and wine. Huaisang looks a little flushed but not drunk, and strangely earnest. “I’m going to ask you something really weird. Don’t worry about it. But do you happen to know who gifted Sect Leader Wen that fancy saber that. You know.” Started everything goes unsaid, but Nie Mingjue understands what he means.

He’s surprised that Huaisang put it together so quickly. They have been back for only an afternoon, and Nie Mingjue’s hurried explanation while Huaisang worriedly checked him over had been terribly sparse. Perhaps some of the lessons at the Cloud Recesses had done their job after all.

“I would tell you that it hardly matters because what is done is done, but you’re the second person to ask me that, this week.” Nie Mingjue says slowly. “Explain your thoughts to me.” If Huaisang has independently come to the same conclusion that he and Meng Yao have come to, then he’ll stop feeling like it’s mere paranoia and begin to take adequate measures.

“It just seems weird, right? You know what I mean. If it wasn’t an idiot trying to curry favor with Wen Ruohan because he was angry at dad. What if he knew. Because he could have said dad’s arrogant about anything, but they chose his saber. Specifically.”

“If someone went to such lengths, we’d have to wonder what they’re after,” Nie Mingjue says.

Huaisang stares at Nie Mingjue curiously for a moment, eyes wide, then relaxes. “Yao-ge already talked to you, huh? Don’t mind me, then, Da-ge, I’m just being fanciful and silly. I’m sure it’s nothing!”

“Don’t go, Huaisang, I didn’t dismiss you,” Nie Mingjue says, making his fleeing brother stop at the door.

“Da-ge, I should get back to the celebration, it was for you and you escaped so early! And I don’t want to think about it. You’ll take care of it right?” Nie Huaisang asks, pleading. “I really don’t want to.”

For just a moment, Nie Mingjue is tempted to agree, to let Huaisang go and to promise him that Da-ge would take care of everything. “We don’t know who it is. I don’t. We don’t know what they were after, if Wen Ruohan’s death was intentional or a mistake. We don’t even know if this is all a conjecture and father wasn’t really set up to fall. Don’t go, please,” he says.

Nie Huaisang stands there for a long time, then comes sit down beside Nie Mingjue sullenly. “I thought I’d be happier when Wen Ruohan died,” he says, instead of elaborating on his earlier question.

“Is that what you thought vengeance would feel like?” asks Nie Mingjue. It’s such a curious, childish idea that he has to smile.

“Not really,” Huaisang admits. “I imagine it must feel… exhausting.” In his brother’s soft voice it hits particularly deep, right in the burden that Nie Mingjue has been carrying since his father’s saber shattered in the middle of a hunt, and Nie Mingjue Had screamed as he was gored, tossed over that beast’s shoulder.

It was exhausting. And if Nie Huaisang And Meng Yao are right, they’re not done yet.

Nie Mingjue had been preparing for a war against a tyrant, for leading his men into battle until the Wen forces gave up and he could march into Nightless City and behead Wen Ruohan. In his heart, he’d been terrified that he would try only to fail, to spill his men’s blood for nothing.

He does not know what to make of this.

“You were thinking of father?” asks Nie Mingjue, gently prompting.

“Of course I was. He’s dead, so of course I. I don’t understand. Wen Qionglin shot him in front of a hundred witnesses,” says Huaisang. “I don’t get what they – if there is a they – achieved by doing that. Was it to terrify us? Make us feel unsafe?”

“Wen Qionglin wasn’t supposed to be on the Wen archery team, or to shoot at all. The circumstances that brought him there involved your friend, Young Master Wei, who apparently got lost and entered a private archery range and found him practicing, and insisted that he be given a chance to prove his skills in front of everyone,” Nie Mingjue says. So many people had repeated the story so many times, that it was possible they’d stopped mentioning all of the details. Huaisang looks up at him wide eyed. Nie Mingjue finishes, “If the next time he raised his bow had been during a night hunt or archery training at the palace instead of at the competition, things could have been very different.”

“Another accident,” Nie Huaisang whispers. “And no one would ever know. But no!” he says, sitting up straighter. “That wouldn’t have been enough, they’d have to make it look like we did it, like we were getting revenge. Maybe Nie-fletched arrows… and dozens would be available during an archery competition! Anyone doing the tallying could just pick one up from the targets!”

Nie Mingjue is about to disagree, arrows could be stolen by anyone, when Huaisang speaks first, “No that’s silly. Too obvious. And they’ve been so subtle so far. Which begs the question what do they want? Who do we know that would want Father and Wen Ruohan both dead?”

“We don’t,” says Nie Mingjue simply. The tensions between Nie Que and Wen Ruohan were well known. There was not a single issue where they were in agreement, so nearly everyone happened to agree with one or the other, or with Jin Guangshan, who agreed with whatever plan could be used as an excuse to hike his cultivators’ fees. Huaisang scowls faintly, but doesn’t produce a name either.

“There has to be someone,” he says.

“We will look,” Nie Mingjue promises. Huaisang just taps his fan against his fingers, lost in thought while Nie Mingjue returns to his paperwork.

“If it came to a war between us,” Huaisang asks, almost a half hour later. “Which of us would win?” It’s a question Nie Mingjue has asked himself. He does not know. “Neither. Because people die in war,” Huaisang answers himself.

“An increase in territory would bring many benefits,” he counters.

“Not if there are too few cultivators to manage it afterwards,” says Huaisang. “So who would it benefit?” asks Huaisang.

It’s the same question as last time, “I don't know. The fierce corpses?” he says, and his brother giggles. “Go back to the feast. We will discuss this later.”

“They’ve probably finished the wine,” Huaisang says as he stands, Nie Mingjue ignores the complaints that follow him from the room. It seems bizarre, that with some new nebulous threat, he can feel any happiness at all. His father’s death still aches raw and broken. But he finds himself smiling as signs off on things and reads reports.

Wen Ruohan, that monster, is dead, and they will hunt down the others if necessary.

[bloody-bee-tea]

BeeTober 2020 Day 3

Divine Harvest

It's day 3 of BeeTober and the Untamed Fall Fest and those two words in combination really screamed for a continuation of my LXC is a god and JC is his trusted chosen disciple. Finally some backstory as to how the gods were forgotten. Plays after Worthy of a god and before not dead, just forgotten.

Jiang Cheng is getting more and more worried with each passing day. There are rumours in the air, conversations held behind closed doors and in hushed whispers and which each speculation that Jiang Cheng catches his worry grows.

War is in the air, and Lan Xichen won’t tell him about it.

But Jiang Cheng wants to know—he needs to know in order to protect his god—and so he goes looking for Lan Xichen.

“You’re keeping secrets from me,” Jiang Cheng opens the conversation with as soon as he finds Lan Xichen in front of his house and the guilty look on Lan Xichen’s face is enough confirmation for Jiang Cheng. “You promised to never keep anything from me,” he quietly tacks on and Lan Xichen sighs.

“How do you know?” Lan Xichen asks him and Jiang Cheng gives him a look.

“I’m not stupid. There’s talk all over the place. No one quite dares to say it out loud yet, but I caught something about a Divine Harvest?”

“Oh, my beautiful heart, you have always been so clever,” Lan Xichen says with a slight smile and beckons Jiang Cheng to his side.

Praise from Lan Xichen is nothing new; it’s almost like he makes it a point to praise Jiang Cheng at least once a day, but it still never got easier for Jiang Cheng to accept it. To accept that maybe Lan Xichen means it, that he is awed by Jiang Cheng.

It’s been at least seven decades with Lan Xichen now—Jiang Cheng finds it increasingly difficult to keep track of the time—and even though that should be more than enough to make up for only eighteen years of his father’s callous words, Jiang Cheng still struggles with it.

“Stop it,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, like he always does, but dutifully goes over to his god. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Lan Xichen tucks him into his side, close and protected, and this is something else Jiang Cheng has noticed in the past. Lan Xichen’s need to keep him close and to touch him often.

He guesses it’s because Lan Xichen’s last disciple died so violently, but he never dared to ask Lan Xichen directly. Jiang Cheng isn’t even sure if he wants to know, if he’s just filling in some empty space in Lan Xichen’s life; a replacement for someone Lan Xichen loved dearly but lost.

“Don’t do that,” Lan Xichen chides him gently and rubs a thumb over the worry lines in Jiang Cheng’s forehead. “You shouldn’t worry.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have to if you could just tell me the truth,” Jiang Cheng shoots back, diverting his thoughts to the much more pressing issue at hand.

“I had hoped to keep this from you for a little bit longer,” Lan Xichen admits. “Because once you know that worry line will be permanent and I didn’t want that for you,” Lan Xichen explains and then sighs. “But you’re right. I promised to never keep secrets from you.”

“So tell me,” Jiang Cheng urges and he’s already prepared to do anything for Lan Xichen if he should need to.

If this Divine Harvest is something that is worrying Lan Xichen this much, Jiang Cheng better get prepared for a fight sooner rather than later. He’s already thinking about doing more training session, even though amongst the disciples there is only Wei Wuxian who can match him now.

“The Divine Harvest is a very ancient technique. Maybe even more ancient than any of us,” Lan Xichen starts his explanation, and though he keeps his voice light, Jiang Cheng can tell that he is nervous.

This seems to be more serious than he originally thought.

“What does it do?” Jiang Cheng asks but he can tell by the tension in Lan Xichen that it’s nothing good.

“It harvests the power of the gods, leaving them unable to do anything but exist in the most basic forms, and then it uses that power to erase the knowledge of the gods from the mortal plane. Humans will forget us and all knowledge about us will be swiped from the records.”

Dread pools in Jiang Cheng’s stomach, because that doesn’t sound good at all. It sounds like something that can never be allowed to happen.

“I don’t like it,” Jiang Cheng says almost petulantly and just like he hoped it brings a smile to Lan Xichen’s face, no matter how small it is.

“I don’t like it either, my heart. We all don’t like it. But it seems like Wen Ruohan unearthed that technique and we’re all just waiting to see what he’s going to do with it.”

“It’s not going to be good,” Jiang Cheng knows that much, because Wen Ruohan is one of the cruellest, most power-hungry gods Jiang Cheng has ever seen.

“Of course not,” Lan Xichen agrees and squeezes Jiang Cheng one last time before he puts some distance between them. “But nothing happened yet, so let’s not think the worst. Maybe he’ll just sit on the knowledge and not actually do anything with it.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs at that, because they both know that that doesn’t sound like Wen Ruohan at all. If he has the chance to destroy the gods, then he’s going to take it. He makes no secret that he would like to rule the humans alone, after all.

“Yeah, let’s hope,” Jiang Cheng still whispers, because maybe, just maybe they will get lucky.

~*~*~

They do not get lucky.

They are incredibly unlucky, is all Jiang Cheng can think when he sees the fire spread further and further in the place he had called his home for the last centuries.

Wen Ruohan has taken his time, has chosen to spread unease and growing worry amongst the gods instead of using the Divine Harvest immediately, but it seems like he finally tired of that as well.

There’s a fluttering panic in Jiang Cheng’s belly because he hasn’t seen Lan Xichen since it all started and Jiang Cheng’s entire being aches with the thought that maybe it’s already too late for Lan Xichen. That maybe he died without Jiang Cheng by his side.

But then he reminds himself that he still remembers Lan Xichen—still remembers their time together—so Wen Ruohan can’t have completed the ritual yet. And Lan Xichen is too formidable a fighter to simply die in hand-to-hand combat.

“My heart,” Lan Xichen suddenly says from behind Jiang Cheng, and when Jiang Cheng turns around to look at him, he sees that Lan Xichen must have been fighting already.

There’s sooth all over his usually so white robes and a speck of blood mars his cheek.

“Are you hurt?” Jiang Cheng breathes out, rushing forward to check Lan Xichen over but he only breathes easier when Lan Xichen shakes his head.

“I’m not,” he reassures him and that finally allows the anger to take root in Jiang Cheng.

“Then what the hell is going on? I should be fighting with you, why did you go out alone?” he demands to know, because he is still Lan Xichen’s disciple and it should be on him to fight for Lan Xichen.

To fight with him.

“You’re not going to fight,” Lan Xichen tells him, and his voice is all steel.

Jiang Cheng has never heard him sound like that before.

“What is going on?” Jiang Cheng whispers, as he fists his hands in Lan Xichen’s robes.

“He’s performing the ritual. He’s going to erase us.”

“Then let’s fight him!”

“No,” Lan Xichen says and covers Jiang Cheng’s hands with his own. “I’m sending you down to Earth.”

“Absolutely not,” Jiang Cheng immediately snaps back, but Lan Xichen doesn’t seem like he is even listening to Jiang Cheng.

“He’s killing the disciples,” Lan Xichen says, a faraway look in his eyes. “He’s killing them all, and I’m not going to lose you, my beautiful heart. He’s coming for you, especially. He’s afraid of you.”

“If he’s so afraid of me, then let me fight!”

“No.”

“Xichen,” Jiang Cheng chokes out, because Lan Xichen seems seconds away from crying and Jiang Cheng cannot take it. “Let me stay by your side.”

“You can’t. You’ll be safer on Earth.”

“I will forget you, if you send me down there,” Jiang Cheng argues, because even though it has been so many years since they last talked about the Divine Harvest, he still remembers that.

Everyone on Earth will forget about the gods.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lan Xichen says with a shake of his head. “You’re my most wonderful disciple, loyal down to the single last atom of your very being. You will remember me.”

“What if I don’t?” Jiang Cheng whispers, because that grain of self-doubt still sits deep within him. “What if I don’t?”

“You will,” Lan Xichen says with conviction. “You will remember me.”

“What if Wen Ruohan finds me first?” Jiang Cheng goes on, because he cannot bear to leave Lan Xichen behind.

“He will not. He forgot that he is divine, too. The ritual harvests the power of the gods. Of all the gods. And at the end of the day, no matter how highly he thinks of himself, he is just a god as well. He’ll be powerless and the people will forget about him, too.”

Jiang Cheng likes that thought, likes that Wen Ruohan can grab for power all he wants, but that he is still bound by the rules as well, but it doesn’t do anything to make this situation right now any less awful.

“Please don’t make me leave,” Jiang Cheng begs and startles when Lan Xichen rests their foreheads together.

“I cannot let him kill you, I cannot go through that again. Wangji already sent Wei Wuxian down, and I think Nie Mingjue sent Mo Xuanyu away as well. You’ll find them again and then you’re going to remember me, no matter how long it takes.”

“What are you going to do without me?” Jiang Cheng asks, and he hates how his voice shakes, he hates how desperate he feels at just the thought of being separated from Lan Xichen.

“I’ll be waiting for you, my heart,” Lan Xichen easily replies. “I’ll wait for you to find me again.”

“Please don’t,” Jiang Cheng tries again, but then he can hear yelling and he knows their time is almost up. “Come with me,” he urges Lan Xichen but he shakes his head.

“There’s still a slim chance that we can stop him. I have to stay. But you, my beautiful heart, you’re leaving now,” Lan Xichen says and Jiang Cheng can’t help the sob that breaks through.

“I will find you,” Jiang Cheng promises, his voice already shaking with his grief and Lan Xichen smiles at him.

“I know that you will,” he whispers as he brushes his lips over Jiang Cheng’s. “And I will be waiting for that day.”

It’s the last thing Lan Xichen says to him, because immediately afterwards Jiang Cheng finds himself in the middle of a field down on earth.

He’s crying freely now, tears streaming down his face, but when he turns his gaze upwards to the Heavens there is no sign of the turmoil, of the war up there.

Jiang Cheng thinks that’s monumentally unfair, and he tries to ascend by himself, but nothing his happening.

Lan Xichen and the others must have done something to prevent the disciples from coming back and if Jiang Cheng only cries harder at that, then no one is around to see.

“Xichen,” he whispers, hoping that at least his voice will reach his god, but he doesn’t know if it works.

“Xichen, Xichen, Xichen,” he repeats, over and over again, hoping to keep on to his memories but by the fifteenth time, the name doesn’t make sense anymore.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t know a Xichen, and he also can’t remember why he’s out at night, in the middle of nowhere.

He thinks something must have happened at home, because he has been crying, but even that memory escapes his grasp.

“Xichen,” Jiang Cheng mutters again, the name foreign and strange on his lips and then he shrugs.

Better not think about it anymore.

On the way home his gaze keeps wandering up to the sky as if he should be able to see something there, and that doesn’t make sense at all.

The old gods are dead, after all.

Next part

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[spockandawe]

So! I got that question last night about whether my xiyao fic took place before or after Jin Guangyao killed Nie Mingjue and his father, and like I said, part of my immediate reaction was ‘I don’t know, does it even matter?’ but I wanted to shake that idea a little and see what else shook out, because I wrote that fic from Lan Xichen’s point of view on purpose, and there are all kinds of things he’s not aware of. I’m long-winded, have a cut.

From a practical pov perspective, it genuinely does not matter whether or not Jin Guangyao has done those particular murders yet, because Lan Xichen isn’t going to find out about it until after Wei Wuxian’s resurrection. With me writing from his point of view, he’s going to be a bit sadder after Nie Mingjue dies, but that’s not necessarily something that will noticeably impact this relationship, other than maybe cherishing his surviving sworn brother a little bit more. And maybe he’ll be a little more at ease after Jin Guangshan dies and someone he, trusts on a personal level is leading the Jin Sect, but that’s just an extra degree of complication to whether or not they could do a relationship period, and there was already plenty of complication to go around.

And on the level of a wider perspective, like..... does it matter if Jin Guangyao has done these two extra murders? Both of them went through the sunshot campaign and are very acquainted with all kinds of ugliness and death by now. Jin Guangyao was a double agent under Wen Ruohan, and in just the little piece of that we’re shown, we see him very casually killing some Nie Sect people to maintain his cover (or in case he needs to side with the winning team, whatever). And after the war is over and his father gives him his very conditional recognition, he gets pressed into service as his father’s torturer. He’s already up to his elbows in blood, and Lan Xichen knows that, and still canonically cares deeply for him and trusts him anyways, whether that care is platonic or not.

Also, as a side note, I have seen people who do give attention to those atrocities instead of just picking out two deaths from a whole cheese platter of them, and I find it really interesting how much less grace is given to Jin Guangyao than is given to characters like Wei Wuxian. Some of that is down to natural sympathy with a likeable pov character, but like... Lan Wangji witnessed the end of Wei Wuxian’s brutal torture campaign with Wen Chao, for example, but people don’t expect them to sit down and have a conversation about it, never mind have a moralizing conversation about how ‘wei ying, you know that was very naughty of you, and you’d better realize it was wrong and bad and never do it again.’ All of the characters except the youngest generation have lived through a lot of awful things, and that’s... numbing. I would be shocked to see any of them sit down and discuss it openly, never mind expect it from them before they’re permitted to be loved.

Now, back to JIn Guangyao’s murders. Would Lan Xichen knowing about those two particular extra deaths matter? Yeah, definitely. Lan Xichen also cared very deeply for Nie Mingjue, and having your father raped to death is all kinds of fucked up, plus there are the cultural taboos about killing your dad, etc. But I would also argue that in the story, Jin Guangyao tries shields Lan Xichen from the ugliest parts of himself. It gets a little complicated to provide textual explanations for this, because they both spend most of their time off screen, and I’m not going to get pulled into an long side tangent, but bear with me.

But just from a character perspective, it only makes sense. At a bare minimum, it’s protecting himself. He’s terrified of everyone and everything, he says. Nobody is more aware than he is of how precarious his social position is, and his father did nothing to help him with that. Lan Xichen likes him and trusts him, even though he knows some of the terrible things he’s done. So why wouldn’t Jin Guangyao shield him from the things that might turn Lan Xichen against him? And if self-preservation also aligns with not hurting Lan Xichen as well... Why wouldn’t he avoid hurting Lan Xichen? We see him handling him gently at other times, even after he was in a position where he could have used force. I do wish very much that we could have gotten in his head in canon, but reading into the motivations behind his actions is half the fun, so what do I know, haha. 

I’m not going to convince anyone who’s like ‘bluh bluh jin guangyao never cared for a single person in the world beside himself’, but I honestly think that makes the character profoundly boring and also doesn’t make much sense. Even if he only ever cared for one (1) person beside himself (still think that’s a boring read, but hey), then that person would have been Lan Xichen. It isn’t a one-way street, where Jin Guangyao just takes and takes. He helped Lan Xichen rebuild he cloud recesses. Even if that got him a closer ally and stronger political alliance, it wasn’t a necessary gesture to make. Nobody would have criticized him for just standing by and not spending piles of money on the rebuilding. He didn’t help Lanling Jin the same way, after all. I’m getting lost down this rabbit hole, but my point is that while it’s not that hard to read mercenary motivations into any one single thing he does, there is a pattern of behavior in his treatment of Lan Xichen particularly, and that pattern makes the most sense if care and compassion are involved. Jin Guangyao’s motivations when it comes to Lan Xichen make the most sense when they’re at the intersection of self-preservation and affection, and other reads on him just are not nearly as compelling to me.

Anyways! Back on topic. If there’s a xiyao relationship while JIn Guangyao is Jin Guangyao, even if he hasn’t killed Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangshan yet, he’s... probably at least thinking about it. He’s maybe working on it a lil bit in the background. And one, he’s already an experienced torturer tho, and two, Lan Xichen already cares about him even though he’s a torturer. I think it’s actually much more interesting to try to determine where the story falls in terms of where Jin Guangyao stands in regards to Xue Yang. Is he actively collaborating with him yet? Is he actively providing him with materials? Even if Lan Xichen would have a hard time forgiving Jin Guangyao for what he did to Nie Mingjue, I also think he’s capable of understanding why Jin Guangyao was so terrified when it came to Nie Mingjue. Even if he didn’t agree with him in the end, I think he would be able to listen and understand. He would just go into a horrible conflicted deadlock of grief and emotions and withdraw to seclusion for the foreseeable future. I think it would be much, much more damaging to Lan Xichen to know that Jin Guangyao was feeding a supply of innocent people to Xue Yang for experimenting. 

In the end, it’s rarely an interesting question to me of how many bad things a given character has done at any given point in a shippy story like the one where I got this question, because like... This fictional mass murderer from ancient fantasy china is still capable of love, so. Now, am I talking about JIn Guangyao? Or am I talking about Xue Yang? Wei Wuxian? Jiang Cheng tortured and killed a bunch of demonic cultivators, but like.... still want him to reconcile with his brother tho. What kind of boring reading would I be doing if nobody involved was allowed to make a bad decision ever? A chronic series of bad decisions? Xuexiao is so compelling to me because of the sheer amount of terrible decisions Xue Yang has made before he starts wanting to be loved. Wei Wuxian comes back from the dead exhausted and wrung out and dragged down by the weight of his first life. He’s confronted by people who are like ‘it’s your fault I lost my leg!’ or whatever, and Lan Wangji doesn’t pull away to be like ‘wow, that man is right, that is really terrible of you, let’s have a conversation until you tearfully self-flagellate enough to earn my love again.’

So the question about my fic doesn’t really have an answer. Has Jin Guangyao killed Nie Mingjue or his father yet? Idk! Haha, probably! Or he’s at least working on it, he’s a busy little bee. And none of that has any bearing at all on his ability to love Lan Xichen (except now that i think about it, their deaths would probably make it easier for him to have that conversation, because there are fewer external threats to his safety, and he has more space to consider voluntarily allowing more vulnerability into his life). Would knowledge of those deaths impact Lan Xichen’s ability to love him? They would make it a lot more hecking complicated, that’s for sure, but that is also the canonical seasoning of this relationship, platonic or romantic. And, incidentally, it’s the exact spice I crave. I would have no interest in this relationship if they were two perfect angels, I am here because Lan Xichen is an absolute doll, and Jin Guangyao both cherishes him above everything else and has deliberately done terrible things that wounded him deeply. That’s the appeal.

[cooliogirl101]

Random MDZS fic idea:

The one where Wei Wuxian goes back in time, still in Mo Xuanyu’s body, and ends up adopting his younger self

- Which he wasn’t intending on doing, honestly. Just as he didn’t intend on landing in a dumpster when he came back-- which, ow-- he didn’t intend on the first person he came across to be his malnourished, too-thin, four-year-old self (gods, was he thin. He didn’t remember being that thin. Or tiny. How the hell had he survived before Jiang Fengmian had found him?!).  

- And like, it wasn’t like he could just leave him. The poor kid-- his past self, whatever-- had been eating out of a dumpster! It would be too cruel.

- He hunts down Guangyao-- currently Meng Yao-- and his mother. He’d been planning on hooking Meng Yao’s mother up to a nice, stable job as an accountant, maybe, or a storekeeper’s assistant, and taking her to a competent doctor who could do something about her illness before it became deadly-- if he could make sure she had a better life, maybe she would stop clinging to Jin Guangshan as her only hope for salvation. And maybe Meng Yao wouldn’t be quite so desperate for his father’s acknowledgement this time around. And wouldn’t turn out to be a backstabbing, corrupt, master manipulator with no regard for human life. Maybe.

- He did not expect for her to push her son towards him with a sly smile, because I’m sure a powerful cultivator like yourself has many duties and wouldn’t mind an assistant to help out from time to time; Meng Yao is very dedicated, very intelligent, and he requires no payment except maybe, if sir is so inclined, to occasionally teach him some minor things about cultivation? For the purposes of better serving you, of course--

- And so he finds himself leaving town with one more kid than he entered with, with a promise to visit often. Alright then.

- He spends the next few years sabotaging the Wen forces, destroying storage facilities, pranking top-level officials in their own homes (making them increasingly paranoid), and acting as a general nuisance. Wen Ruohan’s blood pressure is at a record high. 

- It has the added benefit of distracting the Wen forces from the fact that the other sects have been arranging secret meetings, quietly mobilizing their forces, preparing for war. Lan Qiren tasks several senior disciples to make copies of all their ancient scrolls; the originals are then hidden, their location known only to a select few members of the Lan Sect. Lotus Pier’s defenses have never been so fortified.

- Four-year-old Wei Ying knows nothing of all this, of course (Meng Yao knows significantly more, but hides it well). He only knows that Uncle Wei travels around a lot, but always comes back, with his signature bright, sunny smile and lots of gifts. He grows up with Yao-gege at his side and many homes-- the Cloud Recesses, the Unclean Realm, Lotus Pier. He has many friends and many siblings-- there’s Yao-gege of course, and Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli, and Nie Huaisang. He never doubts that he is loved and, just as importantly, that he belongs. That he is wanted. 

- Five-year-old Lan Zhan is quiet, doesn’t speak much (except to quote rules), and often seems sad (lonely). Wei Ying has never seen him smile.

That’s okay, though, Wei Ying thinks to himself. He can be happy enough for the both of them. 

(Jiang Cheng had told him to stop bothering the Lan Sect’s Second Jade. Uncle Wei had told him the opposite. 

“I don’t know. He seems so sad,” Wei Ying says doubtfully.

“He does, doesn’t he?” Uncle Wei agrees. “Give him space, when he needs it. But don’t leave him alone. The worst thing you can do to someone sad is leave them alone.”

Wei Ying thinks about it for a moment.

Jiang Cheng’s an idiot, he decides, and runs off to find Lan Zhan.)

- The older Wei Ying-- now Wei Xuanyu, because it’s not like there can be two Wei Yings/Wei Wuxians-- looks at his younger self, chattering nonstop to a silent (but still listening) Lan Zhan, and can’t help but smile, a little bittersweet. The constant, age-old grief in his chest aches painfully-- it’s so much a part of him now that he rarely notices it anymore, except during moments like these, when he is abruptly reminded of all he has lost. 

Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, he thinks to his husband, his Lan Zhan. What would you think if you could see this, our younger selves together? It seems no matter what, whether I meet you at age four or fifteen, I always end up loving you. 

He’d known from the start, of course, that he could never have the same relationship with Lan Zhan this time around. It had been worth it though, to see him again, maybe even do something to make his childhood a little happier. And besides, a tiny adorable chubby-cheeked Lan Zhan was an infinite improvement over no Lan Zhan at all, which was all that the future (his future) held for him. 

He could deal with a world where Lan Zhan never looked at him the same way, never knew him the same way, never loved him the same way. What he couldn’t accept was a world where Lan Zhan no longer existed-- because where was the beauty in a world like that?

Wei Ying’s happiness is my happiness, Lan Zhan had told him once. As long as Wei Ying is happy, I am happy. 

And as long as Lan Zhan is happy, then I am happy, Wei Ying had replied. The context he’d originally said the words in no longer applies, but-- he glances at the shy, almost invisible smile on five-year-old Lan Zhan’s face, and can’t help but smile in response-- the sentiment still rings true. 

- From behind a tree, a figure watches Wei Xuanyu silently, concern in his eyes. He thinks back to the devastating grief that had momentarily crossed the older man’s face, and a frown mars his gentle features, edged with helplessness and a rare frustration. 

He doesn’t know the other man very well. He knows some things about him, just by watching-- he knows Wei Xuanyu is kind and fiercely loyal, creative and sharply intelligent, that he is one of the only people who can get Wangji to relax, that he likes spicy food and rabbits, that he knows every single one of the Lan Sect’s three thousand rules but pretends he doesn’t in order to get a rise out of Lan Qiren, that he plays the flute as well as any Lan, and that he is beautiful when he fights (and, well, when he’s doing just about anything, really). But he doesn’t know the other man well enough to ask who he’s thinking about in the rare moments he falls silent, a far away look in his eyes; he doesn’t know him well enough to ask Wei Xuanyu to confide in him, to trust him with his secrets and pain, to trust him with his past, to let down his ever-present cheerful mask around him.

He thinks he would like to. Wants it with an intensity that terrifies him at times.

- The war is over before it even really begins, when someone assassinates Wen Ruohan in the dead of night. Rumors abound that he incurred the wrath of a vengeful ghost. Far away, Wei Xuanyu’s lips curve up-- it’s a subtler smile than his usual ones, more relief than happiness.

It’s over.

- Somehow everything turns out, if not perfect, then at least okay.

- Jin Guangshan dies choking on a fishbone because fuck that guy. 

(First time writing anything for this fandom so sorry if characterization is a bit off)

[aki-draws-things]

When I call things bad ideas I mean they’re probably very bad. So behold, a new AU where the Sunshot Campaign failed and Wen Ruohan is a merciful man. Or so he calls himself.

They had lost. That was the first, biggest knowledge every sect received, big or small they all knew. They had lost the war. But knowing it was different than walking through the guarded streets, through fields they won for a moment, heavily and closely watched by disciples dressed in the white and red of the wen sect. But they had lost and wen ruohan had won and now he had invited them all to a banquet, one month after the sunshot campaign proved to be a failure. 

The leader of the campaign, the man, the General who rallied them to fight was gone, probably, almost likely dead, Lan xichen said, his voice pained, trembling just slightly. He knew of his plan to face wen ruohan directly, he knew when he left, in the dead of the night, he watched him go and hoped, prayed, to see him return, victorious. Or at least alive. His prayers fell to deaf ears of forgotten and now loudly cursed Gods. 

But not everyone knew nie mingjue to the same extent lan xichen did. Of course many respected him as a leader and a warrior, they saw his valor and his strength. They heard of the loyalty he inspired in his people, something, somehow, every nie leader did despite everything else. But most leaders didn't know the man. And so voices ran through the fields and the disciples, from sect to sect, gossips that had no business on a battlefield in the dawn of a defeat. Some people said he ran away, scared by the power and the strength of their enemy. Some people blamed him of leading them all to a certain death just for a revenge lasted for too long. And slowly gossips became bigger and louder and people forgot the way he held his ground against the puppets wen ruohan was sending against them, how he protected as much as he could the people fighting by his side and those that couldn't fight in the villages. People remembered instead a man angry and vengenful, crying for wen ruohan's head for a father who had been too weak to survive. 

People failed to see the flaws in their own words, they failed to hear the soft, honey-like voice slipping said words in their minds and on their tongues. When they notices it would be too late. It already was too late. 

We ruohan had won. Sitting in his palace, on the stone throne in the main hall he waited for the fellow sect leaders and their retinue to show up with the promise of forgiveness and a banquet. Because wen ruohan was a merciful man, all they had to do was to lower their heads and ask for his forgiveness, nothing more complicate. Of course, those who refused-- oh, but no one would refuse such a merciful request, they would be such fools to even think of it. And so he waited. 

"come here." he said, voice low, almost sweet, holding a hand to the side and waiting for a man to limp slowly next to him. He took a hand, thin and cold, and pulled him closer until he stumbled against the side of the throne, one step below, and fell to his knees. 

"we're having a banquet tonight, remember? - the softness in his voice was like ice. Or poison. The man nodded, his hair fell messily over the red robe. - of course you do, you're so good and observant. I want you to be presentable to the banquet, you don't want to disappoint me, right? Not in front of all of them, right?"

The man shook his head fast, never looking up, causing himself a burst of vertigo at the movement. 

"this servant would never. Master wen is so kind to allow this servant to partecipate." his breath got caught in his throat the instant wen ruohan's hand touched his face but he didn't flinch, he learned not to, fast enough. 

"behave as I taught you and you'll even be rewarded." his thumb moved over chapped lips and he opened his mouth just slightly before being pushed back with enough strength to make him thimble, a signal for him to leave and get ready before the banquet as instructed. Bowing deeply he left the room, his eyes never leaving the sight of the dark stones of the floor. 

Nie mingjue sometimes wished he was dead. He wished the tortures in the Fire Palace had broken him beyond repair. He wished wen ruohan had gotten tired of his weaknesses and threw him away in the streets to die. Or that he would kill him directly with a single strike of his sword. But men like nie mingjue rarely got what they wished for, he learned it as fast as he learned everything else. He had once wished for his father to heal, and he had died just a couple of months after. He wished for his people and disciples to be safe, and Qinghe had burned in a starless night. He wished to avenge his father's death, he planned carefully every move, and he had lost anyway. He wished-- but men like him weren't allowed to wish. 

There was a reason wen ruohan wasn't killing him, and he knew it. He took his eldest son's life, the put his head on a pike in front of the gates for everyone to know his strength. Wen ruohan, in his madness, in his power-drunk mind, was a patient man, he knew the meaning of a long, carefully plotted revenge. He would have revenge for his son in his own times and terms. After all, nie mingjue reflected as he mechanically put his hair up and hold them in place with a fire shaped headpiece, they weren't so different in that. Perhaps, in a year from that day, wen ruohan would get tired of him and finally kill him.

The banquet had already started when a servant led him inside the hall from a back door, he hoped people wouldn't notice him, he hoped wen ruohan had forgotten he decided to have him by his side, he hoped-- he didn't really want to be left in the shadows. Shadows in the night less city had life of their own and nie mingjue learned to fear them. But no shadow ever dared to step too close to wen ruohan, and if we ruohan kept him close enough then he too would be safe. 

"oh, here you are, my dear." 

He bowed, strands of hair falling in front of him, a hand took his and dragged him closer. He heard some gasps, soft whispers raising from the hall and their guests. 

"don't speak as you eat in presence of Master wen." he wanted to say, a rule he learned the moment he had been let out of the fire palace and led at his side. But he remained silent, kneeling next to the throne, a hand resting on the armrest, his mind trained to shut out every sound around him but the voice of his lord. - after all Qinghe was gone, burned to ashes with its people. He didn't have a sect anymore, nor people he could lead or that would come for him. He only had qishan. - 

"are you not hungry, my dear?" 

He looked up suddenly, fast, his eyes wide, the dark circles under them hidden with powder. He stared at the round bit wen ruohan held between fingers, expecting, he could feel the hall falling silent, holding their breaths, he could feel lan Xichen's eyes set on him in a mute shock. He smiled. His eyes softened, he had learned, and the shadow creeping right behind him retreated. He was safe. 

"I apologize, my lord. This one got distracted by all the guests coming to greet Master wen." 

He pushed himself up, closer, both hands now on the throne armrest and taking the bit in his mouth. 

"I forgot how shy you are in front of people, but don't worry, as my spouse, you'll get used fast to it." 

Strangely enough, nie mingjue smiled, leaning in the touch over his head. When he turned to face the guests who had promptly resumed their eating and soft whispers his eyes gleamed red. 

[songofclarity]

What do you think would happen if WRH discovered MY was a spy earlier? Would he kill him or would he pretend he has no idea of MY's truth while using him and feeding him information that will give the Wen an advantage against the SSC if leaked?

An excellent question, Anon!

Wen RuoHan would of course be fully justified to kill Meng Yao. While he also had the right to kill Nie MingJue and didn't take it, Meng Yao is betraying the Wen and has the arrogance to spy on them in their own home. I can honestly see it going either way, however, depending on the circumstances and just how Meng Yao pleads his case.

As for using Meng Yao themselves...

For one thing, Wen RuoHan doesn't strike me as conniving. From the guest cultivator to Meng Yao, we see him listening to others and following their lead. When given the opportunity to pave his own path, such as when the Sunshot Campaign is declared and the Wen could stomp on everyone, his response was, basically, for them all to do nothing and wait for the Sunshot Campaign to simply blow over. Wen RuoHan doesn't want the other sects to be destroyed, he wants everything to go back to normal (with the Wen Sect back on top, yay!). By all means then, what Meng Yao's spying would have to win them is peace. That's not something Meng Yao of all people could help them achieve.

For another thing, Meng Yao was, by all means, a terrible spy on purpose. One reason there is not even a hint of any great final battles in the Sunshot Campaign was because Meng Yao did not want this to be a team effort. No one is winning ANY grand battles with Meng Yao behind enemy lines because how do you give credit to an invisible hand? He did not want the sects to win the Sunshot Campaign with or without his information, but he did not want them defeated, either, otherwise his efforts would be wasted. Depending on what was happening at the time and what information he was passing along, it might just look like he was already feeding information to the Sunshot Campaign himself to help the Wen. How loyal he would have appeared!

I haven't seen it talked about before, but let's look at what Meng Yao's spy information actually did and how it would have looked to the Wen.

During the Sunshot Campaign, stories were told about all three of the Venerated Triad. The ones of ChiFeng-Zun were about how he swept over all obstacles, leaving not even a trace of the Wen-dogs after he finished. (ch. 48, ERS)

Whatever information Meng Yao provided Nie MingJue would have been tenuous at best because otherwise Nie MingJue would have swept all the way to Nightless City and won the whole damn thing himself. Give Nie MingJue an opening and he is busting through. Even when critically injured and barely on his feet, he cut through all of Wen cultivators who tried to protect Wen RuoHan in the Sun Palace. Only Wen RuoHan was strong enough to take him down (and did so 2x).

Even before the false information regarding Yangquan, Meng Yao was likely providing information which hindered Nie MingJue and the Nie's advancement toward Nightless City in order to keep Nie MingJue at bay--and keep him alive, which Lan XiChen would appreciate and continue to give faith in Meng Yao. Remember that after Meng Yao betrayed Nie MingJue and the Jin at Langya, there was no way he would be accepted back with open arms. That Nie MingJue's most loyal subordinates are killed and Nie MingJue is dragged out of the Sun Palace owing Meng Yao a life debt is no happy coincidence. Meng Yao played Nie MingJue in the worst way to ensure Nie MingJue would NOT be able to stop Meng Yao's return to Koi Tower. But to let Nie MingJue die would ruin relations with Lan XiChen and the Nie. Nie MingJue had to be defeated to let Meng Yao come out on top, but he had to live so as to not reflect badly on Meng Yao.

If Wen RuoHan and the Wens came across Meng Yao's information to the Nie early on, it might just look like Meng Yao is already feeding bad information to the Sunshot Campaign himself! After all, the only ones who knew what happened in Langya are Meng Yao, Nie MingJue, and Lan XiChen, and none of them are broadcasting it. Therefore Meng Yao could pretend to still be on good terms with Sect Leader Nie, tell Wen RuoHan he is deceiving the Nie for him, and actually look even more loyal to the Wen in the end.

The way Wen RuoHan asks Meng Yao if Nie MingJue is the one who killed Wen Xu followed by Meng Yao's ready confirmation suggests to me that Meng Yao had everything from Yangquan to the Sun Palace planned. He had informed Wen RuoHan of what to expect already: Wen Xu's killer, and thus Wen RuoHan inquires. Meng Yao didn't wait for the Wens to use him and freely gave them what they wanted since it's what he wanted, too.

ZeWu-Jun--Lan XiChen--however, was different from [ChiFeng-Zun]. After the situation of the Gusu area had settled down, Lan QiRen was able to defend it with great tenacity. Thus, Lan XiChen often traveled to aid others, saving lives from danger. In all of the Sunshot Campaign, he had countless times recovered lost territory and assisted narrow escapes. This was why people were ecstatic whenever they heard his name, as though they gained a ray of hope, a powerful trump card. (ch. 48)

Lan XiChen is different because he not a fighter who can win the Sunshot Campaign. I know CQL and the donghua show him fighting in all his fierce glory with Shuoyue in hand, but that is not the kind of person he is in the novel. He is gentle and picks Liebing, who pacifies, over Shuoyue, who slices through, every time until the last scene. He is the only person who could have ever stabbed Jin GuangYao, because he is the only person Jin GuangYao would never suspect harming him since Lan XiChen never harmed anyone.

So to anyone who wonders why Lan XiChen believed so much in Meng Yao being a good person despite Nie MingJue's testimonies: it's because Meng Yao was providing information to Lan XiChen to help regain territory, aid others, and save lives from danger. Any murder and torture Meng Yao did in the Nightless City was thought to be minor compared to all the good his overall spying did for the Sunshot Campaign. Lan XiChen saw firsthand the GOOD that Meng Yao's spying could achieve and thus had faith in Meng Yao being fundamentally a good person. (Sadly, he was misled.)

But Lan XiChen was different from Nie MingJue. Lan XiChen couldn't win the war himself whereas Nie MingJue just might. Lan XiChen got the good information while Nie MingJue got the mediocre and, at the end, the information which threw him to the Wen-dogs.

Compared to Meng Yao's spy information directed to Nie MingJue, the information given to Lan XiChen would look suspect by the Wen. Lan XiChen is undoing whatever advances the Wen are achieving. This is part of why the Sunshot Campaign is in a stalemate for those last ~2 years: it's just back and forth with gains and losses in equal measure. It's what Meng Yao wants until he can ensure all the credit for his efforts go to him and no one else.

If Wen RuoHan and the Wens came across Meng Yao's information to Lan XiChen early on, that would look like Meng Yao is betraying them. This would look like a killing offense! The arrogance to think he could spy on the Wen! The Qishan Wen accepted Meng Yao in good faith when his own father gave him the cold shoulder, and he's still picking that father over Sect Leader Wen!?

But I hesitate to say Wen RuoHan would kill him because when do we ever see or hear about Wen RuoHan killing anyone!? He doesn't kill his enemies and the one ally he killed was that cultivator who was thrown at him in the midst of a fight. Yes, the novel tells us per rumors that Wen RuoHan sometimes enjoys torturing people who offend him, but that still doesn't mean they die in the end.

So I turn our attention to Wen ZhuLiu, our most reliable Wen RuoHan character reference. When deciding whether to follow orders or go completely against them, Wen ZhuLiu makes an interesting observation about what might happen to him:

Yet, there were no worst circumstances, but only worse circumstances...

Yet, in such a situation, the woman [Wang LingJiao] was on the verge of losing her life. If he did nothing, Wen Chao would definitely fly into a rage and refuse to let him go. And if he refused to let him go, then Wen RouHan wouldn't leave the matter at that either. (Ch. 58, ERS)

The worst circumstance is, of course, death. But Wen ZhuLiu reveals that, in this case, betraying Wen Chao, who had given orders to protect Wang LingJiao, does not make him afraid for his life. Acting against the Wen would make a mess of a situation for sure, but he is not afraid that he would end up dead. Life will become worse for him, but not the worst.

Meng Yao would be punished if he were caught, because how could he not, but it's rather unlikely his life was ever in danger. He was already acting as a reverse spy for the Wen of his own accord, so he was not truly at risk of being used or mislead by them.

Also a key aspect of Meng Yao's character is that he does not put his own life on the line. He hides behind others. He does not sacrifice himself for any cause or any person. (I'm sorry CQL lied to everyone by showing him use his body to protect someone else. Nothing could be further from the truth.)

Nie MingJue, "Then why don't you sacrifice yourself? Are you any nobler than them? Are you any different from them?"

Jin GuangYao stared at him. A moment later, as though he had finally either decided on something or given up on something, he replied calmly, "Yes." He looked up. In his expression were some of pride, some of calmness, and some of a faint insanity, "I and they, of course we are different!" (ch. 49)

If being with the Wen or working under Wen RuoHan was ever dangerous to him, personally, Meng Yao would have been gone long ago. If there was any risk that Meng Yao would find himself on the receiving end of his own torture devices, he would have killed Wen RuoHan already and fled out the door immediately. Instead, he stayed until the very end and did as he pleased and got everything he wanted at Wen RuoHan's expense.

I dare say Wen RuoHan is much more like Lan XiChen and Nie MingJue than we all give him credit for. Jumping to murder is actually not the norm. Meng Yao is simply an outlier who does too much murder and should not be counted.

[robininthelabyrinth]

A prompt for you (though honestly I'll read anything you write because it is always excellent): Wen Ning never dies, but somehow still ends up becoming Wei Wuxian's most feared subordinate...

ao3

Untamed

“Sect Leader Nie,” Jiang Cheng said, hurrying after the other man, who stopped and turned with a welcoming expression on his face even though Jiang Cheng knew he was in a hurry after everything they’d just planned. After Nie Mingjue had volunteered to go into the Nightless City himself, a reckless charge to try to kill Wen Ruohan, while the rest of them attacked directly - a final strike, if they could only manage it. “I just…”

He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

He didn’t even know what he was doing here.

Nie Mingjue didn’t call him out on it, though, only stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate your support,” he said, voice a little gentler than usual. Like he was trying to comfort Jiang Cheng or something.

Like he wasn’t the one volunteering to go die.

(Just like Jiang Cheng’s mother, and father, and - )

Oh. That’s why he came here.

“I’ll be there,” Jiang Cheng said suddenly, and Nie Mingjue blinked. “At – at the Nightless City. After you kill him, after we take the city…I’ll come find you, to make sure you’re all right.”

That was stupid, he thought to himself as soon as he said it. Nie Mingjue had an entire sect, and friends, and all that – he didn’t need Jiang Cheng hounding him with his insecurities, his worries, his fear that Nie Mingjue would die, too, die and leave him behind just like all the others. Why should he be the exception?

But Nie Mingjue smiled. “I look forward to seeing you then.”

Jiang Cheng swallowed and nodded. “It’s a deal, then,” he said, and watched as Nie Mingjue strode away.

He promised himself that he’d do as he said he would.

Even if all he found was Nie Mingjue’s corpse.

-

It ended up not being Nie Mingjue who killed Wen Ruohan, but rather a combination of Wei Wuxian’s new cultivation style and Meng Yao, who’d apparently been working as a double agent or – something.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t really clear on the details.

He rushed over to Wei Wuxian’s side at once, checking him over as best as he could, yelling at him over…he wasn’t even sure what, it wasn’t really important. Recklessness, probably. Wei Wuxian seemed to understand what he meant, though, grinning at him with bloodless lips.

“You worry too much,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep for – a week. Maybe more. Let’s go back to camp, and I’ll do just that.”

Jiang Cheng was about to agree when he remembered his promise.

(Nie Mingjue hadn’t been there at the final fight, although Wen Ruohan hadn’t been at his full power, either. Had he sacrificed himself to wear down their enemy?)

“What is it?” Wei Wuxian asked, noticing.

“Chifeng-zun,” Jiang Cheng said. “I didn’t – see him.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “You think…? Oh, poor Nie Huaisang..!”

Jiang Cheng wondered for a moment why Wei Wuxian’s first thought was of Nie Huaisang, then remembered that Wei Wuxian hadn’t been there for all those months of working as Nie Mingjue’s lieutenants, him and Lan Wangji and even Jin Zixuan. He wouldn’t have that personal connection with the man, beyond the brief meeting they’d had with him before the indoctrination camp - he wouldn’t have experience with his reliable competence and his talented leadership, his compassion or the gruff praise that he gave sparingly but sincerely and which made Jiang Cheng feel for once in his life like he was every bit as good as Wei Wuxian.

“I want to…” He was going to sound dumb. No, he was a sect leader, as Nie Mingjue often (gently) reminded him; he had to decide for himself what he was going to do, and have faith that his decisions were the right ones - and act accordingly. “We’re not leaving yet. We’re going to go further in, see if we can find him. Do you think you can hold up a little longer?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said, straightening up. “I’ll be fine for a while yet. Let’s go.”

“You’ll tell me if you –”

“Yes, Jiang Cheng. Stop nagging. Now are we going or not?”

-

Unexpectedly, Nie Mingjue was alive.

Alive, and also extremely pissed off.

“I’ll take him back,” Jiang Cheng said to Lan Xichen, who looked relieved: he was protecting Meng Yao from Nie Mingjue for some reason. “Better to go separately.”

“Thank you, Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Xichen said.

Jiang Cheng saluted and went over to Nie Mingjue, who was leaning on Wei Wuxian – a case of the injured helping the injured, in Jiang Cheng’s opinion, and he glared at his disciples until they ran over to assist them both.

Wei Wuxian was frowning, he noted. “What is it?” he asked, and Wei Wuxian shook his head, refusing to talk and inclining his head meaningfully down towards Nie Mingjue, who looked more tired than anything else. Exhausted, injured, even half-dead…“We should go.”

“No,” Nie Mingjue croaked. “There are probably – prisoners.”

“It can wait until we’re back at camp, surely?” Jiang Cheng asked. “We lost a lot of people in that battle. We could get reinforcements, then come back and do a full sweep when we’re less exhausted.”

“They might be injured, though,” Wei Wuxian put in, though he looked tired, too. “It’d be a pity for any person to die in Wen Ruohan’s custody right after we finally defeated him.”

It was a good point, Jiang Cheng thought, and although he was pretty exhausted himself, he forced himself to nod. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go sweep the place, look for prisoners. But you two are going straight back to camp, okay? No exceptions, no heroism, nothing! If I get back and I hear that you two took a left turn and fell face-first off a cliff into a pile of magma because you thought there was a baby bird that needed rescuing, I will personally resurrect and stab you both!”

Both Nie Mingjue and Wei Wuxian were grinning at him in a suspiciously indulgent (and almost identical) sort of way, Jiang Cheng noticed, but they also agreed solemnly to make no detours, not even if it was the most heartrending of baby birds, and Jiang Cheng supposed he had to be happy with that.

They staggered off together as he turned to go further in, and as he did, he thought he heard Wei Wuxian say, “Tell me more about what Meng Yao said to you –”

-

“Sect Leader Jiang!” one of Jiang Cheng’s subordinates said, rushing over and saluting. “I found another cell!”

Jiang Cheng ran his hand over his eyes, wanting nothing more but to sleep. “Show me where,” he ordered instead.

He’d already dispatched one of his disciples to act as a runner to Lan Xichen, asking for him to send more disciples from his Lan sect and the Nie sect (which he’d been helping coordinate in Nie Mingjue’s absence) to help get all the prisoners out – there were so many of them, and many of them were, as predicted, in poor health. He would’ve preferred to ask someone else, since the Lan and Nie sects had suffered as many injuries as his Jiang sect, but the small sects were focused on themselves right now and the Jin sect…well, they’d done so little in the war up till now that he’d almost forgotten that they were an option until one of his subordinates had suggested them, and then he’d dismissed the suggestion, too.

If the Jin sect were here, he thought ungraciously, they were probably busy trying to find the treasury.

At least the Lan and Nie sects had managed to confiscate the Yin metal first.

At some point, they’d have to find a way to destroy it…

Distracted by thoughts of politics, Jiang Cheng followed his subordinate down a twisting hallway to yet another set of cells, dark and dank but not quite as close to the place where the Yin metal had been used to refine ghost puppets, and there were men and women chained to the wall here. Unrecognizable, most of them, beaten and starved. They were probably the scions of small cultivation clans…

“Wen Ning?” he blurted out, surprised to recognize the kind-looking face of one of them. To barely recognize: Wen Ning had circles under his eyes, bruises on his face, and his usually round cheeks were thin. “What are you doing here?”

“He’s been here for weeks and weeks,” one of the other prisoners said at once. “He’s not – one of those Wens.”

Wen Ning could still blush, Jiang Cheng noticed, and as much as he would have said he hated all those surnamed Wen – well, that wasn’t quite true, was it? Wen Ning had been there with Wen Qing, when they’d helped them. Jiang Cheng had rescued and released her, giving her that comb as a keepsake…it would be manifestly unjust to make the exception for one and not the other.

His disciples were looking at him.

“What are you waiting for?” Jiang Cheng snapped at them. “He’s a prisoner, he’s hurt. Treat him as you would any of the other prisoners we’ve rescued.”

That would be his story, he thought, if anyone later came knocking at his door to ask what he was thinking, letting a Wen go free.

-

Maybe it was his fault, Jiang Cheng reflected. He shouldn’t have thought ‘go free’.

Go free implied that Wen Ning would go somewhere else, rather than following him and Wei Wuxian around like an imprinted puppy. It only got worse when Wei Wuxian spontaneously declared that he would help him find Wen Qing to make sure she was safe – without asking Jiang Cheng first, which was unhelpful.

“We can’t be seen as being partial to the Wen sect,” he groaned, head in hands. “Not even the distant branches, but much less someone adopted by Sect Leader Wen himself…no offense meant, Wen Ning.”

“None taken,” Wen Ning said.

“But they helped us,” Wei Wuxian argued, clearly choosing to take the offense on Wen Ning’s part. “It would be unjust for us to turn on them now, when we have the power and they don’t, when they took risks on our behalf in the past.”

Jiang Cheng squinted at him. “Is this related to your weird thing about Lianfeng-zun?” he asked. Wei Wuxian had taken a firm stance against the man recently, and had spoken of it incessantly.

“No! Or, I mean – I would’ve done it anyway, okay? Listen, I really don’t like that guy.”

“No,” Jiang Cheng gasped dramatically. “You, Wei Wuxian, don’t like Lianfeng-zun? Wen Ning, did you hear that? Can you believe it?”

Wen Ning was hiding his face behind his sleeve – a Jiang sect outfit, one of Jiang Cheng’s own spares, since that was what they had, but the dark purple suited him rather well. Better than the red ever had.

His shoulders were shaking with laughter.

“Traitor,” Wei Wuxian told him.

“Sorry, Wei-gongzi!” Wen Ning giggled.

(Jiang Cheng did not think that Wen Ning was cute when he laughed, nor did he wish to see it happen again, to be the cause of it again. He was the leader of a sect, with an obligation to have heirs to carry on his parents’ legacy – he could think Wen Qing was pretty, even if she wasn’t exactly an advantageous match, but he was not allowed to think the same about Wen Ning.)

Wei Wuxian sighed and flopped down. “His conduct is questionable,” he grumbled. “Lan Zhan agrees with me…Anyway, why are we talking about Lianfeng-zun again? I thought we were talking about finding Wen Qing, and the rest of Wen Ning’s family?”

Jiang Cheng groaned again. “I can try to raise it at the meeting in Lanling,” he said, even though they’d all agreed that it made the most sense for the Jin sect to be the ones to resettle any prisoners of war, mostly on account of them having the money, the manpower, and the time, being the only sect that didn’t have significant work to do rebuilding after Wen sect aggression. “Provided you behave. Okay?”

-

Wei Wuxian, predictably, did not behave.

“Sect Leader Jiang?” Nie Mingjue unexpectedly said from the doorway to the room Jiang Cheng was staying in, and Jiang Cheng spun to stare at him in horror that someone was seeing him in this state. The other sect leader stepped inside, ignoring the mess of things on the floor from Jiang Cheng’s temper tantrum, and closed the door behind him. “Are you all right?”

Jiang Cheng opened his mouth to say something – something confident and self-assured, something that would help brush away Wei Wuxian’s atrocious behavior and his own as nothing to worry about, something befitting the sect leader of the Jiang sect – but the words stuck in his throat and, instead, to his absolute disgust, he burst into tears.

He expected Nie Mingjue to make a hasty exit at that point, appalled by the rampant display of emotionality, and that he’d have to apologize later for disgracing himself in such a fashion. That had been the way it had always gone with his parents, his father who hated sadness and his mother who hated weakness, and so he wasn’t expecting it at all when Nie Mingjue stepped forward and pulled him into his arms. Into a hug.

It was terrible: there was absolutely no way Jiang Cheng would be able to get ahold of himself now that he was feeling warm and protected and like someone gave one single damn about him.

Nie Mingjue didn’t let go of him, not even when he tearfully apologized for making a display – “It’s not wrong to have feelings, Jiang Wanyin, and it’s not harming me to be here while you let them out.” – or even when, in broken unfinished unpolitical sentences, Jiang Cheng started stuttering his way through…he wasn’t even sure what he was saying.

Possibly a rendition of all the bitterness and resentment he’d ever had in his life.

When it was done, after he’d wept all the tears he’d hidden inside of him, Nie Mingjue said only: “Feeling better?”

Jiang Cheng swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “…yes,” he said, realizing that he did. “I’m sorry –”

“Do not apologize for having emotions like any other human being. Or for being a burden on me, which you are not.”

Jiang Cheng wished it didn’t feel so good when Nie Mingjue – stiff, stern, harsh Nie Mingjue, who rarely said kind words and never said anything just for the sake of saying it – said things like that. It would make it far easier to keep his dignity intact.

“Why did you come here?” he asked, instead. “It wasn’t to hear me talk about Wei Wuxian.”

At least, not the lifelong story of how Jiang Cheng had always been second to him even before he’d shown up – how his birthday was only a few days later, his skill a little bit less, his temperament inferior, his life inferior; how Jiang Cheng could ignore all of that if only Wei Wuxian were his brother the way he was his, the way he’d promised to be, and yet more and more nowadays it felt as if it were slipping out of reach.

“It was,” Nie Mingjue said. “He’s been coming around rather a lot to discuss Lianfeng-zun. It was his vehemence on the issue that reassured me that I wasn’t overreacting to the unnecessary death of my sect cultivators at Lianfeng-zun’s hands –”

The what?

Maybe Jiang Cheng should have listed a bit more when Wei Wuxian started ranting about how untrustworthy he thought Lianfeng-zun was.

“– and you have always had the strongest confidence in his sense of righteousness, even after he switched over to using demonic cultivation. Based on that, I thought there might be some reason behind his actions.”

Wei Wuxian’s actions: kidnapping an entire cohort of Wen sect cultivators from a Jin sect resettlement camp, assaulting several guards, running away, bringing shame on the Jiang sect by association…

“If I knew anything, I would tell you,” Jiang Cheng said bitterly. “But that would require Wei Wuxian telling me. Anything. At all.”

Nie Mingjue nodded thoughtfully. “Do you think he acted maliciously?”

“What? No,” Jiang Cheng said at once. “Of course not.”

“Do you think his thinking was affected by his demonic cultivation?”

“I almost wish it was, but no. He’s always been – like this. Reckless and over-confident, never thinking of consequences.”

“So you still have faith in him?”

“Of course!”

“That’s good enough for me,” Nie Mingjue said, as if Jiang Cheng hadn’t spent half a shichen crying on his shoulder about how all of his problems and how he couldn’t do anything right. “Let’s go ask him.”

“What, now?”

“Are you doing anything else?”

-

Fair was fair, but politics were politics: “If you’d gone about it the right way, perhaps the Jin sect wouldn’t have a claim,” Nie Mingjue said, pacing around the Burial Mounds with a scowl. “But as it stands now, it’s your word against theirs – and yours will be considered impaired on account of your demonic cultivation.”

“What about the testimony of the victims?” Wei Wuxian demanded.

“Wen sect,” Jiang Cheng put in, and shrugged when Wei Wuxian glared at him. “It’s true! Like it or not, their surname is Wen, and for Wen Qing and Wen Ning in particular, they were Sect Leader Wen’s wards.”

“It was not our choice,” Wen Qing said. Her voice was cold, and she’d tried to return the comb to him, earlier, though he’d refused – why he refused he didn’t know, since her decision to approach Wei Wuxian to seek help in rescuing the rest of her family rather than him had cut off any hope of anything between them. Even if she eventually understood his perspective, or even apologized for judging him unfit or unwilling to help her, he didn’t think he could live the rest of his life with a woman who had picked Wei Wuxian first.

“That isn’t what’s important, though,” Wen Ning said unexpectedly, and they all looked at him. He ducked his head, picking at his sleeve. “It isn’t. Sect Leader Jiang’s right: our surname is Wen. It’s reasonable for people to assume that we’re loyal to the Wen sect, and to treat us accordingly.”

“We never fought against anyone! We’ve never –”

“It doesn’t matter what we did, jiejie,” Wen Ning said. “Whether or not we fought for our sect, we would’ve benefited if they won, right? You rise when your clan rises, and fall when it falls. Why should we be an exception?”

“Well said,” Nie Mingjue said, and Wen Ning abruptly turned bright red – Jiang Cheng shot him a sympathetic look; he entirely understood the issue there. “Your testimony will be deemed self-interested, and even asking for it will only undercut Wei Wuxian’s position. Not to mention the Jiang sect’s.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, but Wei Wuxian crossed his arms. “Then just kick me out of the Jiang sect,” he said.

“What?” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, and even Nie Mingjue looked startled. “Absolutely not!”

“Why not? Isn’t the whole point that the Jiang sect is being dragged down by me and my new cultivation? Kick me out, and the problem’s solved.”

“I could cut off your head, and that of everyone else here,” Nie Mingjue said. “That would also solve the problem, but for some reason I’m not suggesting it. Can anyone tell me why?”

“…because it’s a bad idea?” Wen Ning volunteered.

“Because it’s a stupid idea,” Nie Mingjue agreed.

“It is a stupid idea,” Jiang Cheng growled. “Even putting aside that I don’t want to cast you out, do you really think people will stop blaming the Jiang sect for your actions just because you’re formally not aligned with us?”

“There isn’t another option,” Wei Wuxian said. “I’m not giving up the Wen sect, I’m not changing my cultivation style, I’m not giving up the Tiger Seal – and I’m not dragging the Jiang sect down with me, not if I can help it.”

-

“Are they really calling me ‘Ghost General’?” Wen Ning asked on one of his visits to the Lotus Pier to pick up supplies for the Yiling Burial Mounds.

Since Wei Wuxian had been so set on splitting from the Jiang sect, they’d eventually reached a compromise, of sorts. Wei Wuxian’s actions in rescuing the Wen sect remnants was – not endorsed, per se, as it was clearly wrongful, but Nie Mingjue announced that he had examined the Wen in question and found evidence suggestive of malnutrition and abuse, which indicated at minimum some negligence on the part of the Jin sect in not supervising the guards better. Accordingly, the Wen sect would be removed from the Jin sect’s custody and permitted to set up camp in Yiling under Wei Wuxian, but as punishment for his reckless and unsanctioned behavior, Wei Wuxian was to be expelled from the Jiang sect.

Since the expulsion was mandated by external forces, rather than being a result of his own decision, Jiang Cheng was able to give Wei Wuxian a sizeable settlement as a gift for his separation – the cultivation world gossiped about it, but most people seemed to think he was just trying to get his own back at Nie Mingjue for supposedly forcing the decision to expel Wei Wuxian down his throat – and to set up something of a trade agreement to send them more, although exactly what the Jiang sect was getting out of their side of the ‘trade’ was still up in the air.

Despite these outward signs of remaining support, several small sects had made attempts on the Burial Mounds, growing more reckless once they realized that Jiang Cheng really hadn’t left any forces behind to protect it – stupid of them, of course, since the reason he hadn’t left anyone behind was because he didn’t need to.

Wei Wuxian could handle himself perfectly well.

As could Wen Ning, apparently – he was a truly excellent archer, it turned out, and capable of waiting in all sorts of strange places with perfect patience, even if sometimes he had strange ideas about painting his face with mud to better blend in. It’d been one of those incidents that had given rise to the rumor that he was actually dead, having been resurrected by Wei Wuxian…

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said. “Sorry about that. I tried to tell them to stop, but…”

“It made it worse?”

“It made it so much worse,” Jiang Cheng sighed. “Anyway, would you like to drink?”

“…do you mean tea?”

“No.”

“Yes please,” Wen Ning said. “I have been – so stressed. You wouldn’t…actually, you probably would believe it.”

“I grew up with Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said grimly. “I believe anything.”

-

“It would be good to bring a representative of Yiling Wei sect to the conference, even if it can’t be Wei Wuxian himself,” Nie Mingjue remarked, looking down at the plans Jiang Cheng had laid out for the first discussion conference to be held in the Lotus Pier since the war. “You’re on good terms with Wen Qionglin, aren’t you? Ask him –”

“No!” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, then realized he was being suspicious and cleared his throat. “Maybe someone else should invite them.”

Nie Mingjue looked at him over the table. “…has something happened?” he asked.

Jiang Cheng stared down at the plans and hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Nothing important,” he said, and his voice cracked on the last sound – embarrassing.

Still not as embarrassing as that time he cried into Nie Mingjue’s arms, no, but still…embarrassing.

“Oh,” Nie Mingjue said. “You slept with him.”

“How can you tell?” Jiang Cheng hissed, mortified beyond all belief. “Is it – written on my face –”

“According to Huaisang, it’s always a safe guess,” Nie Mingjue said, and shrugged when Jiang Cheng gaped at him. “Either they admit that that’s the case, as you just did, or they get all up in arms and explain what it really was while denying it.”

“That’s –” Really useful and Jiang Cheng will have to put it into effect immediately. “– terrible.”

“Works, though. Why the embarrassment? I didn’t think the Jiang sect cared about cut sleeves.”

“We don’t,” Jiang Cheng said, sitting down and putting his head in his hands. “But I’m sect leader –”

“You had sex, it’s not like you got married.”

“I used to have a thing for his sister.”

“Awkward, I suppose, but it never went anywhere, did it? One can hardly hold your past inclinations against you –”

“We were both thinking about you,” Jiang Cheng blurted out, and then promptly wanted to die. He could have just not said that. He could have said anything else but that. He could stab himself right now and maybe Nie Mingjue would be so distracted by the bleeding and screaming that he would just forget what Jiang Cheng had just said…

“You could always just ask,” Nie Mingjue said.

Jiang Cheng looked up through his fingers. “…are you serious?”

Nie Mingjue looked at him with arched eyebrows. “Are you asking me if I’d be flattered by being propositioned by two extremely beautiful and deadly cultivators?”

“I wouldn’t rank those two as equally desirable traits in a lover,” Jiang Cheng said, and it was almost not a lie, “but…yes?”

He thought for a moment.

“If I did invite Wen Ning to the Discussion Conference…”

-

“Well,” Wen Ning said. “This wasn’t how I was expecting to end up.”

“Me, either,” Jiang Cheng said. He was staring up at the ceiling and thinking about not moving again for – possibly ever.

“Same for me,” Nie Mingjue, on his other side, agreed. “But I have no objections to how it worked out. There aren’t two other cultivators I’d rather be with.”

“There’d better not be,” Jiang Cheng said on automatic, then considered bashing his head in – luckily both Wen Ning and Nie Mingjue reached over and put their hands under his head so he couldn’t, which made him feel warm and happy in a way subtly different from the way the sex had. “I mean, who else would it be? Zewu-jun and Lianfeng-zun?”

“Wei-gongzi still thinks Lianfeng-zun is trying to kill you, you know,” Wen Ning said to Nie Mingjue, who looked long-suffering. “He’s got this idea –”

“He can’t be trying to kill me,” Nie Mingjue argued. “He’s just offered to help Xichen play calming music for me –”

“Wei-gongzi said that maybe he’s trying to kill you through the music –”

“I’m going to sleep,” Jiang Cheng announced. “When I wake up, we can discuss the political implications of letting there be rumors about us sleeping together, which will make it both convenient for us to do this again and also maybe using the potential threat of a Yiling Wei-Yunmeng Jiang-Qinghe Nie alliance to force the Jin sect to take action so we can figure out once and for all if Lianfeng-zun is actually planning to do something. But for the moment, I am going to sleep.”

“…seems fair,” Nie Mingjue agreed. “Communication and straightforwardness is important in relationships like these.”

“Uh,” Wen Ning said, glancing at Jiang Cheng. “About that…if, theoretically, I were to know something about someone…”

[robininthelabyrinth]

There was a comment a while back about NMJ having capybara energy. So have a cracky prompt of some strategists in the Sunshot Campaign deciding how this could be weaponized, or used as an interrogation technique. If they give cooperate and give information, they can be in a cuddle pile with NMJ.

ao3

The worst part about war was, unquestionably, the war itself.

The loss of life, the injuries, the stress – the agonizing terror of knowing that each moment might be your last, the painful boredom of waiting for something to happen, the shaking anxiety of never knowing which one the day would bring. Watching your friends and family suffer, watching innocent people suffer…it was grotesquely awful in ways Lan Xichen had never even dreamed of it being.

And yet, as if war wasn’t bad enough by itself, it also had – side effects.

Evil creatures thrived on resentful energy, their own or others’, gathered at sites of death or violence, and there was nothing that they liked better than the wasted spiritual energy that accompanied the untimely death of cultivators. This war, sect against sect, was a breeding ground for all the creatures that they ought to be night-hunting, not encouraging.

Led by Nie Mingjue, who never forgot his obligations, their side – the Four Great Sects, that was – took care of the innocent people who were being harmed by their war, protecting them from the immediate aftereffects, settling them in new places if their homes were damaged, making sure they weren’t caught in the middle of ongoing battle. Sects that skimped on their duties to the common people were mercilessly cut off in turn, where necessary, and Nie Mingjue had even demanded that Lanling Jin personally recompense an entire village that had lost their homes due to their negligence or else face the next Wen attack without his aid – the cost of doing so was negligible for them, but the humiliating loss of face among the rest of the sects that he had even had felt the need to make the threat, coupled with the fact that they really did need his help, served as an extremely potent reminder for everyone else.

When possible, the sects devoted some resources to night-hunting, trying to restrain the effects of their war, but it was like trying to hold back an avalanche that had already started: they could mitigate some of the damage, but until the war was over, it would only get worse and worse.

It didn’t help, naturally, that the Wen sect’s leaders didn’t care one whit about the effects of their actions.

Wen Ruohan loudly blamed the other Great Sects for it, claiming that they were ‘rebelling’ against him – as if they hadn’t all been equal just before – and that the heavens were punishing them for their violation of the natural order; his commanders followed suit, disdaining even the distraction of night-hunting and making dismissive promises that it would all be resolved when the war was won.

Still, however Wen Ruohan felt, however his generals and commanders felt, even they couldn’t ignore all the effects.

Especially not the ones that hit everyone equally.

“More nightmares?” Lan Xichen asked Jiang Cheng as he came into the command tent, rubbing his red eyes and looking awful. They all looked awful, but the recent affliction of dream-eaters that had swept through their camp and the enemy’s was especially vicious - particularly on those like Jiang Cheng, who had already existing trauma and were already burdened by nightmares. They were killing the creatures that generated the nightmares as quickly as possible, but there was only so much they could do with the encampment of the Wen sect not far away, waiting for a display of weakness that would give them the opportunity to attack.

The Wen sect were afflicted by the dream-eaters, too, and under any other circumstances Lan Xichen would propose that they raise the flag of truce long enough to eradicate the menace. Unfortunately, the Wen sect had proved themselves fundamentally untrustworthy – Jiang Cheng’s own family situation told the story quite vividly, even if Lan Xichen didn’t have to only close his eyes to see the burning of the Cloud Recesses – and so they all just suffered, instead.

“Bad ones,” Jiang Cheng said grimly, and nodded at Wei Wuxian, who had followed him into the tent looking, somehow, even worse. Not a great surprise, given that he’d been trapped in the Burial Mounds and now utilized resentful energy as a weapon – he had to be even more susceptible to the nightmares than the rest of them, but there was nothing to be done about it; his new cultivation style was too valuable for him to stop now. If Lan Xichen had to guess, Wei Wuxian was working himself to the bone and collapsing into nightmares, never getting any rest; his eyes were bloodshot, his face haggard, his waist too thin.

When Lan Wangji entered the tent next and saw Wei Wuxian there, looking half-dead, his face immediately twisted in what Lan Xichen recognized as clear concern. Poor Lan Wangji was suffering, too, although perhaps Lan Xichen was the only one who could tell.

Lan Xichen felt a stab of pain on all their behalf, all of them, and handed out tea to strengthen their spirits. He’d selected the most energizing blend he could find in preparation for this meeting, their first in several weeks – they were all fighting their own fronts, Lanling Jin in Langya, Qinghe Nie in Hejian, so on and so forth, but they needed to coordinate, and these in-person meetings were the best option for it.

And they really needed to discuss what to do about this new nightmare scourge.

“I think it’s like this for everyone,” Jiang Cheng said, accepting the tea, and Lan Xichen was just in the middle of nodding when he heard a strange sound – laughter, of all things.

They all turned to stare at the door, where Nie Huaisang was walking in, followed by an exhausted-looking Jin Zixuan as his father’s representative. It had been Lan Xichen who had asked for Nie Huaisang to be brought here from his refuge at the Cloud Recesses, thinking that this highly protected meeting was as close to safety on the battlefield as they could get and that it would be good for Nie Mingjue to see his little brother safe and sound.

Of all of them, they needed Nie Mingjue to remain strong. He was the Great Sects’ most effective general, their most terrifying war god; he was as viciously effective a general as he was a frontline fighter, designing many of the strategies they all used and providing many of their sects with critical assistance even though his Nie sect and its affiliated sects were the least numerous of the Great Sects, excluding only the significantly diminished forces of the Jiang sect.

More than his personal contribution, though, he’d become something of a lucky talisman for the rest of them. Lan Xichen had heard all sorts of stories about each and every one of them - Jiang Cheng as the resurrected phoenix, unkillable; Wei Wuxian as a demon barely leashed and used for their own purposes; Lan Xichen himself as a beacon of light bringing hope to those who needed it most - but that was nothing compared to what was said and believed about Nie Mingjue: that as long as Chifeng-zun was there, inexorable and inviolable, the unquestioned king of Hejian, the Wen sect’s eventual defeat was inevitable.

Even Lan Xichen found himself thinking it, reassuring himself late at night that all their efforts were not for nothing, that it would all end well in the end.

It wasn’t a healthy way of thinking, not for them and least of all for Nie Mingjue himself, who had to live up to that terrible reputation, but it was what was getting them through each day of this terrible war. So if there was something within Lan Xichen’s power to help Nie Mingjue keep himself together, he would do it, no matter the risk.

Nie Huaisang had arrived at their encampment the day before, with Nie Mingjue himself arriving even later, coming very late at night, and now it was morning and Nie Huaisang was laughing.

Laughing free and easy as if he didn’t have a care in the world, no less, and probably at one of his own jokes; Jin Zixuan was looking at him as if he’d never seen such a strange and wonderous thing in his life, and Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian and…well, everyone, really, were all following suit. They’d all laughed in recent days, of course, war lending itself to black humor, but Nie Huaisang looked so light-hearted.

So…well-rested.

“Huaisang,” Lan Xichen said, blinking owlishly at him. “You look…good.” No, that wasn’t the word he was looking for. “Healthy.”

Not in need of sleep, he meant.

“Oh, well, you know,” Nie Huaisang demurred, hiding his face behind his fan. “I’m happy to see da-ge, that’s all. I get to comfort myself that he’s well and get a good night’s sleep for once; why wouldn’t I be well? Nothing much to it.”

“Good night’s sleep?” Jiang Cheng echoed, looking disbelieving – as well he should, too. Their current encampent was right next to one of the worst collections of nightmare afflicting creatures, the vicious dream-eaters that confused the mind and injured the spirit. “You got a good night’s sleep?”

“Better here than in the Cloud Recesses?” Wei Wuxian asked, rubbing his eyes. “Really?”

“Uh, yes?” Nie Huaisang said, and now it was his turn to blink at them. “My da-ge is here. I slept well and untroubled for the first time in ages.”

“That sounds...nice,” Jin Zixuan said, rubbing his eyes as well – probably inspired by Wei Wuxian. Such things were communicative. “You must have been worried about him.”

“Oh, da-ge will be fine, I’m sure,” Nie Huaisang said blithely, and Lan Xichen suppressed the abrupt and overwhelming desire to punch him. “But I have nightmares sometimes, you know, and there’s no reason not to use medicine if it’s available, right?”

“Medicine?” Lan Wangji asked, voice intent, and Lan Xichen went from mild irritation to sadness at once: for Lan Wangji to ask such a thing, to show such weakness, the nightmares must be very bad indeed.

“Yes, my da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said. “He’s nightmare-proof.”

“I’m glad that that works for you,” Jiang Cheng said snippily. “Pity about the rest of us.”

Nie Huaisang frowned at him. “It’s not just me,” he said. “It’s just how he is. Don’t you know?”

Lan Xichen was going to intervene and settle them down – their tempers were all unduly short, given the nightmare situation, and he really didn’t want to have to deal with that before having to cope with the same from Nie Mingjue, whose temper was extremely short at the best of times – but then just as he was opening his mouth to say something he was suddenly hit by an overwhelming feeling of sudden calm, the same sort of pleasant languor that came in the early morning of a calm rest day where you didn’t need to get out of bed, or perhaps in a warm and lazy afternoon when you had nothing to do and were considering a nap.  

It was amazing.

Lan Xichen could see the same effect taking hold of the others, too: Jin Zixuan let out a little sigh, Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji both rocked back a little on their heels, eyes sliding closed in pleasure, Wei Wuxian actually let out a near-audible whimper of relief –

And then Nie Mingjue walked into the command tent.

“Good morning,” he said. He looked as steady as always, a tall and unshakable mountain; his brow was creased in his usual expression of neutral ill-humor and one could arguably feel the heat of his always simmering temper, but at the moment it just felt like warmth. “It’s good to see you all.”

They all murmured greetings in return, watching as Nie Mingjue – and the aura of calm relaxation that, apparently, accompanied him – passed them by and went towards the table where they had laid out all their plans. Unconsciously, they followed after him, drifting in his wake, each of them edging closer to him without ever having made a decision on it; as the other sect leaders who were leading the war showed up, they did the same, and by the time the usual pleasantries had concluded and the meeting was about to start, Nie Mingjue could barely turn around without nearly bumping into someone who had drifted too close.

Lan Xichen really ought to tell them to stop – he was the courier, the connection between the sects, familiar with each and every one of them – but he found himself instead abusing his position and his history as Nie Mingjue’s old friend to finagle a place at his right side, just behind his shoulder, and just stood there, his eyes half-lidded as he basked in the feeling. It was a little like really good meditation, he thought, the type that centered you and grounded you, let you be steady and hold your ground, come what may.

As the general, Nie Mingjue opened the meeting, running through the usual updates – he was short and to the point as always, which invariably made these meetings run significantly better because after a start like that even the most long-winded and shameless of old men felt a bit constrained to keep their words within the realm of the reasonable. After he finished detailing their current positions, the Wen sect’s latest moves and his predictions on their next, certain counters he planned to use – all at a very high level of generality, of course, in the event of spies – Nie Mingjue looked around, frowning a little: they had been all listening with surprising quietude, not a single objection or comment among them the way there usually was.

“Is there any other business?” he asked.

One of the leaders of a smaller sect – Sect Leader Ouyang – visibly shook himself and coughed. “The…scourge?”

“Scourge?” Nie Mingjue scowled. “What scourge? Has there been a greater than usual resurgence of evil creatures? What type? Why was I not informed?”

Lan Xichen looked at his old friend as though seeing him for the first time, as though abruptly realizing that your old familiar pillow was in fact a wonderous treasured pearl to be held carefully in one’s hand.

“It’s dream-eaters,” Jiang Cheng said, sounding blank and surprised. “The sort that cause nightmares...you know the type, surely? Common enough and usually fairly harmless, but there’s a whole lot of them and they’re breeding faster than we can kill them – not unless we devote ourselves just to the task, which we can’t do. Has - has the Nie sect not suffered from this affliction?”

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, frowning, and he seemed oddly discomforted, the reason for which he immediately revealed: “In fact, I’ve never seen a dream-eater. They’re not common in Qinghe, I think.”

That was impossible, of course – dream-eaters were notorious for being a pest that could be found anywhere, no matter what the climate or terrain; it was a little like saying that your household had never known a rat.

Although, Lan Xichen supposed, one could see such a statement being made by the single household in the village possessed of a cat…

“That was one of the main reasons I wanted to have this meeting,” he said, clearing his throat. He had told most of the sect leaders that it would be on the agenda, but he hadn’t had time to meet with Nie Mingjue, nor had he needed to – as the general, Nie Mingjue’s presence was a necessity, and so Lan Xichen had known that he would be there and had assumed (incorrectly, it seemed) that he would obviously want to devote some time to the issue. “It has been a rise in the number of such creatures, and yet we cannot divert attention from our frontline. Surely there must be some solution?”

“If it’s so severe, then we could strike a balance,” Nie Mingjue said, looking relieved at the possibility of turning the discussion onto the practical. “Those sects in regions with less ongoing strife could send teams to other fronts specifically to aid in eliminating the dream-eaters –”

“How has Qinghe Nie not suffered from the affliction?” The person interrupting was one of the sect leaders affiliated with Lanling Jin, even though Jin Zixuan turned and glared death at him. “Whatever can be said about dream-eaters in Qinghe, Hejian certainly doesn’t lack them, or at least it never has before. If there is some means of resisting them, it ought to be shared.”

That particular sect leader had arrived late and was seated relatively far back; perhaps he was out of range of Nie Mingjue, and hadn’t noticed – or perhaps, and more likely, he was simply being obnoxious and looking for an opportunity to snatch up whatever talisman Nie Mingjue was using to relieve the effects of the dream-eaters for Lanling Jin’s benefit. As if they had some greater claim to it, when they were doing the least of the fighting..!

“I haven’t seen them,” Nie Mingjue said, his face black with annoyance that Lan Xichen knew was merely a cover for embarrassment. “Not even in Hejian.”

Nie Huaisang giggled behind his fan. “That’s not your fault, da-ge,” he said. “They run away when they see you coming. Isn’t that right, Xiaochun-shushu?”

Eyes turned to the man standing by Nie Mingjue’s side – one of the Nie sect commanders – who looked a little awkward to be put on the spot, shifting his weight and clearing his throat. “To the extent it has been an issue at any of our outposts, we usually ask the Sect Leader to check in on morale, which generally resolves the issue,” he said circumspectly, and Nie Mingjue looked minorly outraged at the suggestion that his entire sect apparently used him as a way to ward off a creature usually classified as a minor pest. Without telling him, no less.

“So the effect is not caused by a talisman or spiritual instrument?” Sect Leader Yao asked, looking disappointed. “Nothing that can be duplicated?”

“What effect?” Nie Mingjue asked.

“Perhaps we could ask Sect Leader Nie to visit some of the other territories?” another sect leader suggested.

“And risk Hejian? Don’t be ridiculous,” Jiang Cheng said, though he looked sorely tempted.

“What effect?” Nie Mingjue asked again.

“I wonder if the Wen sect is suffering to the extent we are,” Wei Wuxian said thoughtfully, spinning his flute in his hand. “We have some prisoners of war, don’t we? They might be inclined to share more information if they were a little more relaxed. Don’t you think?”

“Especially following a state of heightened distress,” Jin Zixuan said, nodding. “The relief will be much more pronounced, which could lower their defenses –”

“Maybe we could even get –”

“Xichen,” Nie Mingjue hissed in his ear as the debate began in earnest, each sect leader rushing forward to add in their views. “What are they talking about?”

Lan Xichen looked helplessly at Nie Huaisang who scuttled over. “It’s the dream-eaters, da-ge,” he said in an undertone. “Sustained exposure. People get tired, cranky, irritable; their cultivation is weakened, their focus impaired…they become simultaneously less sensitive to certain things, like social niceties, and more sensitive to other things. Like a feeling of steadiness and reliability.”

“…so?” Nie Mingjue said.

“So a lot of people are noticing for the first time that you’re very – uh – grounding.”

“Grounding,” Nie Mingjue said skeptically. “Like…a lightning rod?”

It wasn’t quite the metaphor Lan Xichen would have gone with.

“It’s always like this?” he asked Nie Huaisang, fascinated, and Nie Huaisang nodded. “Why didn’t I notice?”

“You probably noticed subconsciously?” Nie Huaisang guessed. “People like being around da-ge, even when they don’t like him. Anyway, you’re usually very steady yourself, Xichen-gege –” Nie Mingjue sighed at his brother’s rudeness. “– so you probably didn’t notice that you were feeling even more so. In our sect, you’ll find parents coming by to drop off their kids next to da-ge; they follow him like a flock of ducklings, it’s the only thing that keeps them quiet…”

“I thought they just liked watching me train?”

“I mean, they like that, too, da-ge, I’m sure. But mostly people just feel safe when you’re around.”

Safe. Yes, that was what it felt like, calm and safe and secure, like there was a rock-solid foundation to the world that nothing could tear down; like even if Nie Mingjue were at the end of his rope, he would still do everything he could not to let you down.

“It’s very nice,” Lan Xichen said.

Nie Mingjue was pinching the bridge of his nose. “Huaisang,” he said. “If this is such a common phenomenon, why didn’t anyone tell me about it?”

“To be honest, we were a little worried that it’d go away if anyone pointed it out to you,” Nie Huaisang said. “Apparently not. Good!”

“This is ridiculous. I’m a sect leader, a front-line fighter, a general…I can’t go traipsing around fighting dream-eaters. We have a war to fight!”

“People fight better if they can sleep,” Nie Huaisang said wisely, and Lan Xichen nodded in firm support. Lan Wanji had drifted over at some point and looked to now be sleeping standing up, which was practically an endorsement as well. “Anyway, I think the idea of gathering people up to go deal with the problem is a good one, and anyone who’s really desperate for a good night’s rest can trade over to fight in Hejian for a while. That’ll keep your forces fresh, encourage the circulation of people and the development of relationships between the various sects, and you’ll have the chance to get a good look at who’s actually competent or not while they fight directly under you.”

“Hmm, true,” Nie Mingjue said, and Lan Xichen had to agree – it wasn’t a bad idea at all. Maybe it was the fact that Nie Huaisang was the only one of them who’d gotten any sleep that had allowed him to be the one to suggest it.

“And of course, best of all, as long as our side is getting relief and the Wen sect isn’t…”

“Oh, all right,” Nie Mingjue said. “I still think this is ridiculous, and I’m having some difficulty believing that I really give off some sort of – sleep field, or whatever.”

“You do,” Lan Xichen said. “In fact, I may propose that we break up the meeting temporarily to allow everyone to take a brief nap.”

“We are not doing that,” Nie Mingjue said. “We’re not toddlers.”

“We should do that,” Lan Wangji said, opening his eyes.

Wei Wuxian’s head turned at the sound of Lan Wangji’s voice. “Do what?”

“Break up the meeting for everyone to take a nap and return with steadied nerves and calmer minds,” Nie Huaisang said.

“We should definitely do that,” Wei Wuxian said, and nudged Jiang Cheng. “Hey, Jiang Cheng, how do you feel about everyone in the room taking a nap before we continue discussing the war?”

“That is the best idea I’ve ever heard,” Jiang Cheng said.

“You’re not serious,” Nie Mingjue said. “You cannot be serious right now.”

“Oh, we are very serious,” Lan Xichen said, and cleared his throat, waving for people’s attention. “Everyone, in light of the scourge of dream-eaters we’ve all been struggling with over the past few weeks, I have a suggestion…”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt - Nie Mingjue's temper is already not great at the Phoenix hunt, so when they haul out men and women, some who look a great deal more like frightened peasants than cultivators he snaps, this is not how you treat POWs, it turns into a riot/battle and Jiang Cheng has had enough of kowtowing to the Jin and he and the new Jiang sect members and Wei Wuxian all rally to Nie Mingjue, does anyone else? Where to the Lan fall? Was nie mingjue's snap directly at jgy or more in general?

ao3

Nie Mingjue was, probably for the first time in his life, tired of fighting.

He’d fought in secret against the Wen sect for years, thanklessly defending the other sects that had refused to even acknowledge Wen Ruohan’s actions for years on end, and yet it had not prepared him for the brutality that was open warfare, for the difficulty of being the general of the entire Sunshot Campaign, for the burden of knowing that so many lives depended on him and him alone. He’d fought battle after battle, won tremendous victories, and yet the last hope had seemed out of reach – he’d eventually resorted to a desperate stratagem that had gone wrong – he had been tortured, mocked, his men killed – and at the moment of when all seemed lost, he was saved.

Saved…only to realize that it was Meng Yao being credited with it, with being their spy, and Lan Xichen had not told him.

He’d limped back to his camp, but they’d chased after him, and the news of what Meng Yao had done got out – not really a surprise; given the man’s ambitions, if someone else hadn’t spread it he would have done it himself – and in the end, politics had meant that there really hadn’t been much of a choice about swearing sworn brotherhood with the two of them, binding them together in life and death, not unless he wanted to risk another war.

Nie Mingjue very, very much did not want another war.

He had still not fully recovered from his injuries by the time the Jin sect had set up a celebration in the Nightless City, with Jin Guangshan using Nie Mingjue’s refusal to take on any of Wen Ruohan’s ridiculous trappings as an excuse to all but name himself Chief Cultivator in the man’s place. Nie Mingjue knew he should have protested then, but he was tired, his sect in need of rebuilding – they had been the ones bearing the brunt of the war, as they always had, and the only reason they were not the worst off of the Great Sects was because of what the Wens had done to the Cloud Recesses and the Lotus Pier – and he’d never really wanted personal advancement, anyway.

After what had happened with his father, he’d had a lifetime’s worth of being promoted.

Besides, as part and parcel of their self-granted promotion, the Jin sect had promised to take care of the worst of the clean-up, including dealing with the prisoners of war, and that had seemed fine, even a good result. After spending half his life doing things for other people, Nie Mingjue would return home to focus on that which matter most to him, and for once someone else would take the lead in caring for the rest of the world.

It wasn’t like the Jin sect couldn’t afford a few more mouths to feed. 

It wasn’t like their coffers were anywhere near empty, or that they needed to rebuild; it wasn’t as though they’d ever stopped trade with Qishan or actually led in a major battle or - he should stop thinking about it before he became angry. 

He’d been angry for so long. It would be nice to stop for a while.

Of course, it felt as though he’d barely settled in back at home before he was being summoned for yet another celebration hosted by the Jin sect, this time at Phoenix Mountain. A hunt, no less, and it was so pointedly designed as the sort of thing that the Nie sect favored that it would have been impossible to turn down the invitation. Not to mention, the invitation had oh-so-casually mentioned that Jin Guangyao, his sworn brother, would be the one in charge of setting up the hunt, meaning that any disruption or failure cause damage not only to his own reputation but to Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen’s, for having sworn with him.

Jin Guangshan would either have his day in the sun or a reason to tear everyone else down - a win-win situation for him, lose-lose for everyone else.

Fucking politics.

Still, there wasn’t anything for it. They had to go, so they went.

Nie Mingjue felt himself drifting back into that disconnected state that had allowed him to survive years of discussion conferences hosted by his father’s murderer. It was a strange sort of state, that allowed him to do the things he had to do to support his sect while feeling as though the world was separated from him by a window through which he watched everything happen. Anything that occurred beyond that window – all sounds and sights and even emotional reactions – was dulled or even muted; he could look Wen Ruohan right in the eye and think to himself of how much he longed to slaughter the man where he stood for his crimes, look at Jiang Fengmian smiling quite sincerely at Wen Ruohan and Lan Qiren bowing to him as if he was a man worthy of respect, as if they weren’t hypocrites that took Wen Ruohan’s money in trade and said apologetically that there wasn’t anything anyone could prove about Nie Mingjue’s father’s death, and yet, no matter how much he hated them all, his body would do nothing. 

He would drink tea, and nod, and he would not breach etiquette, he would not bring war down on his sect’s head, he would do nothing.

Sitting in a place of honor at Phoenix Mountain felt much the same: yet another burden to bear, a torment that he could only hope passed quickly.

(It wasn’t healthy, but then again, what was? His entire life was grist for the mill that was his sect’s well-being, shortened by excessive cultivation and stress and endless rage, and knowing it didn’t change anything.)

He saw in the corner of his eye the way his little brother’s eyes flickered to him and then frown – he’d never liked it when Nie Mingjue went quiet and passive, knowing how alien the feeling was to him, knowing through fellow-feeling what it felt like, though perhaps he was wondering why the state had come upon him now again when Wen Ruohan was already dead and gone, even though it had never really just been about Wen Ruohan. 

Perhaps because of that fellow-feeling, Nie Huaisang found a conversational interlude hat allowed him to slide over a little closer than politeness dictated, casually putting a hand on Nie Mingjue’s arm as if to beg for something. He knew that Nie Mingjue took comfort in the touch, in the reminder that with his saber at his side and his brother within arms’ reach, Nie Mingjue felt as thought he had everything he valued most in this rotten world close enough that he could try to protect it.

And then the Jin sect – using Jin Guangyao as their mouthpiece, though whether it was because of his skillful silver tongue or simply because they didn’t think he was worth anything more than that, only he would know – announced that they would kick off the hunt with some entertainment.

Nie Mingjue lifted his cup of tea to his lips, feeling pained, and his eyes briefly met with Lan Qiren’s across the hall, no longer in the place of the sect leader but slightly behind, his expression making clear that the same thought was on both their minds – anything but the prostitutes again.

(Surely Jin Guangyao had a bit more self-respect than that…?)

When a bunch of people in chains were marched out, Nie Mingjue had only enough presence of mind to be briefly relieved that the presence of mixed genders meant that they were probably not prostitutes – Lanling Jin abided by rules relating to birth gender and sexuality that seemed nearly as strict as the rules they were always criticizing Gusu Lan over, and according to them no one ever switched or was misaligned or deviated at all, which frankly seemed more than a little bizarre and unbelievable – and then uncomfortable because, well, they were in chains. Weren’t they supposed to be done with war?

And then Jin Guangyao started announcing the rules of some sort of ridiculous archery contest that the younger generation would engage in, and for a moment that seemed almost a relief as well – as a sect leader, Nie Mingjue was excluded from the younger generation despite being only a few years older than the rest of them, and of course there was no point in expecting his brother to participate in any competition of martial skill, and so for a moment it seemed as though this could be another part of this torturous endless experience that he could just tune out.

Indeed, that he was obligated to tune out. No matter how idiotic it was, whatever it was, whatever he thought about it (and he wouldn’t like it, he knew he wouldn’t like it, he’d never liked anything Wen Ruohan – no, that Jin Guangshan, insofar as there was that much of a difference – he’d never liked anything Jin Guangshan had set up in nearly ten years of working together, and odds were good that he wouldn’t like this), Nie Mingjue still had to think first of his sect and the consequences of making a fuss, and that meant he didn’t. He didn’t want a war, and so he had to be polite, restrained, quiet, no matter what he thought.

It wasn’t that hard to simply pull back even further. Nie Mingjue had been suppressing righteousness in favor of etiquette at these horrible conferences for such a long time that it came naturally to him, the way all bad habits did.

Only this time he’d brought Nie Huaisang with him, which he’d always resisted before, and his brother’s hand tightened on his arm to the point of pain.

Nie Mingjue’s first thought, stupidly enough, was to be pleased by the discovery that Nie Huaisang actually had some arm muscle underneath all those prissy frills he favored. His second was concern that Nie Huaisang had suddenly taken ill – with admittedly a bit of hopefulness that perhaps it would be something they could use as an excuse to leave early, as long as it wasn’t that serious – but when he turned to look at him his brother didn’t seem sick.

He seemed – angry?

Not Huaisang, Nie Mingjue thought, heart abruptly seized with an ancient fear. He knew perfectly well what he’d gotten himself into when it came to the saber spirits, had accepted years ago that he would die young, die early, die horribly and alone with nothing but his rage, but that was not going to be Nie Huaisang’s fate, not if he had anything to say about it. 

The fear curdled in his chest, and it felt as though a crack appeared on the window that shielded him from all sensation, all pain and desperation forced far away.

No one was talking, other than Jin Guangyao droning on and on about whatever the new entertainment was – Nie Mingjue had stopped paying attention long ago – and so he couldn’t ask Nie Huaisang what was wrong, but he looked at him and furrowed his brow, trying to convey the question silence.

Nie Huaisang caught the glance and understood, and his mouth moved, shaping silent sounds – it’s an execution, they’re going to kill them –

What?

Baxia, lying by his side as she always did during these meetings, shifted a little, her rage nudging against Nie Mingjue’s mind as it always did – sometimes he thought she hated these meetings as much as he did, other times he was sure of it – and the crack in the window got a little wider, let in a little more light and color and sound, and Nie Mingjue found a thread of willpower to force himself to listen to what the entertainment Jin Guangyao was proposing actually was.

He replayed the words in his mind, turned to look at the people in chains – Wen sect, apparently, and though he couldn’t tell on sight whether they were civilians or cultivators, that didn’t matter. Not even criminals were executed like this, by standing at a distance and waiting to die, not even able to hope for an expert aiming to kill quickly and cleanly, but through a misplaced arrow that could strike them anywhere, cause them a lingering and painful death…this was supposed to be a game?

This was meant to be their entertainment?

The window between Nie Mingjue and the world shattered.

And suddenly all he felt was rage.

“What,” Nie Mingjue said, even as Jin Zixuan got up with a set expression on his face to accept a bow from his servant, “are you doing?”

Jin Zixuan paused, looking puzzled – and no surprise, since Nie Mingjue hadn’t said anything beyond the most mundane greetings when he first arrived. “Sect Leader Nie..?”

Nie Mingjue rose to his feet, his brother’s hand falling off of his arm as if he’d shaken him off like a dog. “What are you doing?” he demanded, louder this time. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Da-ge –” Jin Guangyao said, an obvious hint, a reminder of their relationship – Nie Mingjue was the one bound by it, the older brother responsible for setting a good example, and for all that Jin Guangyao was supposed to listen to him and follow his lead Nie Mingjue had never seen a hint that he’d ever planned to do so – but Nie Mingjue didn’t listen to him.

He was angry.

It felt good to be angry – a clean anger, a righteous anger, anger at injustice being perpetrated right before his eyes.

(Something so poisonous as rage shouldn’t feel this good.)

“This is an abomination,” he said, a touch of the battlefield in his voice so that it would be audible throughout the hall, would spread far and wide for all to hear. “Those are people you’re putting on the line.”

There was a moment of awkward silence.

Jin Zixun, Jin Guangshan’s nephew, broke it with an abrupt laugh. “Sect Leader Nie,” he said, pretending to smile, “surely you don’t think so little of us to suggest that my cousin would miss –”

“I don’t care even if he does strike true,” Nie Mingjue snapped. “You do not play with the lives of men.”

“Hardly men,” a minor sect leader, closely affiliated with the Jin sect, said. Sect Leader Qin, if Nie Mingjue placed him right. “Perhaps you did not hear, Chifeng-zun –” It was always his title they used when they wanted to avoid calling him sect leader, when they were trying to make a point about how young and angry and foolish they thought he was. “– but those are Wen-dogs.”

“I don’t care who or what they are,” Nie Mingjue shouted, and now he had fallen back into his body, back into the battlefield, because this was a battlefield; it was only that he had allowed himself – through tiredness or shock or a desire for peace – to forget it for a moment. “Is this not a celebration of peace, the end of war? If they are criminals, sentence them; if they are condemned, execute them with a sword. Even a rabid beast deserves to be put down cleanly, not to be used as target practice by children for the entertainment of others!”

There was movement in the crowd, multiple people shifting from one side to the other, the audience abruptly uncomfortable when faced not only with a gory spectacle but their own complicity in it.

“Sect Leader Nie, calm yourself,” Jin Guangshan said. His voice was stern, irritatingly condescending – as if he thought that styling himself as Chief Cultivator gave him the right to act as if he were Nie Mingjue’s father. “You go too far for proper etiquette; will you not give any face to me, as your host? Naturally, if you have a complaint, I will hear it –”

“I don’t recall the moment I yielded to your authority in matters of ethics, Sect Leader Jin,” Nie Mingjue snapped. “Please, feel free to remind me – the last I recall it, you were the one begging me for assistance.”

“Sect Leader Nie!” Jin Guangshan shouted, rising to his feet with his face starting to purple.

Nie Mingjue saw the furious glance he sent at a frantic Jin Guangyao – control him already! – and it makes his own rage surge even higher. It was not that he didn’t know that his sworn brother was being used as leverage against him, but to have it shoved right into his face like that, to think that they thought that etiquette and brotherhood would be sufficient to make him complaisant – to allow Jin Guangyao to run roughshod over his morality – to think that it had nearly worked –

“Sect Leaders, please.” That was Lan Xichen, standing up as well, his hands outstretched. “Is this not meant to be a celebration of peace?”

For a moment, Nie Mingjue thought he was standing up for his sake, supporting him in decrying what was happening in front of them – something he despised as much as Nie Mingjue did, that much was obvious from his stance – but then his eyes flicked from Nie Mingjue to Jin Guangyao as well, silently beseeching Nie Mingjue to remember how his actions could hurt Jin Guangyao’s standing, and Nie Mingjue felt cold.

So much for brotherhood, it seemed. How much was he supposed to bear on behalf of Jin Guangyao without receiving anything in return?

He turned his face away.

If the Nie sect had to make this stand alone, so be it. Even if it meant war, war against the rest of the cultivation world, war that would be ruinous to his sect...

There was no choice. The Nie sect stood for refusing to tolerate evil; to do any less would be to throw off the traditions of his ancestors more wholly than Nie Huaisang’s refusal to train the saber had ever been. Even on a personal level, he had long criticized others who stood quiet when evil was happening, and he  would not let himself become the hypocrite that so many others had been. 

Nie Mingjue had never before willingly backed away from doing the right thing, the righteous thing, simply because it was hard to do – he would not start now.

“It seems strange that a celebration of peace would begin with death.” That was Jiang Cheng standing up as well, the fourth of the Great Sects. His sister had once been engaged to Jin Zixuan, and she had been invited to the hunt as Madame Jin’s special guest – popular thought had it that the Jin sect would snap her up soon enough, allying with the last remaining sect, and leaving anyone who opposed them to stand alone. But even if that was the plan, it hadn’t happened yet, and Jiang Cheng was putting his voice on Nie Mingjue’s side – Nie Mingjue would have to find a way to repay him for his support later. “Weren’t the Wen sect supposed to be resettled somewhere peaceful? Or was the news I received incorrect?”

“The innocent branch members and civilians were of course resettled,” Jin Guangyao said, and his smile was strained – or was it? Was it actual concern, or some sort of show? Nie Mingjue could never tell with him, not now that he knew how easily the snake changed its skin. “These however are war criminals, sentenced to execution in the manner of our choosing. I hope you all understand: their deaths are in no way comparable to their crimes –”

You would know, having participated in so many of them, Nie Mingjue thought, and levelled a glare at his youngest sworn brother to remind him of that fact. It briefly interrupted the smooth flow of words, making them catch in Jin Guangyao’s throat; at least he had that much shame.

“Can I see?” Nie Huaisang asked in the brief interval, his high voice just as carrying as Nie Mingjue’s shouting – all those music and singing lessons had clearly been worth something.

“See what?” Jin Zixun sneered, stepping forward – and interesting that it was him that did so, while Jin Zixuan, the heir, remained still and silent. His expression was frosty, but he hadn’t yet spoken up in his own father’s defense; hardly filial, but given such a father it was difficult to see what else he could do. “See their crimes? Do you want a list, or for us to drag out their victims to testify? Is this how little your Nie sect thinks of our Jin sect?”

A strong effort on Jin Zixun’s part – it put the burden on them to prove that these were not evildoers and criminals who deserved what was coming to them, made the issue their rudeness and lack of etiquette, made it seem as if they were the ones looking down on everyone.

But for all that Nie Mingjue despaired of Nie Huaisang’s skill at arms, he had never doubted his skill with words.

“You misunderstand me,” Nie Huaisang laughed nervously, hiding his face behind his fan in a gesture of shyness – he made it look as though he were being bullied by Jin Zixun, rather than debating him. “I just meant, well, they’re criminals, right? They must be truly impressive cultivators to fight against the brave soldiers of our Sunshot Campaign…could we see their strength?”

Nie Mingjue knew a cue when he heard one. “Such strength must be considerable to deserve such a fate,” he said scornfully. “Even Wen Ruohan, who killed hundreds, was merely cut down, rather than tormented in the same manner he tortured so many of our cultivators…Or do you think to emulate him in this manner as well?”

“How dare you?!” Jin Guangshan was florid with rage – as if rage would ever stop a Nie. “You come to my home and accuse me with no basis –”

“I do accuse you!” Nie Mingjue shouted, letting his voice trample down Jin Guangshan’s. “But by your own acts you are condemned, by your own callousness and indifference. So much Nie blood was shed to stop Wen Ruohan from running rampant over us all – I would die rather than have spent that blood to buy us nothing more than the same dominion in a different color!”

And then everyone was talking at once, shouting, yelling, and Nie Mingjue took the opportunity to turn on his heel and stride over to Lan Xichen, standing there looking lost. Lan Wangji was beside him, only a step behind, and he caught Nie Mingjue’s eyes as he came over and nodded – he, at least, was with Nie Mingjue in this, and his support gave Nie Mingjue more confidence in what he was about to do. What he had to do.

“Will you abide by your Lan sect’s values and stand with me in this?” he asked Lan Xichen in a low, clipped tone. “Or was my oath of brotherhood only worth the benefits it could get for Meng Yao?”

“Da-ge!” Lan Xichen exclaimed, looking horrified. “Don’t think that, please. Of course I stand with you in this – what they were planning for the Wen sect members goes beyond bad taste and into the horrific.”

He hadn’t meant it the way Nie Mingjue had taken it, then. It must have only been Jin Guangyao’s pleading looks that had led him to take a stand the wrong way, seeking peace and friendship over justice.

“One should not look away from righteousness simply because it would be easier,” Lan Wangji added smoothly, sounding almost as though he were agreeing with his brother and not subtly scolding him. He saluted Nie Mingjue. “You have our full support, regardless of who is on the other side.”

Nie Mingjue continued to look at Lan Xichen who hesitated – no doubt thinking of the tough position they’d just put Jin Guangyao into – but in the end he nodded.

That was fine. Okay, no, it wasn’t fine, but right now he needed Lan Xichen’s support, regardless of his level of enthusiasm; the rest could be dealt with later.

He turned again and went to Jiang Cheng – Wei Wuxian was there as well, having appeared at some point, and he was vociferously yelling at some minor sect leaders. In Nie Mingjue’s favor, at least.

“Sect Leader Nie,” Wei Wuxian said, turning to him before Nie Mingjue could say anything to Jiang Cheng – not that he really need to confirm his support, given the public display from earlier, but it was only polite to come convey his thanks. “There’s something else you should know. I’ve heard some things about the innocent members Wen sect that were supposedly ‘resettled’ – and what’s been happening to them…”

Nie Mingjue glanced at Jin Guangshan, still shouting, and did a quick calculation. “Take Lan Wangji and go check it out at once,” he ordered. “They were supposed to be resettled by the Qiongqi Path. If Sect Leader Jin has been treating these ones so cruelly as this…I’m willing to believe anything right now. But whatever it is, make sure it’s both of you that see it with your own eyes, to make it harder to doubt your words.”

Wei Wuxian saluted him and headed towards Lan Wangji without even seeking approval from his sect leader. Nie Mingjue abruptly felt awkward and looked at Jiang Cheng, but the other man nodded his agreement before he could apologize for commandeering Wei Wuxian as if the other man was still his subordinate.

“At least he listens to you,” Jiang Cheng said, a rueful smile on this face. “Can I convince you to talk some sense into him when all this is done..? I must admit I wasn’t expecting another war so soon.”

“I had hoped we wouldn’t see one for another generation,” Nie Mingjue admitted. “I still hope we can avoid it – it depends on how the smaller sects fall out, and how determined the Jin sect is to dominate the rest, rather than willing to accept equality. But no matter how it goes, we can’t turn our faces away from injustice.”

“Agreed,” Jiang Cheng said with a sigh. “I think we have the better of the argument, and hopefully it sways the rest of them. But have you considered what happens if we win?”

“What do you mean?”

“Sect Leader Jin has been setting himself up as Chief Cultivator. After something like this, even if there’s no actual fighting, that’ll be impossible. You need respect to lead. So who will it be?”

Nie Mingjue experienced a brief moment of horror at the thought of having to take it himself – but no. It was a reasonable solution, of course, but it would also taint the whole thing. It would make his decision to stand up into a tawdry political play, designed to increase his power, rather than a genuine outburst of offended principle.

He might have proposed Lan Xichen as a compromise – he would have, even a shichen earlier. But after that display of weakness from earlier, however brief, he feared that it would somehow end up with Jin Guangyao (and Jin Guangshan behind him) pulling the strings from behind the scenes, using Lan virtue as a cover for their iniquity…no, that wouldn’t do at all.

The only other option was –

Well.

Nie Mingjue had thought to himself that he needed to do something to pay Jiang Cheng back for his support earlier, hadn’t he?

(And at worst, he’d owe him yet another favor.)

Nie Mingjue put his hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “You have my full support,” he said solemnly, and ignored the sudden look of panic on Jiang Cheng’s face. “Think it over before you say no.”

Being Chief Cultivator would do more to restore the Jiang sect to prosperity than anything else Jiang Cheng might do, and he’d put that together himself sooner or later even if the idea of that much responsibility had to be fairly terrible. But before they could decide things like that, they needed to win.

One more fight.

He could do that much.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Curse-breaker (Chapter 3/4)

- ao3 -

There were more guards than usual around the Unclean Realm, undoubtedly as a result of Wen Ruohan’s refusal to move from their gate, but that wasn’t a problem for them.

They knew all the ways in and out.

New ways, like the hole in the wall their little brother had teamed up with his best friend to carve out so that the two of them could leave little gifts and pass messages to them, and old ways, ancient ways, the ways of the dead that they’d learned from the still-lingering saber spirits that burned in rage and hate forever like an endless longevity candle.

Rage, and hated – but also love.

The saber spirits didn’t have to keep burning, keep fighting, but that was what their masters had wanted, and so they did. They fought against evil, time and time again, forever and always, and through their endless battle, in their hearts, their masters were never truly lost.

It was that simple.

It was that complicated.

It was time, they thought, to straighten things out. The saber spirits meant it as a gift, but the masters saw it as a burden; that wasn’t how it was meant to be at all – they just didn’t understand each other, steel and flesh speaking different tongues, meaning different things. The gaping chasm of understanding between life and not-life, which no one could bridge.

Well.

No one until them, anyway.

If a fish and a bird fell in love, where would they live?

On the shore, they thought. Right in the middle.

All they needed was someone to tell them that was an option.

It was time.

They passed like a formless spirit themselves through the many walls and guards in their path, heading to the sect leader’s study, as familiar to them as their own palms. Inside they found what was familiar, too: the heat-rage-pride pulse of Jiwei, resting in pride of place by her master’s side, and beside her was her master, their father, standing with his hands folded behind his back and looking out the window into the distance as if it would give him answers to questions that had eaten away at him his whole life.

They approached.

They were detected, of course.

“I already said that I didn’t want to be disturbed,” their father said, and although they had snuck close many times to hear him speaking, that beloved voice more familiar to them than their own, not daring to talk to him as they did to Huaisang who had always promised to keep their secret, there was still something different about hearing it so near, without walls between them.

They sighed happily.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said…Jiwei? What’s gotten you so excited –”

Their father turned.

His jaw dropped, eyes going wide and round as saucers, an absurd and silly look that suited him so much better than did the grim scowl and sad listlessness, interspersed with increasingly frequent bouts of uncontrollable rage, that he wore on his face more often than not these days.

What they had in mind would hurt, they knew, and equally they knew that they would not be able to act if they did not act fast – they were loathe to hurt people, much less people that they loved, and those that they loved would be equally unable to bear to see them hurt, yet both were necessary now, if they were to do what they had decided to do.

They did not allow themselves time to doubt.

They moved forward as quickly as a saber strike, sure and true, and their hands connected with their father’s chest and belly, heart and dantian both, with enough power to knock the breath out of him, taking advantage of his shock to strike when he would not even think of dodging.

In that moment of breathlessness, they latched on – latched on, and pulled.

What-are-you-doing-stop-that, Jiwei said, but even her ceaseless rage was blunted by the joy of seeing them once more.

You are hurting him.

I-am-not-I-am-refining-him-I-am-strengthening-him-as-he-strengthens-me-He-is-my-master-and-I-love-him.

You are hurting him, they insisted. Flesh is different. Flesh is brittle. Too much strength, and he will break.

Let me show you.

It hurt, of course, just as they’d expected. Not as much as when they’d shattered, though, and it was that – and perhaps only that – that allowed them to persist, using themselves as a cauldron, forcing their qi that was neither wholly spiritual nor resentful, neither fully alive or un-alive, through their father’s meridians, reshaping them as they went to be something capable of accepting the harsh, resentful, corrosive love of a saber spirit.

When they were done, their father stared at Jiwei, hearing her sing in his soul with an unprecedented clarity, feeling her love for him the way she meant for it to be felt, feeding his own love back to her in equal measure, giving everything of himself without holding back to the only thing on earth that he had ever loved without restraint.

His eyes were clear.

“A-Jue,” he whispered. “A-Jue…what is this?”

“A gift,” they said, their voice raspy with disuse. “Of many years making. I’m sorry that it took so long.”

Their father, unbreakable, burst into tears.

-

Later, when their father, his eyes still wet (though now from laughter rather than relief), told them about the ‘curse’, about his promise, about the rumors, and even about Wen Ruohan waiting for the chance to repent of his regrets, they thought about it for a while and said: “Let me see him.”

-

Wen Ruohan had done many things worthy of condemnation in his long life.

He had schemed and plotted, playing the hero and the villain both in their turn; he had fought in wars of such brutality that the current generation could not even begin to comprehend them, and he had also murdered in vile and underhanded ways, abandoning all integrity and righteousness, to ensure that such wars did not happen again. He had sought to strengthen himself by means both fair and foul, betrayed who he had to betray and stepped on who he had to step on; he had followed his ancestor’s path with his head held high until he had very nearly become a god.

He was not accustomed to regret.

Not accustomed did not mean immune: there were things he regretted, of course. The loss of his first family, the two sons and a daughter that he had failed so thoroughly that he still could not stand to hear the sound of their names, each one declared utterly taboo within the Nightless City – the wife he had married for power and then divorced in a fit of temper, driving her and her not-so-secret lover to the end of their rope in unspeakable desperation – the faithful servants he had sacrificed as pawns in his power plays and only afterwards realized how much he had relied upon them –

His brother.

His curse.

If by some miracle of fate he could choose to change a single thing in the ancient life that he had so far lived, it would unquestionably be the death of his brother.

Wen Ruohan had had quite a few brothers, in fact – his father, much like the usual style of leaders of the Wen sect, had fancied himself both empire-builder and emperor, and had had children accordingly, both his own and those he’d adopted, with all the headache-induing and often life-threatening dramatics associated with that – but to Wen Ruohan, there had only really ever been one that mattered.

Only one.

Wen Ruohan didn’t even remember any longer whether Wen Ruoyu had been his blood-related brother, sharing a father and maybe a mother, or if he’d been some child seized from another sect and given the Wen surname to help grow their power. It hadn’t mattered to him back then and it didn’t matter to him still, for all that he now prized his personal bloodline even above merit.

All that mattered was that Wen Ruohan had loved Wen Ruoyu more than he’d ever loved anything in his life, more than his sect, more than cultivation, more than power, and that Wen Ruoyu had died not knowing it. Had died cursing his name, spitting blood onto his face, fingers scrabbling at his neck in a futile attempt to choke him, wishing with his final breath that Wen Ruohan would never again know a single moment of peace.

Well, he hadn’t.

Ever the dutiful brother, he closed his eyes to nightmares, and woke to dreariness. He madly sought power enough to ensure that such a thing would never happen to him again, only for his obsessive quest to drive his few remaining loved ones into the grave; he had very nearly succeeded in becoming a god, and lost all interest in life in the process. The only joys remaining to him were his ever-growing power, his ever-expanding sect, and, sometimes, the blood and pain of other people, which he used as a reminder that he was not truly alone in this world.

And Lao Nie, of course.

Wen Ruohan had almost entirely succeeding in sealing off all of his emotions by the time Lao Nie showed up, smiling and carefree and reckless, half in love with the death he knew awaited him – showed up and battered down all of Wen Ruohan’s defenses. Wen Ruohan wished, now more than ever, that he had carried on in his attempts to make himself a true god, above all humanity, and not yielded to the siren call of friendship. Perhaps if he had been a god, he wouldn’t have been so hurt when Lao Nie barreled onwards with his life, leaving him behind not once but thrice – perhaps he wouldn’t have tried to kill him.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have nearly murdered the little boy that Lao Nie had on occasion shoved into his arms during a visit, no matter how many times Wen Ruohan reminded him that it was inappropriate – the little serious one who looked so bewildered by it all but who still called him Sect Leader Wen the way Wen Ruohan instructed rather than listening to his father’s not-quite-joking suggestions of ‘Uncle Wen’, the little crybaby that had all unknowingly once tricked Lan Qiren into a logical conundrum that had made the man’s mind splutter out like a machine falling all to bits while Wen Ruohan and Lao Nie had roared with laughter…the one that had been charming enough to make him change his mind and opt to keep little Wen Xu around instead of sending him out to be adopted into the branch families the way he had with the other children he’d refused to acknowledge, mourning as he still did his first family.

He hadn’t meant to hurt Nie Mingjue.

Not like that, anyway.

It’d taken some time for the regret to creep in – his initial bout of horror had been more shock and irritation at having hit the wrong target, the shame of making such an elementary error to hit a boy he hadn’t seen in years rather than the man standing right in front of him, and then he’d shrugged it off, thinking to himself that the loss of a son would be as good a way to punish Lao Nie as the loss of his life. It wasn’t until his spies in the Unclean Realm came back and described to him what he had wrought…

Nie Mingjue didn’t look anything like Wen Ruoyu, not really, but in Wen Ruohan’s dreams he wept tears of blood in just the same way, spitting up foam as his eyes rolled in his head, dying – dying – dead.

Not dead.

It wasn’t a curse, Wen Ruohan knew, but if there was something he could do – anything he could do – he would do it.

He had to.

“You have to let him go,” someone said, and Wen Ruohan looked up in surprise: he’d been waiting for half a day already and god or no god, his legs were numb with sitting.

He didn’t recognize the too-tall young man who stared down at him, one eyeball eerily colored red and steel grey – the young man’s clothing was non-descript and ill-fitting, mismatched as if he’d picked it off some laundry pile without thought of coordination. There was something of the Nie in his face, the breadth of his shoulders, but his features were finer and sharper, his waist more slender, his fingers lacking in the familiar calluses of the saber; he looked like he’d be a fierce war god when he’d grown into his body but that he hadn’t quite gotten there yet.

His golden core shone.

Wen Ruohan stared. His lust for power had long ago become an essential part of him, and in front of him was power, power at such a young age – if he could claim that cultivation for his own, maybe he could stop describing himself as nearly a god, could actually call down a heavenly tribulation and leap up to join the heavens in a single bound.

And then, maybe then, at last, he could have peace.

“You have to let him go,” the young man said a second time, and Wen Ruohan was distracted by wondering what he meant, not sure he understood and not entirely sure he cared. “That’s the only way. You have to let him go.”

He shifted forward, and something inside Wen Ruohan warned that he would strike.

It seemed ridiculous, though. Wen Ruohan, the finest living master of arrays, was not afraid of anything this young man might try to do – only a spiritual sword could pierce his armor, and even that, only one that took him utterly by surprise. No one would dare try to strike him.

Especially not this young man, who carried neither sword or saber.

Perhaps that was why Wen Ruohan never saw it coming – the young man’s hand moved in a jabbing motion, the way a sword would swing, and suddenly, impossibly, there was sword intent given physical form through spiritual energy, piecing through his defenses, slashing down at him and aiming right at his neck.

-

“Let me get this straight,” Lan Qiren said, rubbing his forehead. “Nie Mingjue reappeared after something like ten years out alone in the wild, and when he did he brought some sort of technique that just…fixed the Nie sect cultivation issue. The one that was killing you, and has been killing your ancestors for – generations.”

Lao Nie nodded.

“And then you allowed him to see Sect Leader Wen, who he attacked…in a way that happened to mimic some old tragedy that has apparently haunted him for years, thereby allowing him to resolve some long-held heart demon. And now Sect Leader Wen has retreated into seclusion in order to explore this moment of enlightenment further, and doesn’t intend to bother the rest of us for a while. Certainly not by continuing his schemes to take over the cultivation world.”

“That’s right,” Lao Nie said. “Though I don’t expect he’ll be in seclusion all that long; the Wen sect doesn’t practice –”

Lan Qiren held up a hand, indicating he wasn’t done and didn’t appreciate being interrupted.

Lao Nie obediently fell silent.

“And then,” and by now Lan Qiren was speaking through somewhat gritted teeth, “when Sect Leader Jin rushed over because he wanted to get in on what he perceived to be Wen Ruohan’s attempted takeover of the Qinghe Nie, your son attacked him, too – except in this case, he crippled him.”

“I did say anyone who trespassed would be killed on sight,” Lao Nie said, entirely unbothered. Because of course he wasn’t – why would anyone think that suddenly being freed of a lifetime’s death sentence would make him less reckless and shameless? If anything, his overwhelming joy had just made him even more arrogant and inclined to insist on getting his own way. “It’s been known for years, and no exceptions have ever been made, not even for sect leaders. Why should Jin Guangshan think himself different?”

“That’s a terrible excuse,” Lan Qiren scolded. “And besides the point.”

“What is the point?”

Lan Qiren opened his mouth, then stopped, thought it over, and sighed. “The point is, I suppose – are you going to the Jiang sect next?”

Lao Nie blinked. “The – Jiang sect? Why?”

“Because instead of the cultivation world breaking the ‘curse’ on your son, your son has apparently taken to breaking the curses of the cultivation world,” Lan Qiren said dryly. “And he’s already gotten four out of the five Great Sects, so why not complete the set?”

Lao Nie’s lips quirked. “Four? I can see the others: my Nie sect’s qi deviations, Wen Ruohan’s madness for power, the Jin sect’s terrible luck in getting that scheming old lecher selected as their next sect leader…but what did he do for the Lan sect?”

“It was in his name that you forced my brother out of seclusion all those years ago,” Lan Qiren pointed out. “And now I spend half of every year traveling wherever I wish, and the other half teaching; it is everything I would have wanted. Meanwhile, my brother has finally through his children learned what it means to care for others instead of rotting to death in a self-imposed grave built from ill-fated love…if that’s not curse-breaking, what is?”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Tedious Joys - Chapter 5 -

- Ao3 link -

It was not a letter that came to the Cloud Recesses in response to his query, but rather Lao Nie’s two sons.

Lan Qiren was made aware of their arrival when Lan Wangji burst into his room at a run, without knocking, and it was such a strange and bizarre occurrence – it was simply unthinkable for Lan Wangji to do such a thing, when his love and respect for the Lan sect rules were equal to Lan Qiren’s own, a special interest they shared and bonded over – that Lan Qiren immediately knew that something must have gone very wrong.

“Nie Huaisang is scared,” he said, his own golden eyes wide and round as the moon, his voice trembling as if this news was the worst thing that could ever happen. Indeed, Lan Qiren could not think of any instances in which he had known Nie Huaisang to suffer the emotion of fear: laziness, impertinence, annoyance, any number of emotions, yes, but never fear. “Shufu…”

“Where is he?” Lan Qiren asked, already rising to his feet – Lan Xichen, with whom he had been having tea, had already leapt up.

“Is Mingjue-xiong here as well?” he asked anxiously. “Is he well?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes filled up with tears and he shook his head furiously, his voice failing him, and Lan Qiren held out a hand to him. Lan Wangji put his smaller hand in his and started tugging him out the door. When he met the Nie boys at the gate, it was already after dinner, late by Lan standards with the sun already mostly set, and Nie Mingjue was unexpectedly wearing one of his winter cloaks; perhaps it was that which deceived Lan Qiren’s eyes, hiding his appearance until they returned with him to his rooms, or else it was simply that he had difficulty believing the evidence of his own vision.

“What happened?” he demanded, his hands gentle but determined on Nie Mingjue’s shoulders as he guided the boy into his well-lit home, forcing him at once to sit when he saw the state of him. Nie Mingjue was a mess: a black eye and a split lip, bruises on his cheek and his collarbone; his fingers were trembling and it was unclear what other injuries there was under his clothing. “Where’s Lao Nie?”

Nie Mingjue flinched when he asked; Nie Huaisang, following in behind him, burst into tears. He, at least, looked more shaken than actually injured: his lips were chapped from what must have been a blisteringly fast flight and there was a bruise at his brow, but one that seemed more like the sort that one would get from knocking into something by accident, rather than a fight gone horribly wrong.

Lan Qiren felt something cold slither up his spine.

“Where’s Lao Nie?” he asked again, suddenly afraid of the answer. “Did you come here by yourselves..?”

Technically permissible, given that Nie Mingjue was probably fifteen, but Lao Nie would never have allowed such a thing – and yet Nie Mingjue nodded dully.

“You need a doctor!” Lan Xichen said, and Nie Mingjue started violently, then reached out and caught Lan Xichen’s wrist before he could go to fetch one.

“Don’t,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t, no. I don’t want anyone to know. I only came here because – because Huaisang –”

“I’m not letting you go back alone!” Nie Huaisang shouted, and his voice was hoarse, too, almost squeaking with the effort needed to speak. “I’m not! You promised you’d stay with me!”

Nie Mingjue averted his eyes.

“Da-ge…!”

Lan Qiren swallowed down his fear. “Xichen, get the medical supplies from my travel bag,” he instructed, interrupting the imminent battle between brothers, and Lan Xichen moved at once. “Wangji, fetch them both some water; Huaisang, you will drink the water before you lose any more of your voice. Mingjue…tell me what happened.”

The story, when it came out, was worse than Lan Qiren could have imagined.

A night-hunt gone wrong, that was with the realm of his expectation – a night-hunt against an especially vicious yao, a wild boar gone mad with the season and having cultivated to great strength, near-human in its cunning and malice but purely bestial in its unending strength. Such things had been the end of many cultivators, no matter how talented or powerful; it would have been something not unlike that which had put an end to the life of the light-hearted Cangse Sanren and her valorous husband.

But the rest of the story…

“Jiwei shattered?” Lan Qiren asked, unable to believe it. “Jiwei? How could that happen?”

“It was Wen Ruohan,” Nie Mingjue said, wiping his streaming eyes. “I could feel it, just before it happened – I felt him. His cultivation. He did something to Jiwei, all those months ago, that stupid party…he patted her a few times, I don’t know what he did. A-die’s been complaining ever since then that something seemed wrong, but he couldn’t quite say what it was so he just disregarded it.”

Lan Qiren swallowed again, his throat abruptly very dry. “That’s an accusation of murder against another sect leader, Mingjue,” he said carefully. “To say such a thing could lead the whole cultivation world into war.”

Nie Mingjue – honest, straightforward Nie Mingjue – looked up at him with red eyes. “But it’s true, Teacher Lan. He did it. I’m sure of it.”

Lan Qiren didn’t doubt him. Nie Mingjue might be young, but he was an exceptional cultivator. He wouldn’t have made a mistake of this type, not with something like this. And given his earnest, serious, and righteous nature, he wouldn’t speak lightly, either – if he said it, it meant he believed it; if he believed it, it was more than likely true.

Wen Ruohan had shattered Jiwei.

Whatever his motives, whether they were political or personal, whether he was avenging some grudge or perhaps just irate that Lao Nie had decided against sharing his bed or what – he had destroyed a spiritual weapon, which would be an abominable move under any circumstances but which was so much worse when the blade and master were so closely connected and intertwined as Lao Nie and Jiwei were.

Had been.

“And – Lao Nie – he…” Lan Qiren’s heart shook in his chest. “Is he…”

“He’s not dead,” Nie Huaisang said, and Lan Qiren’s knees went soft in relief. “But he’s not – he doesn’t act right.”

“Not right?” Lan Xichen asked. He was sitting next to Nie Mingjue, dabbing warm water on the wounds on his face; he clearly would have preferred to summon a doctor at once, and was equally clearly itching to tear off Nie Mingjue’s robes to get at the untended wounds that doubtless lay hidden there. “What do you mean?”

“He keeps asking for her,” Nie Huaisang said. His voice was high-pitched with stress; his hand was clenched around Lan Wangji’s, knuckles white, grip so tight that it must have hurt, although Lan Wangji said nothing to indicate any discomfort, even if he noticed it. “He’s always asking for someone to bring him his saber, asking where Jiwei is – even when we showed him the pieces, he didn’t recognize them. And he doesn’t recognize us, either!”

“What do you mean, he doesn’t recognize you?” Lan Qiren asked, voice sharp. “He doesn’t know who you are?”

“He thinks we’re his enemies,” Nie Huaisang said. “He doesn’t – he doesn’t believe us when we say we’re his children, he thinks we’re other people – calls us names I don’t recognize – he thinks we’re keeping Jiwei from him on purpose, and he gets angry. Teacher Lan, he gets so angry…”

Lan Qiren’s fingernails dug into the flesh of his palms. “Mingjue,” he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could. “Mingjue, A-Jue…how did you get those injuries?”

He’d thought that it was left over from the fight with the boar yao. Nie Mingjue had said he was there, that he’d finished the job after everyone was frozen because of what happened to Jiwei, after Lao Nie had nearly gotten gored with a tusk, and it was plausible.  And yet, Lan Qiren knew too well how fearsome Lao Nie was in the midst of his rage, how violent, how vicious, how callous.

It was rage he would never turn against those he loved. But if he didn’t recognize them –

“Some are from the boar,” Nie Mingjue finally whispered, his head bowed in silent admission that that was not the source of all of his wounds. An admission that some of them had come from Lao Nie’s hand, and oh – that hurt most of all, to think of how Lao Nie would hate what he’d done. Lao Nie despised those who raised their fists to their own kin the most; he called them cowards, pathetic, monsters in human flesh.

He would hate more than any other what he had become at Wen Ruohan’s hands.

“What do the doctors say?” he asked, voice sticking in his throat.

Nie Mingjue’s head lowered still further. “Wait.”

He did not mean – they did not mean – that time would heal this illness.

They meant for him to wait until Lao Nie died.

“I will return with you to the Unclean Realm,” Lan Qiren decided, and Nie Mingjue started crying in abrupt relief.

“I didn’t dare hope – I just needed someone to watch Huaisang,” he said, stuttering over his words, face in his hands as he wept. “A-die said we could always come to you –”

“You’re not leaving me behind,” Nie Huaisang shouted at once, although his face was pale. “Da-ge, he’s my father too -”

“Your cultivation isn’t anywhere near strong enough to stand up to him! You need to be safe, Huaisang –”

“And you don’t? Da-ge! Teacher Lan, tell him!”

Lan Qiren held up a hand, calling for silence. “Huaisang,” he said sternly. “You wish to return because you fear for your brother, which is admirable – ‘be loyal and filial’. Yet remember that you must also extend faith to others. Do you trust me to make sure Mingjue is safe?”

After a moment, Nie Huaisang jerked his head in a nod.

“You will stay here with Xichen and Wangji,” Lan Qiren said. “Mingjue and I will go, and I will do what I can. To the best of my ability, I will not permit him to be harmed.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, comforted, and Lan Wangji solemnly squeezed his hand. They were young and easily deceived; but Lan Xichen, who was older, had not yet lost the look of concern on his face – unlike the younger two, he knew the vast difference in strength between Lao Nie and Lan Qiren.

If Lan Qiren were the more meticulous, the more targeted, then Lao Nie was still the blazing sun in comparison to his dim candle. Lan Qiren had never been permitted to leave the Cloud Recesses in search of adventure, had barely even been allowed to go to night-hunts to try to win fame lest he die and leave the Lan sect with a power vacuum, and even before that, as a child, he had been promising but painfully slow; he had always relied on Lao Nie for matters that called for sheer power. No matter how much Lan Qiren had cultivated through meditation and music and orthodox swordsmanship, enough for a golden core that shone brightly with a clear and pure light, it was nowhere near enough to give him the strength to stop Lao Nie if he was in the midst of a rampage.

Lan Qiren was no match for Lao Nie.

Lan Xichen knew that. Equally so, he knew that Lan Qiren obeyed their Lan sect rules as if they were a heavenly mandate: he would not lie.

To the best of his ability, he would not permit Nie Mingjue to be harmed – even if it cost him his own life.

It very well might.

“What’s your condition? How long do you need to rest before you can fly again?” he asked Nie Mingjue. If he could, Lan Qiren would side with Nie Huaisang and force Nie Mingjue to stay in the Cloud Recesses as well, to heal from wounds both external and internal – he might be as tall as a grown man, but Nie Mingjue was the same age as most of Lan Qiren’s students, most of them less than a year or two into night-hunting and convinced of their own immortality, foolish with confidence and deeply vulnerable beneath that. Nie Mingjue himself was steadier, had been night-hunting for years since Lao Nie had no plausible basis to deny him the right to it, but the hunted, scared look in his tear-reddened eyes showed that he was still just as fragile.

And yet, without him, Lan Qiren would not be allowed into the Unclean Realm.

He knew the protocols of the Qinghe Nie sect like the back of his hand: in such a dire situation they would retreat inside their fortress, bar the doors and refuse guests, wait for the storm to pass. They were brave and exuberant, always willing to rush out to be the first to face down evil, but they were also intensely private, each one of them. When the hurt came from the inside, they would hide the truth of it more thoroughly than they would a treasure.

Lao Nie would not be able to counter-order them – so Nie Mingjue had to be the one.

He’ll be sect leader next if Lao Nie dies, Lan Qiren thought, and felt abruptly sick to his stomach.

The Nie sect valued martial strength much more than the Lan sect, prized their saber spirits above all else, even safety; Nie Mingjue wouldn’t be forced to give up saber training or night-hunting the way Lan Qiren had had to. But the demands of the position of sect leader were relentless, taxing beyond belief, and something would have to give – it would be everything else that would need to be sacrificed.

All of Nie Mingjue’s softness, the hobbies he enjoyed in his spare time, the books he liked to read; his time with friends, his inclination to play, to read, to learn, to do things for pleasure, his ability to act spontaneously without first thinking of what it might mean for his sect. Even the tears that flowed so easily down his face now would become a luxury he could not afford, a weakness he would need to hide away until only a few close friends could see it.

His sect elders would probably want him married off as soon as possible, too, and never mind that he was too young – Nie Huaisang was still young, too young, but he’d never been especially promising, not the way Nie Mingjue was, and the Nie sect elders knew very well how the saber spirit worked, how the most talented were often the earliest to die. Lan Qiren had a letter on his desk from Lao Nie, only a few months old, complaining that they were already pressing for him to find an engagement for his eldest.

If they had their way, they would put Nie Mingjue to stud at once, hoping for at least three strong sons to carry on the family name by the time he died, and in so doing would selfishly sacrifice any hope he might have of finding love…

“I can keep going at once,” Nie Mingjue said, and Lan Qiren leveled him with a stern look. “I can! Teacher Lan, trust me, I know myself. Let me meditate as you get ready; two incense sticks and I’ll be capable of the return journey.”

“Take a shichen,” Lan Qiren instructed, and glared Nie Mingjue into silence when he tried to protest. “The journey to Qinghe is long, and we will need to make stops along the way regardless to recover the strength to continue. Overexerting yourself could damage your cultivation, and that’s the last thing we need right now. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Teacher Lan,” Nie Mingjue said. He was as headstrong as any Nie, but on everything but a matter of principle he generally erred in favor of obedience; a good, filial child. He would need to get rid of that trait, too, if he were to become sect leader…

“It will take that long for me to get matters in place for my departure,” Lan Qiren added, a comfort, and he had the pleasure of seeing Nie Mingjue’s shoulders inch down a little from his ears. “Xichen, go to the kitchens; tell them we require something warm – soup for sure, and preferably a meat dish, if there is any. Do not accept no as an answer.”

Lan Xichen barely took the time to nod before he was out the door. Nie Mingjue was already folding himself down into a sitting pose to meditate, drinking the water Lan Wangji had brought him, and Lan Qiren looked at his second nephew and his best friend’s second son.

“Wangji,” he said, and Lan Wangji looked at him at once, seriousness written into every line of him. “Take Huaisang back to your quarters and keep him there, hidden from notice. As few people as possible should know that he is here at all, and even fewer where he is being kept.”

There was a glimmer of fear in Lan Wangji’s eyes as he absorbed the implications of that – that there were those that might want to take advantage of the crisis to harm the Nie sect, even here in the Cloud Recesses, that Nie Huaisang was the most vulnerable of them all with his weak golden core and no defender by his side, that he could be subject to death or kidnapping or worse – but he nodded deeply, saluted as best as he could without releasing Nie Huaisang’s hand from his own, and tugged Nie Huaisang along with him.

“Da-ge…?” Nie Huaisang asked, twisting to look at Nie Mingjue, who nodded encouragement at him. With a sniff and a swipe of his nose on his sleeve, he finally went, trailing behind Lan Wangji.

Lan Qiren busied himself with the preparations he needed to make – he hated to plan a journey that did not have a set endpoint, but he’d gotten better at it and this was one in which it was clearly necessary. As far as he knew, he might never make it back to the Cloud Recesses, and Wen Ruohan would have struck down two sects in a single blow.

It was, in all truth, pure foolishness for him to go. All the sect elders would advise against it, marshaling any number of citations to the rules and arguments to support them.

Lan Qiren didn’t care.

He could think of dozens of rules to cite as rebuttals, his heart hurting in his chest all the while, but in the end he could only think about how taking the time to argue at all would delay him, how it would extend Lao Nie’s suffering if he dithered and debated instead of acting swiftly. Lan Qiren might die, yes, but he had to try to help. He owed it to Lao Nie to do anything he could.

He owed it to himself.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Unfettered - part 2 - previous parts: on ao3 or tumblr part 1

It’s time. Come back.

Awareness came slowly and fitfully.

His body felt heavy, weighed down - it was as if his spirit had gone roaming freely and returned only reluctantly, sinking back into the skin and bone and flesh that bound it, the return voluntarily but begrudging, like an ox submitting to the yoke or a donkey to its bridle. There were times when he was there, awake but unable to get up the strength even to open his eyes, only barely aware of the world around him in the murmur of voices, the smell of food, the consistent feeling of spiritual energy being transferred into his body. There were times he was not awake at all.

One day, he heard a child laugh.

That was strange enough to catch his attention – it had been a long time since there were children here in the place where he slept, a place so familiar to him that he could feel where he was in his bones.  It had been even longer since there were children who laughed.

It’s time. Wake up.

He did not wake all at once. It was a gradual process, slow – he had to struggle against the infinite heaviness of his eyelids, the sopor that kept trying to steal him back into the dark, but he did struggle. He tried, he strained, he pushed, he forced.

He summoned the rage that was his birthright and said to his body, we have been friends these many years, I have honed you as I did a beloved blade, you will not stand in my way in this.

He woke.

A child was laughing.

“Be careful, A-Song,” a voice, unfamiliar to him but gentle, said. It was male, young, and kind. He thought perhaps he had expected someone else. “Remember, you must not disturb the array.”

“I won’t touch it, gege,” the child said cheerfully. “I’ll be good, and then A-Ling will come visit us!”

“When he can, A-Song. It may not be for a while, because of the war…”

A weight settled on his chest at the word – war – and he almost lost his will to wake, not wanting to return to everything that word entailed: the pressure of all the expectations that rested on his shoulders, the stress and fear of the decisions he was forced to make, the guilt at each life lost and the butchers’ bills that piled up on his desk, the exhaustion and pain that followed the slog of life at the battlefront, adrenaline melting away to leave him feeling vacant and empty…

Duty was duty, though. Even in war.

Especially in war.

He forced his eyes open, staring at the ceiling for long moments as the noises of a child playing continued around him, the soft voice alternatively praising and gently chiding him. After a while, his gaze stabilized enough for him to recognize that above him was his own ceiling in his own room in his own home.

He could always tell, thanks to the drawings right above his face – his brother had once insisted on sitting on his shoulders while he stood on the bed so that he could reach the ceiling to carve something into the wood and stone. Something that would make him smile every morning that he opened his eyes, his brother claimed, his own eyes curved into a smile of his own, and he had never been able to resist his little brother anything that would make him happy.

He swallowed several times, wetting his throat, and asked in a voice little better than a rasp, “How goes the war?”

He meant where is my brother, is he well, is he whole, he meant what has happened to my sect, he meant what has happened to me. But duty called, and so he asked instead – how goes the war.

It helped, he supposed, that the words were familiar on his tongue, even as his throat and lips ached the strain of having to speak for the first time in what must have been a while. How goes the war – it had been his watchword for years now, all throughout the Sunshot Campaign and even before, the first question in the morning and the last question at night. How goes the war.

“Gege! Gege!” the child shrieked. “He said something!”

“No, I – but��did… – Sect Leader Nie…?” The unfamiliar voice was deeply surprised, almost shockingly so – how long had he been asleep? “Sect Leader Nie, did you say something? Please confirm.”

Sect Leader Nie.

Yes, that was how they called him. That was who he was: Sect Leader Nie, Chifeng-zun. 

Nie Mingjue.

He had forgotten it, for a moment, the name and the weight of it, all the responsibilities that went with it, but now he remembered.

Nie Mingjue struggled to force himself up on his elbows, trying to look further around the room – it felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done, harder than moving through waist-deep muck through a swamp, which he’d also done, more than once.

As he’d expected, there was a man there, and a child. Both were unfamiliar to him, he thought, even if he did not entirely trust his memory at the moment. They were both gaping at him.

Well, gaping at his general direction, in the case of the man. He was dressed in white, like the Lan sect did, but the narrow band of white that they had in common encircled his eyes, not his forehead – he was blind.

No, Nie Mingjue was sure of it now: this man was totally unfamiliar to him.

The child was, too, but that was less of a surprise, given that he was only two or three at the utmost, the age children changed the most, and after all Nie Mingjue had been away fighting the wars for several years; it was reasonable not to recognize him. 

But a man he did not recognize, here, in his own bedroom..?

“The war,” he rasped again, and swallowed to try to clear his throat. That was the only thing he could think of that might explain it. “My brother…?”

“Oh,” the man said, not especially intelligently. “The Pallbearer isn’t here – he’s away. There’s a war.”

The – what?

Nie Mingjue narrowed his eyes and forced them to focus, realizing that what he had taken for a man was little more than a teenager, certainly younger than twenty. Old enough to fight in the war, regrettably, but he supposed the blindness might keep him from it. It was sometimes hard to tell, with cultivators, how much they would be impacted by something like that.

“My brother,” he insisted. He wasn’t dead; what did he care about where some pallbearer - technically, the phrase meant ‘virtuous mourner’, or possibly ‘person whose virtue is in their mourning’, but either way it was a strange appellation - was? What he wanted was – “My brother.”

The child had been hiding behind the young man in white, but he popped his head around to stare at him, tugging at the young man’s robes. “Isn’t he Nie-er-ge’s brother?”

“Yes, he is,” the man said automatically, then flushed, ducking his head. He was very handsome, almost pretty, and at some point when Nie Mingjue didn’t feel like drowning in his own exhaustion he would spare a bit more time to wondering why he had been left here at his bedside, whether it was because he was the only one who could be spared or if it was for his own protection or both. “Ah, forgive me, Sect Leader Nie, of course you wouldn’t – your brother is away at the moment, but I will send him word at once. He’ll be so happy to hear that you’ve awoken.”

Nie Mingjue let himself slide back down from his elbows, his most severe worry assuaged – Nie Huaisang was alive, he was fine, he was safe. That was good.

Now he could concern himself with the war, he supposed. Although…

“Wasn’t the war…over?” he asked the ceiling. He thought he remembered that it was, the vague memories of seeing Wen Ruohan’s body hit the floor burnt into his brain as if with a brand – it was so different from what he had dreamt of for so many years that he thought it must be true. And with Wen Ruohan dead, his sons dead, who would continue to fight? Some small pockets of the truly devoted, maybe, but surely not the bulk of the forces…?

He didn’t remember. There was something there just beyond his memory, and he was abruptly struck with the feeling that he wasn’t sure he wanted to remember.

There was a whisper of cloth, the man beside him shifting from side to side in awkwardness. Probably trying to decide if he should stand here and answer questions or go to send out the alert about his reawakening at once.

“You are correct, Sect Leader Nie,” he finally said. “The Sunshot Campaign ended…it’s a new war.”

A new war, Nie Mingjue thought, and closed his eyes for a brief moment to stave off the pain of it. It wasn’t that he hadn’t discussed the possibility that something like that would happen with his sect’s elders during his war counsels, the fact that wrecking the established system of the Five Great Sects might lead to a power vacuum and more fighting, but the alternative of submitting to Wen tyranny had been worse; they had had no choice but to hope that their worst fears would not come to pass.

In vain, it seemed.

“I should – go tell someone,” the young man said. “I’ll go –”

“Go,” Nie Mingjue agreed. “Return after, and then you can…what’s your name, anyway?”

“Xiao Xingchen,” the young man said. “Disciple of Baoshan Sanren…you wouldn’t have heard of me. Your brother took me in after I lost my eyes.”

Baoshan Sanren? Another disciple of the immortal mountain? Surely Nie Mingjue would have heard of something like that happening – it would have been the talk of the cultivation world, ongoing war or no. But he hadn’t heard anything, and this Xiao Xingchen fellow didn’t expect him to. And that meant…

“How long have I slept?” he asked. No, not asked. Demanded.

“Oh, I definitely can’t answer that one,” Xiao Xingchen said, sounding genuinely distressed. “I’m going to go get someone who can.”

He dashed out of the room in a swirl of white that Nie Mingjue saw out of the corner of his eye. A moment later, he heard a small shuffling sound and, with a slight groan, lifted himself back up again to look at the child, who had lingered even after his guardian had departed.

The boy was wearing Nie colors in familiar styles – Nie Mingjue thought it might even be some of Nie Huaisang’s old clothes, which he’d found himself unable to throw away even after they’d long been outgrown. He’d ultimately ordered them to be stored in hopes of preserving it for the next generation - his son, or maybe his nephew.

The shape of the boy’s face wasn’t remotely Nie, though, so he thought perhaps he might be an orphan or something. Another person his brother had taken in, perhaps, the way he had the blind Xiao Xingchen?

Had his brother been forced to run the sect while he slept? He must have. That had been what Nie Mingjue had always intended for him, wanting his brother’s cool head to guide the next generation, but he had not thought that it would be so soon…he thought he would have time to help guide Nie Huaisang into being sect leader, to ease the way, to show him how things were done and what was important. To let him become the wonderful sect leader Nie Mingjue had always been sure he would be, the one their sect deserved –

He’d wanted to make the transition less abrupt than his own elevation to the position at his father’s death, to make sure the position of sect leader didn’t consume Nie Huaisang as it had Nie Mingjue, who didn’t have any hobbies or pastimes except for spoiling his little brother, Nie Mingjue who barely remembered what or who he was outside of the work he did.

He’d wanted to leave Nie Huaisang to govern their sect through a world of peace, not war.

Clearly he’d failed.

Despite these gloomy thoughts of his, he tried to smile at the child. “Hello,” he said. “Your name is – A-Song?”

The child nodded, edging closer – closer, but not too close, and the reason for his hesitation was clearly, upon further inspection, that he didn’t want to cross over onto the lines of the complicated array painted onto the ground around the bed. Nie Mingjue hadn’t seen it before, and he didn’t recognize it.

“What’s that for?” he asked, nodding at the softly glowing lines, which he could feel were full of spiritual power.

“It’s to make you feel better,” A-Song answered promptly in the know-it-all tone of a child who had clearly asked a similar question in the past. “Nie-er-ge repaints it all by himself every week, Xiao-gege helps keep it running, and I help, too!”

“You do?”

“Yeah! I’m the – the – I make it less boring!”

“Ah, I see! You’re the entertainment? That’s a very important job.”

A-Song nodded so rapidly that Nie Mingjue was slightly worried his head would come tumbling off his shoulders, and he had to suppress a smile at the sight. He’d always liked children, and this one seemed…strangely familiar, for all that Nie Mingjue was sure A-Song wasn’t a Nie.

“What’s your surname?” he asked, and A-Song frowned, scuffling one foot behind the other. “Don’t you know?”

“I know!” A-Song exclaimed. “It’s Jin! I’m Jin Rusong!”

Nie Mingjue could feel his eyes going wide in surprise, surprise and even shock that stabbed deeply into him. Ru- was the next generation’s name for the Jin sect, following after Zi- for the current generation and Guang- for the previous one – there had been much discussion of that towards the end of the last war, as it had been a clear insult framed as a compliment when Meng Yao had been offered the name of Jin Guangyao so shorty after the Nightless City.

Meng Yao -

The Nightless City, Wen Ruohan, Meng Yao…

Nie Mingjue remembered.

How could he not? In his memory, it had been only a few weeks before.

They had been mopping things up in the aftermath of Wen Ruohan’s death, and Nie Mingjue had been absent without leave from the medical tent more often than not, unable to refuse the calling of his duty even though his health (and any number of his subordinates) demanded he rest and recover. It hadn’t been easy: his mind had still been fuzzy from the aftereffects of the torment he’d suffered in and after Yangquan, the torture on the way to Wen Ruohan’s palace and again within it. The dizziness had impeded his ability to work, causing him to lose track of time or to grow abruptly distant and forgetful.

At the time, it had seemed that everything he remembered was unreliable – he’d thought, at first, that Meng Yao had done certain terrible things while he was in the Sun Palace, truly terrible and unforgivable things, the sorts of things that would make Nie Mingjue obligated to denounce him and Meng Yao worthy only of execution no matter what his good deeds might have been. But Meng Yao had said he was misremembering, that it hadn’t happened that way at all, that his mind was damaged from the torture and the fight with Wen Ruohan, and Lan Xichen had vouched for Meng Yao with all sincerity.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t been sure at first, had been so certain that he was right, that he remembered correctly and that Meng Yao was simply lying to him, but they had both seemed so sincere…and in the end Nie Mingjue hadn’t really wanted to believe that Meng Yao would do things like that anyway. He hadn’t wanted to think that someone he trusted would do that, that he’d so misjudged him. And that had made it – not easy, no, but it had made it make sense to accept their version of events over his own, even if it made him sick and anxious to think that his mind was so unreliable and untrustworthy.

Still, accepting it had meant that Nie Mingjue could agree to swear brotherhood with Lan Xichen and Meng Yao, as they both wanted so very much. It meant he could congratulate Meng Yao when he received the letter indicating that he would soon be his father’s recognition and the name Jin Guangyao. It meant that he could invite him to dinner at his camp to raise a glass together in honor of his accomplishment, to wish him good fortune and the best of luck for his new life.

It meant that when, in the middle of their dinner together, the wonderful news came that Nie Fengjun and Nie Xiaopeng had survived their injuries at the Nightless City, the ones that had kept them bedridden for so long getting infusions of spiritual energy and being fed drugs to keep them asleep so that they didn’t tear their throats open again by trying to talk, he could smile at Meng Yao – no, Jin Guangyao, he had tried very hard to remember to call him that and had still mostly failed – and tell him with joy that there were two deaths he no longer had on his conscience. 

He could ask him to wait a while when he went to talk to them, promising to return soon.

It meant that he could take a few steps towards the door, Baxia far away on her stand and not in his hand, his back unguarded against the man who had sworn before all the world to be his brother.

It meant that he could feel the cold string of the garotte when it settled over his throat and pulled tight, cutting off his air – that he could hear the humming of a Lan battle-song in his ear, the spiritual energy that he had been freely sharing with Meng Yao only moments before suddenly turned against him and starting to riot inside of him – the weakness inherent in his blood, the ancestral Nie tendency towards qi deviation, abruptly pressed upon and galvanized from within –  

If you yell, the first person through the door will be your brother and I will gut him like a fish, Meng Yao had hissed in his ear, and Nie Mingjue had stopped struggling for just a moment, horrified by the thought.

Horrified at being attacked by someone who knew his most dangerous weaknesses.

By someone he trusted.

The pause had been a mistake, of course. There’d been poison on the garrote, he thought, and the battle song and his rioting qi had let it in easier than it might have otherwise.

Meng Yao really was a perfect assassin.

But why me, why now, I don’t want to go so soon, I haven’t even had a chance to live yet, he remembered thinking, more fear and hurt than anger, and then there was nothing but darkness.

And now –

And now there was a child called Ru-, the next generation down from Zi-, and he was already two or three of age.

“How long have I slept?” he demanded, struggling to sit up. “How long has it been? Huaisang!”

How long have I abandoned you?

Xiao Xingchen ran back into the room not long after, looking horrified by Nie Mingjue’s burst of temper, pointless and impotent as it was. “Sect Leader Nie, please calm yourself,” he exclaimed. “I’ve already sent word out, and I’m sure your brother will be here soon. Please, stop moving – don’t damage the array…!”

Nie Mingjue forced himself to calm, his fingers digging into the bedding as he fought to control his temper –

Now is not the time.

– but he finally managed with a few deep breaths to stop feeling as if he was drowning in dark thoughts, in fears, in horror at himself and what he had inadvertently allowed, at what he had lost.

A few breaths later, and he stopped struggling.

At that point, it occurred to him that something was strange.

Based on his experience with being injured, and with his warlike sect he had plenty of that, Nie Mingjue would have expected that a fit like the one he had just had would have meant that he’d be swarmed by doctors. That was what was usual for this sort of situations, a giant bevy of doctors always just a few steps away, standing at the ready to force opinions down his throat about what he should and shouldn’t be doing – that had been what it had been like with his father, at least at first, and then later on it had been something he had been forced to accustom himself to as sect leader.

(First rule of being sect leader: don’t get knocked unconscious if at all possible. Not because the sect won’t manage without you, but because you’ll have to deal with doctors fussing at you for ages thereafter.)

Strangely enough, though, this time the doctors didn’t come. It was only Xiao Xingchen, dropping down to survey the array with his fingers, murmuring and infusing it with bright and pure spiritual energy that Nie Mingjue could feel soaking into his meridians, into his bones and muscles and bones.

Presumably this was the reason his body had not atrophied, in the – it must have been years since he –

He took another deep breath.

“Forgive me,” he said to Xiao Xingchen, and then again to Jin Rusong, who was hiding behind something. “I did not mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” Jin Rusong said with a great deal of grace, and probably too much equanimity for someone his age. “I don’t mind. It happens.”

To so easily disregard such a show of temper suggested that the boy had either had a hard early life or very calm parents, or maybe both. Nie Mingjue did not like to think of it, although he himself had been quickly inured to such things, after his father…

Best not to think about that. Best not to think about how it might have – what might have happened to him, after Meng Yao’s surprise attack.

(He hoped that he had succumbed to the poison or the suffocation instead of the qi deviation, since Baxia had, he hoped, remained intact; he could not be sure of it, since the assassin had been Meng Yao, who had known how best to hurt him. He hoped that he did not linger - did not lose himself to rage - did not have to be put down - that Nie Huaisang had not had to make the choices he himself had long ago had to make.)

“You didn’t call for any doctors?” Nie Mingjue asked Xiao Xingchen, trying not to think about those foul memories and the dark suspicions that swirled in his mind.

“I have some medical skills,” Xiao Xingchen said. “Not…many, and not as many as I used to have, but some, if you’d like me to check you over?”

“I’m not concerned for me,” Nie Mingjue said, rolling his eyes. He’d propped himself up against the headboard, an activity that had drained most of his remaining energy. “I’m just – why didn’t you call any doctors?”

“Ah,” Xiao Xingchen said. “I see.”

“I’m glad that you understand,” Nie Mingjue said, eliding to mention the matter of sight. They were not on such familiar terms that he could make a joke over it, and it was clear from Xiao Xingchen’s occasional if very graceful clumsiness that the blindness was new. “Would you also like to elaborate?”

“Sect Leader Nie is off-limits to anyone without permission to enter,” Xiao Xingchen said, folding his hands in front of him. “Especially in the event that you wake up.”

“I understand,” Nie Mingjue said, and he did.

He had had some time to think about what had happened to him back then, about the timing of those two survivors from the Nightless City waking up and Meng Yao’s sudden attack – he still didn’t have any answers, didn’t understand why Meng Yao turned against him so suddenly, but he had his suspicions.

Suspicions - and regrets.

If he hadn’t chosen to believe Meng Yao over the evidence of his own eyes and ears, would he have ended up like this, leaving Nie Huaisang alone for years on end?

There wasn’t any point to that line of thinking, though. Might as well say that if Nie Mingjue hadn’t been conditioned for years and years by his sect to have a mortal fear of his own qi, filling him with terror that one day he would become like his father – sick, with a mind full of hallucinations tormenting him and leading him astray – then maybe he wouldn’t have been so ready to disregard his own perception in favor of another’s, and of course there was no one to blame for that.

“Your brother will be here soon,” Xiao Xingchen said. “And once he is, I’m sure he’ll want the doctors to look you over. It’s only, you understand, without him to supervise, he doesn’t – he –”

“He doesn’t trust anyone,” Nie Mingjue said, and felt a pang of grief. Nie Huaisang had always trusted more readily than he had, the extroverted younger brother to his introverted and even misanthropic elder. The differences between them had in large part been caused by Nie Mingjue’s elevation to sect leader – too soon, too fast – and the discomfort and distance that created between him and those he thought had been his friends. And now, to his regret, the position would have done its work on Nie Huaisang as well. “I understand.”

“I’m not sure if you do,” Xiao Xingchen said. “He trusts – quite a few people, I’d say. There’s his people in the sect, of course, his cousins and deputies and all that, but he’s also on very good terms with quite a lot of the cultivation world: Sandu Shengshou, Yiling Laozu, Zewu-jun, Hanguang-jun…almost all the important people, really.”

Nie Mingjue noted the absence of Jin Guangyao’s name or title.

Good.

“It’s just – you’re very important to him. More than you might think.”

“I raised him,” Nie Mingjue said. “From the time he was a child, he was my only family. The only things I had in life were my sect and him, and even my sect I wouldn’t have placed above him, and he knew it – I think I understand my importance to him. It’s the same for me, with him.”

“Perhaps,” Xiao Xingchen said, looking wistful. “Perhaps. That does explain rather a lot, I think.”

Nie Mingjue made himself more comfortable. “Who’s the child?” he asked. “He said he was surnamed Jin, but I assume the Jin sect is who we’re at war with?”

“You’re very perceptive,” Xiao Xingchen remarked. “How did you know?”

“The seeds of a new war can be found in the end of the last one,” Nie Mingjue said. “It would have always been the Jin sect. I’m surprised that it actually came to a head so soon, that’s all – they’ve always preferred being subtle and sly, politicking to outright fighting. I wouldn’t have thought they’d declare open war.”

“Why do you assume they were the ones who’d declare war?”

Because of who was left behind, Nie Mingjue thought. Lan Xichen who tries to see the good in everyone, Jiang Cheng who is insecure about what he can and cannot be, Wei Wuxian with his armies of the dead that he so very clearly never wanted…and my brother, who knows better.

My brother, who loves peace and hates war the way only a child born into the thick of it would; my brother, who’s so terribly clever underneath all his laziness; my brother who knows that war is fought as much in the hearts of men as on the battlefield –

No, he wouldn’t be the one to declare war.

Not even for me.

“Weren’t they?” he asked.

“Well, yes,” Xiao Xingchen said. “Although in fairness, they were provoked.”

Nie Mingjue was sure they were. His brother, probably, or maybe Wei Wuxian – they were good at provocation. They could find something that even the Jin sect couldn’t tolerate.

From the way Xiao Xingchen turned his head towards Jin Rusong, an instinctive gesture for all that he couldn’t see the boy, it might have something to do with him. A small child surnamed Jin, and yet embarrassed to admit it…there was a story there that he would eventually need to learn.

Just as he would eventually need to ask the practical questions – questions like who’s leading the war effort, since Jiang Cheng was good at battle but shit at strategy, Wei Wuxian who was too reckless and reliant on flashy tactics that wore him out, Lan Xichen who was better as a courier than a general, Lan Wangji who was too independent, a lone wolf who’d never learned how to compromise enough to join a team, how are we paying for it, the eternal question of supply even more critical for three weakened Great Sects when set against the richest of them all, and of course how can I help.

But he was tired, and did not ask. He would gather the energy for war later. 

For now, he would be satisfied with something simpler, more straightforward: his brother’s well-being, confirmed not merely with words but by his own eyes, which he really ought to learn to trust.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before there was a noise outside the door, and Xiao Xingchen brightened in evident relief. “He’s here! A-Song, come with me, come say hello –”

They went out, and a moment later, the door opened and Nie Huaisang walked in.

Attuned as Nie Mingjue was to movement, that was the first thing he noticed: that his brother walked differently than he had before. It was more purposeful, striding rather than ambling, sharp, with as little wasted movement as possible – angry, always angry, but contained. It was not at all what he thought of when he thought of Nie Huaisang, who was usually more aimless and carefree, limbs tumbling everywhere; it was far more similar to the way Nie Mingjue used to carry himself, seemingly relaxed but in fact on guard against the world at all moments.

Nie Huaisang’s face, too, was different than Nie Mingjue remembered it being: it was thinner, sharper than it had been, with narrowed eyes and lips pressed together, his whole demeanor distrusting and forbidding. The last bits of baby fat had melted away, taking with it the impression of softness and tenderness that he had once exuded, the lazy and indolent air that had made him seem younger than he was.

No longer was he the feckless young man the Nie Mingjue had so carefully protected from the horrors of the world, and the thought sent a pang of pain through Nie Mingjue’s heart.

And yet, when Nie Huaisang walked into the room, looking irritated and exhausted, and his gaze fell upon the bed where Nie Mingjue had lain for longer than he cared to think about, when he saw Nie Mingjue propped up and awake, when their eyes met for the first time –

It all melted away, the child he had held in his hands abruptly recognizable once more.

“Da-ge!” Nie Huaisang wailed, and threw himself forward into Nie Mingjue’s waiting arms, heedless of the array that Xiao Xingchen has so worried himself over, heedless of the shocked expression on both Xiao Xingchen and Jin Rusong’s faces, heedless any residual injuries in his urgency. “Da-ge!”

All the questions Nie Mingjue had, and he had a lot – who is the Pallbearer what is the war who is fighting who have we lost what happened to me what happened to you – dashed out of his head at once.

There was only one question that mattered – are you safe – and the answer to that was in his arms. He clutched his baby brother to his chest with all his greatly diminished strength, tears springing to his eyes just as they filled Nie Huaisang’s, and they wept with joy to see each other again.

It’s time. At last.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Do you think it's would make a difference of the war aftermath, if nie huaisang Mother was a wen ?

Nie Mingjue had never really known what to do with Nie Huaisang’s mother, a feeling that was most decided mutual.

Concubines were quite common among the regular folk, but they were fairly rare for cultivators, a function of the relative rarity of female cultivators; virtually all the men Nie Mingjue knew preferred visiting prostitutes or setting up mistresses from the ranks of women who couldn’t cultivate over bringing them into the household.

And yet Nie Mingjue’s father brought her home, pale-faced and already pregnant, after having spent nearly two months away at a discussion conference to rehash the boundary lines, and married her according to their clan’s customs, bringing her into the household to stay.

There were whispers, of course. There’d been talk about how his father ought to have another son to replace Nie Mingjue ever since his mother had left as swiftly and unexpectedly as she’d arrived. But that sort of talk faded soon enough when a rumor leaked that the Wen sect had sent her to Nie Mingjue’s father’s quarters as entertainment, and had never expected him to marry her to legitimize the child.

Nie Mingjue didn’t hear about that until much later, when he was older, but he thought they might even be true – a disappointing failing in a man he’d always revered, but it wasn’t as if he could or would say anything about it. At least his father had always treated her well, no matter how she flinched and shied away from everything at the start. The rare few times Nie Mingjue saw her, she was always looking wan and sad as if she’d left her heart behind in Qishan.

Maybe she had.

But she was his father’s concubine, so it wasn’t as if Nie Mingjue could ask, nor do anything about it if he did.

She fell sick not long after the birth, which was a difficult one, and became bedridden; to ease her burden, Nie Mingjue quietly took over caring for the baby, his brother, with the intention of handing him back to her when she was better.

She eventually got better, mostly, but she didn’t take Nie Huaisang back.

Instead, she burst into tears at the sight of him, every time.

Nie Mingjue might be a child, and more inclined to be martial than cognizant of feelings, but he was still young enough to be hurt and indignant on his brother’s behalf. He still remembered the bitterness of asking why he didn’t have a mother only to learn that she had left him behind – he had no memories of her – and to think that this mother was right here, and yet…

In the end, he continued to raise Nie Huaisang as best as he could between training and classes and learning to be a sect leader, and began to treat her coldly, like a stranger.

Still, when his father lost his mind, she was the second person he thought to save, after securing Nie Huaisang’s safety: like a little bird, she was fragile and delicate, faded from years of self-imposed confinement even though Qinghe lacked the restrictive rules of Qishan – she wouldn’t last a minute against the full force of his father’s mad range that even he could only redirect, not stop.

(He woke up, later, to her trembling hands trying to apply healing salve onto his injuries, and he thought it might be the first time she’d ever looked directly at him. It didn’t last: she didn’t speak other than to ask him if Huaisang was all right, and he’d snapped in a helpless rage that she’d lost the right to ask him that years before, and after that they had mutually agreed that it would be best if he locked her in her room for her own protection until his father died.)

After that he became sect leader.

“I have a request,” she said to him one day, a few weeks later. “If you would grant it.”

Nie Mingjue shrugged and gestured for her to come into his office. Nie Huaisang was sitting in the corner painting a family picture – Nie Huaisang and Baxia, himself and Aituan – and he looked up briefly, curious to see what woman was brave enough to dare his brother’s temper, but the interest quickly drained out of his face after he’d managed to place her.

“You want to go back to Qishan?” Nie Mingjue asked when she seemed to be unable to speak. “My father is dead; surely your mother’s family would take you, if you didn’t mind the rumors.”

To his surprise, she paled and shook her head rapidly.

At his questioning look, she lowered her head and whispered, “The women of Qishan Wen cannot – it would be a disgrace. And it is – it’s a harsh place to live, cruel and unkind.”

Nie Mingjue had always supposed that to be the case, but he thought he might as well ask. “What, then?”

“I…I would like to bring someone here. If you don’t mind.”

Nie Mingjue’s eyebrows arched. His father hadn’t been in the ground a full month, and she wanted to move her lover in? He ought to cut off her head even for suggesting it.

But she was Nie Huaisang’s mother, however much he despised her for neglecting him, and so instead he said, “Who?”

She told him.

Baxia screamed in metal and Nie Mingjue was on his feet, feeling his eyes pound as his sight flickered red with rage: “You had children?!” he snarled at her, ignoring how her eyes went wide and she backed away from him even though after everything that had happened with his father he hated being feared the most. “You had children and you left them there?!”

“Da-ge, you’re blocking my light,” Nie Huaisang said, not looking up from his painting, and the moment Nie Mingjue saw how his knuckles had gone white around his brush he turned to face the wall to take deep breaths until he was calm again. He was still facing it when he heard Nie Huaisang speak again, his voice even. “You should leave, Concubine Wen.”

“I only –”

“It’s your fault he’s so angry,” Nie Huaisang said, and his voice was as mature as a seven year old could make it – mature, and angry as well, in his own way, really angry rather than throwing a temper tantrum that was halfway for effect. “Go away before you make it worse. We’ll have an answer for you later.”

She left.

A small hand made its way into Nie Mingjue’s, squeezing it lightly. It helped, a little. “What did she do?”

“She has children,” Nie Mingjue said, still staring at the wall. “A girl and a boy – their father died shortly before she met our father. She just…she left them behind in Qishan, which she clearly hates, and she never…she’s lived here for years. The boy’s only a year older than you. And I had no idea! She never once mentioned them, or visited, or let them visit, or – anything.”

“Why do you care?” Nie Huaisang asked, tone curious.

“Because it’s wrong,” Nie Mingjue said. “She abandoned them. Just like –”

He shut his mouth, unsure if he wanted to say you or me, but nevertheless Nie Huaisang’s hand tightened on his own, understanding.

A better man might think to himself that this loss was the reason behind her reluctance to get close to Nie Huaisang; Nie Mingjue, whose mother had left him behind and through another woman’s negligence became a parent when he was the same age as her older son would be now, had no space in his heart for sympathy, and all he felt was disappointment.

Still, it was not in the nature of the Qinghe Nie to do nothing when faced with an injustice.

It took a few months to make it work, painful negotiations with Wen Ruohan smirking at him across the table because he had something Nie Mingjue wanted and he knew it, but in the end he managed to arrange for the two children to come to visit Qinghe without explaining exactly why he wanted them.

Not to stay, because Wen Ruohan wouldn’t have leverage that way, but it was – something.

“Nie Huaisang can show you around,” Nie Mingjue told them, because they were obviously terrified of him and no one, not even little sheep-like Wen Ning, could be scared of Nie Huaisang. “And take you to meet your mother, if you like.”

“And what if we don’t?” Wen Qing asked, crossing her arms. She was a little older, though still a few years shy of Nie Mingjue’s age.

“Then don’t,” Nie Mingjue said shortly. “I brought you here for your sake, not hers.”

Somehow, and he really didn’t know how, that day had ended with him teaching Wen Ning how to shoot arrows to Nie Huaisang’s over-excited cheering and Wen Qing’s dramatic eye-rolling, and by the time they left they were calling him da-ge the way Nie Huaisang did, even Wen Qing.

He still wasn’t sure if they’d visited their mother.

But then – that wasn’t the point.

“They’re your brothers and sisters, you know,” he told Nie Huaisang, a slight frown marring his face. “They’re as close to you in blood as I am.”

“Obviously,” Nie Huaisang sniffed, rolling his eyes – an entire production when he did it, shoulders shrugging and head lolling. “Why do you think I told them to call you da-ge? Brother and sister of a brother; it’s close enough.”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes in return and cuffed him as a brat, but his heart was lightened, a little. From what he knew of the woman, the two Wen children might never have a proper mother, but that was fine; he could do that for them, the way he’d done it for Nie Huaisang, and this way Nie Huaisang would have a er-jie and a san-ge as well.

But the thought was easier said than done – Nie Mingjue was determined to go to war against Wen Ruohan to avenge his father’s murder, and it was difficult to balance that enmity with the need to ensure Wen Qing and Wen Ning remained safe, and were not considered hostages.

Jin Guangshan, of all people, ended up helping with that, his mouth so full of sly innuendo about pretty young Wen Qing that even Wen Ruohan seemed halfway convinced by it, and equally convinced that Nie Mingjue would get bored of her quickly enough, an impression Nie Mingjue did his best to encourage.

On the surface, he even let that seem to be the case, letting the visits cease and adopting a blank and uncaring expression any time she was mentioned.

When the war drew nearer, Wen Ruohan’s excesses more unforgivable, Nie Mingjue sent a missive – through five different layers of secrecy that Nie Huaisang had somehow concocted, and Nie Mingjue really didn’t want to think about how his useless baby brother figured out something his spies couldn’t – asking if Wen Qing and Wen Ning would be willing to seek refuge in Qinghe.

Wen Qing refused, but shared all the information she could, as a healer, in good conscience pass along. She thought they could do more to help people by staying where they were, and Nie Mingjue couldn’t fault her for that even if he disagreed – and she promised him that both she and Wen Ning were doing everything they could to fight against injustice, no matter what the circumstance.

Nie Mingjue tried his best to keep track of both of them.

He didn’t want to find them dead with a Nie saber in their chests, but he couldn’t let people know about their connection, either, or else it’d be a Wen sword in their backs instead. It was a hard balance to draw.

After Meng Yao killed Wen Ruohan, and the sun on earth fell from the sky at last, leaving all those surnamed Wen to pay for the sins of their clansmen, Nie Mingjue made it a priority to find them.

“You won’t be able to find anyone if you can’t walk,” Nie Huaisang scolded him, shoving him back down onto the bed. “I’ll go look for them myself. It’ll be fine.”

“If you can’t find them in any of the remaining Wen strongholds, try the prisoner of war camps,” Nie Mingjue said muzzily. He wasn’t sure what was in the medicine Nie Huaisang continuously poured down his throat, but it was very strong; he could scarcely feel how many broken ribs he had, but he couldn’t feel much else, either. “Maybe someone took them somewhere they’d be safe…”

“They’d better be safe. They promised.”

“Huaisang…”

“What if they’re not safe?” Nie Huaisang fretted. “They’re still surnamed Wen. Someone could be bullying them –”

Nie Mingjue reached out with a hand to pat Nie Huaisang’s knee. He missed the first few times, but eventually got it. “Don’t worry about it,” he said firmly. “They may be surnamed Wen, but they’re wards of Qinghe Nie; if you see someone bullying them, bully them back – who’d start something with us now?”

He was speaking lightly. Unfortunately, given that he was talking with Nie Huaisang, he probably shouldn’t have been.

“So, there’s good news and bad news,” Nie Huaisang announced, blowing into Nie Mingjue’s office. “Also, you shouldn’t be working.”

Nie Mingjue’d heard the same thing from about seven different people – “you’re still three broken bones over the work limit, Sect Leader” – but he was dying of boredom; they should all be happy he was voluntarily limiting himself to paperwork instead of seeing if willpower and some braces could stand up to a basic round of saber training.

“What’s the news?” he asked, then brightened when he saw Wen Ning trailing after him. “You found them!”

“I did! Well, Wen Ning, but he says Wen Qing is still free and looking for him, so I can’t imagine she’ll be that hard to find. Also, I may or may not have started a war by stabbing one of the Jin sect main family cultivators.”

Nie Mingjue stared at him.

“He was beating Wen Ning!”

Nie Mingjue glanced at Wen Ning, who looked anxious enough for it to be true. “Well, in that case, he deserved it,” he said, a little bit begrudgingly. “Is he dead?”

“Maybe?” Nie Huaisang thought about it. “…probably. You know how Aituan gets. I’m not sorry; Jin Zixun was an ass.”

“Did you at least challenge him to a duel first? It’ll make things easier if you did, though I suppose it’s not strictly necessary…”

“You’re not mad?” Wen Ning blurted out, wide-eyed. “Sect Leader Nie, if you have to fight another war because of me –”

“Against Lanling Jin?” Nie Mingjue snorted. “I could beat Jin Guangshan with both hands tied behind my back even if I were twice as injured as I am now, and that’s assuming he lets it get to a fight. He’ll want something else instead; the question will be to see if it’s something I’m willing to give.”

What he wanted was Wei Wuxian’s head on a platter, or at least his Stygian Tiger Seal.

Nie Mingjue thought about the rumors about Wei Wuxian, frowning, and agreed to think about it, committing to nothing.

He was glad for that, later, when the man himself showed up at one of the Jin prisoner of war camps that Nie Mingjue was demolishing, Wen Qing at his side, clearly ready to tear down the sky to get Wen Ning back.

“Uh,” Wei Wuxian said, staring blankly. “You’re – taking them somewhere?”

“Back to the Nie sect,” Nie Mingjue said. “You too, Wen Qing; we’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Is this okay?” Wei Wuxian asked her.

“This is fine,” Wen Qing said, beaming. “Da-ge will take care of us.”

“…us?”

“After that scene you made back at Lanling, you’ll need it,” she said briskly. “Didn’t you hear? Some people were saying that you killed – what’s his name. Jin Zixun.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nie Mingjue said. “Nie Huaisang killed him.”

“Nie Huaisang?”

“Yes.”

“With – what?”

“His saber, of course.”

“His…saber?”

“Yes.”

“No wonder they think I did it,” Wei Wuxian said. “Even I don’t believe that story. No offense, Chifeng-zun.”

Nie Mingjue suppressed a sigh, though in fairness he really couldn’t blame him. “Does he really need sanctuary?” he asked Wen Qing. “The Jiang sect…”

“He needs it,” she said firmly.

Nie Mingjue’s eyes narrowed, because he knows his younger siblings too well. “You did something.”

“How do you do that?” she complained.

Nie Mingjue just shook his head. “I’m your da-ge,” he said. “All right, come on; help pack everyone up and come to Qinghe. We can deal with the rest of it later.”

“But –” Wei Wuxian started to say.

“You can argue back at Qinghe. It’s probably better than wherever you were planning on taking them, anyway.”

“…I was thinking Yiling?”

“The Burial Mounds? My young siblings? Absolutely not.”

(When they arrived, there was a woman standing at gate, watching them. She seemed pleased.)