Chapter Text
“You want me to what?” Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow in skeptical confusion, and he feels his temples throb as his omnipresent headache somehow worsens at the problem he’s been presented. He considers maybe he has finally lost it, to have imagined this up, because there’s simply no way this has actually happened. Across from him sits Sect Leader Nie, solemn and serious, as if what he’d said didn’t sound like a practical fucking joke, hawklike gaze steady. The man had appeared in Yunmeng unannounced, not even a letter preceding his arrival, and had brushed off Jiang Cheng’s head disciple, practically storming past and into Jiang Cheng’s office. And then he’d proceeded to spin the most ludicrous tale Jiang Cheng’s heard in recent memory.
“Be my ally in this,” repeats Nie Mingjue plainly, almost impatiently. As if it’s a simple thing he’s asked, as if he’s not suggesting to Jiang Cheng that his sworn brother, the impeccably organized, sweet, warmly dimpled Jin Guangyao, is attempting to murder him. Nie Mingjue. The fiercest of their generation, the leader of the sunshot campaign. And somehow even more ludicrous, that Nie Mingjue’s best option for an ally would be Jiang Cheng. That this is an issue that he for some reason has to bring to Yunmeng, rather than the venerable leader of the Lan sect, or to Jin Guangyao’s own father and sect leader. It’s almost comical, Jiang Cheng thinks. The three of them have seemed so close until now, an idyllic brotherhood and allyship. Three heroes united as brothers, helping each other so closely. The picture of nobility in hard won peacetime. Their three sects were undoubtedly benefiting from the allyship, with trade and respurces flowing freely. Jiang Cheng had exhausted his social capital on that front, sacrificed monetary support and a connection to the Jin in exchange for raising Jin Ling here in Yunmeng, away from Jin Guangshan (a filthy old man. Jiang Cheng doesn’t trust him for one second with the last remnant of his family that lives.)
Jiang Cheng almost wants to laugh hysterically. It makes a twisted sort of sense, that Nie Mingjue would come to Jiang Cheng seeking to kill a sworn brother. That’s what Jiang Cheng has done, hasn’t he? His crowning glory so far as a sect leader, murdering his own brother. Yes, it makes sense. Rather than dirty his own hands, or risk the pristine hands of the ever-pure jade of Lan, that Nie Mingjue would come to Jiang Cheng. Isn’t he already drenched in the blood of family? Isn’t he already broken and stained beyond repair, cruel and remorseless, with little left to lose?
“I’ll make it worth your while,” Nie Mingjue had continued, while Jiang Cheng’s thoughts spiraled. Neither of them care for politicking, they’re straightforward men, and where that had aided them in wartime, now it helped them to speak, without needing the intricacies banquets require. Even in this, even when he’s asking for help, Nie Mingjue maintains a composure, a nobility that Jiang Cheng envies. A lesser man would have sounded pathetic, pleading like this.
“You’re short supplies and allies.” It’s not a question. Jiang Cheng was left out of the venerated triad, unceremoniously abandoned by the other three sects in payment for the trouble of dealing with Wei Wuxian’s calamity. He bristles at the implication that he needs the help. That he couldn’t do this on his own. He’s tired, bone weary exhausted, but for every minute of lost sleep YunmengJiang comes closer to its former glory. How is it that Nie Mingjue has made this somehow about what the Jiang sect needs, even when it’s he that came asking for help.
“I will not be bribed into making your enemies for you, Chifeng-zun,” Jiang Cheng just barely manages to make his words not a snarl at the implication, but his glare intensifies nonetheless. Nie Mingjue doesn’t seem at all chastised.
“Call it what you want, I don’t care. If you help me figure out how he’s killing me, I’ll help you with what you want. Supplies, guest disciples. Hell, I’ll deliver any demonic cultivators I find to your door. Word is you’ve been culling them.” Jiang Cheng works his jaw, pain lancing up from the tight muscles, instead of reacting visibly to that. Sometimes he forgets about his newfound, brutal reputation. The reminders are always ugly, even if the fear in the eyes of strangers is better than being treated as a child.
He wants to turn Nie Mingjue down out of hand. It’s not his business, they’re barely more than acquaintances. Former wartime allies. But- but this is bigger than his pride. Bigger than what he wants. Nothing, in the past few years, has been about what he wants. This is about Yunmeng, about his sect and about the small, impossibly delicate form of Jin Ling napping a room away. It’s about what Jiang Cheng can do, to grow the place where Jin Ling will spend his childhood. Even besides what his sect does need, well. Nie Mingjue had explained, the full ugly truth. What Jiang Cheng suspects Nie Mingjue has told no one else. A story of dead Jin commanders and a knife in the gut, of cruel words and dead Nie Disciples. Of wartime trickery just hidden enough that only Nie Mingjue suspects. Enough for Jiang Cheng to tell that Nie Mingjue loves Jin Guangyao, has loved him. That he tried with all his might to give Jin Guangyao the help he needed to get where he us, and that all of it was thrown in his face with cold words and trickery. Nie Mingjue hadn’t minced words, had said it all economically, quickly. But Jiang Cheng suspects that if he’d said it any slower, emotion would have crept in. That clear, painful heartbreak, he can recognize it. And- and Nie Mingjue has Huaisang. And Jiang Cheng is a younger brother without his once-protectors. It’s a miserable way to be. He won’t sentence his friend to the same fate.
Jiang Cheng has to ask though. “Why me?” He says, despite having all but agreed in his own mind. “You have another sworn brother. Or take it to Jin Guangshan. We owe each other nothing.” Nie Mingjue doesn’t flinch, but for the first time he wavers, at the mention of Lan Xichen. Jiang Cheng feels an ugly stab of victory at that small show of weakness.
“.... Xichen is too close to this,” is the gruff response. “And you know better than anyone how disgusting Jin Guangshan is. That leaves you.” Of course. A choice made of desperation. But Jiang Cheng understands, more than the other two likely, the necessity of getting ugly work done.
“Fine,” he says shortly, decision made, and he’s proud to hear how dispassionate his voice is. It’s a skill he’d had to learn fast, after all.
“I’ll help. But I set the terms for your payment,” he decides, because now that he’s decided, he’s going to get the most out of this. Lotus pier is a port town, more integrated with the local people than any other sect, and to return life to his piers, they need commerce. And if he’s doing this, he’s doing this smartly. He’ll ask for trade, maybe. No handouts, but organized trading to their ports. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe Jiang Cheng will come out of this with even more enemies. But he’s always been too soft, his mother’s scolding echoing in his ears even now, and the betrayal of a brother is something he can’t abide.
“When do you see Jin Guangyao next? I’ll be there.” He sets his shoulders, meets Nie Mingjue’s gaze sharply, and is rewarded by a small grin from the other man. Not a joyful thing, to be sure, but sharp and something like relieved.
“Good,” huffs Nie Mingjue, standing. “Very good. I’ll send you an invitation. Come to Qinghe in three weeks and I’ll give you more details. You can dictate your terms then, as well.” He’s taller, and larger than Jiang Cheng, and it’s even more notable standing, as they salute to each other in farewell. He can’t help but to wonder, as he escorts Nie Mingjue away, looking at his upright figure, if there’s even anything he can do to save the other man. If this isn’t a doomed endeavor from the start. They’ll find out, he supposes.