Archive of Our Own ^beta

Nie Mingjue enjoys, as he will later wistfully remember it, a picture-perfect childhood.

Born the first son and only child to a well-respected, powerful sect leader and his just as accomplished wife, he grows up in prosperity and takes to the family traditions from the moment he can walk. Even as a toddler he tries to mimic the disciples’ moves with sticks and plays at night hunting while chasing rabbits in the mountains with his friends.

His father laughs at his adventures, his mother critiques his technique and the auntie who’s been their guest for as long as he remembers tells him to watch out for others. A little later (he must have been five, he barely remembers) they do tell him auntie will becomes his father’s second wife, and for Mingjue there’s no issue. Auntie is mother’s best friend, father likes her, too.

He’s too young to know or care for the gossip from the cultivational world.

Soon auntie becomes pregnant and he’ll be a big brother. Qinghe enters a holiday mood long before the child is born.

“I hope it will be a son,” auntie says, a hand on her stomach.

“I’m sure it will,” mother agrees.

“Ach, a cute little girl wouldn’t be so bad, either,” father laughs. Mingjue thinks either will be fine. He’s determined to be the best brother in the world, anyway.

The child - a tiny, sickly boy - is born in late spring and mother gets to pick his name. Mother, and by the age of six Mingjue has learned that, is not considered skilled at naming things (her saber is named ghoul-eater, for starters). She picks Huaisang for the trees auntie loves, and Mingjue learns auntie had been the one to pick his name (she comes from a mining town where precious gems are held in highest regard. He’ll later beat up anyone who calls his name girlish).

So the years pass. Mingjue starts his formal lessons, and while his writing drives his tutors to despair (“he’ll catch up on that is Gusu,” his father laughs), he takes to the saber like a fish to water. People notice his unusual talent, call him gifted and say he’ll achieve great things.

“At least he’ll be able to reach high things,” mother comments when it turns out he’s outgrown another set of robes.

At eight his father takes him to a discussion conference at Koi Tower. Mingjue is excited, hopes to impress everyone. In the end, the evening dinner alone is so boring he almost falls asleep.

His father (still so genially tempered then) ruffles his hair. “Lan Qiren also brought the oldest of their boys. You two could explore a bit tomorrow.”

Lan Xichen at eight years stands so straight and looks so perfect Mingjue feels insufficient in comparison. But then the other boy smiles at him and once they’re out of their guardians’ sights, that back slouches a fair bit. There’s a real boy behind that facade, and he did in fact fall asleep even before last night’s dinner.

“Why are you wearing white?” Mingjue asks. “Did somebody die?” He saw it in town once, and auntie explained to him the meaning of people wearing white robes.

Lan Xichen gapes at him. “N, no,” he stammers. “These are my sects colours! It’s not white! Look, there’s blue cloud patterns on it!” He shoves a sleeve right into Mingjue’s face, too close to actually see anything.

Mingjue flushes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just thought…”

“Everyone thinks that,” Lan Xichen replies and there might be a faint note of a exasperation in his voice. Mingjue can imagine he must get stopped by concerned grannies a lot. He can’t go to town without one local granny or another giving him a steamed bun because “growing boys need food”.

They’re approaching the training grounds, so it’s a good time to switch topics. “Don’t these get dirty fast?” Mingjue always gets an earful from his mother for “looking as if you’d been rolling in mud! I thought you were training with your saber not training to be a pig!”.

“Uncle says if you’re really good then your clothes won’t get dirty. That’s why we wear light colours.”

Now, Mingjue’s sect wears dark robes and descends from a butcher. He can’t be blamed for thinking that mindset a little haughty.

Which is why, once they engage in a practice match, Mingjue - without warning - kicks the feet out from under Lan Xichen and drops the other summarily into the mud.

“That was against the rules!” Lan Xichen complains, looking more shocked than angry. Mingjue grins and holds out a hand. “People out there don’t really fight by the rules. It’s do whatever you can to win, or at least that’s what my mother told me.”

Lan Xichen mulls about that. He’s never fought a match that was not following proper rules, never got to roll around in the mud. But as any eight year old: he’s interested. “Show me,” he demands.

By the end of the day they look like monsters from the swamp and give Jin Guangshan a good fright. Madame Jin bends over laughing and the toddler at her side guwaffs with her. Lan Qiren nearly has an apoplexy and it actually takes auntie intervening with several polite letters spread over many years for Lan Qiren to even consider accepting Mingjue as a guest disciple in the future.

Despite having only met for such a short time, in his heart Mingjue considers Lan Xichen his best friend already.

Across various sect meetings they both vow to make their sects proud, bond over their little brothers (“Wangji likes to eat grass. It’s very cute, and mother says he looks like a rabbit. Of course I can’t tell uncle.” Mingjue promptly brings some grass from Qinghe (the northern pastures are considered the best) to their next meeting) and practice fights. Whereas Xichen excels in the proper and elegant swords moves, Mingjue packs raw power.

Due to their friendship and auntie’s magical words, Xichen and others from the Lan sect come to Qinghe for an informal visit. Even the elusive Lan sect leader comes out of seclusion for the trip, and that long summer everything is perfect. In his memory, Mingjue will later recall a string of warm, cloudless days and endless laughter.

Mingjue and Xichen explore the mountains and fields, take a boat down the river and play, regularly returning only at sunset, mud-splattered and sunburnt. At one point Qingheng-jun permits Xichen to exchange his white robes for something a bit less delicate. The Lan sect elders are shocked speechless.

Mingjue also borrows plain robes. “Now we match,” he tells Xichen and drags him off to another adventure. They return, as his mother puts it “with an entire forest sticking to your clothes, Nie Mingjue! You go and clean up! And those clothes you go wash yourself!”.

The scandalized Lan sect elders are pacified by being introduced to the meditation pavilion atop the mountain. Auntie occupies Lan Qiren by giving him old texts to decipher - the look rather mystic, being written in a wholly different language. Mingjue is fairly certain auntie recently purchased them from a northern tradesman who’d sold them as recipes.

Qingheng-jun and father play chess in the courtyard. Neither is very good at it, which becomes particularly clear as they attempt to explain the game to a shy but intrigued Huaisang.

“Why does your sword look so strange?” Lan Wangji demands to know of Mingjue after having watched him practice. “Your moves are weird, too.”

“This is not a sword, it’s a saber,” Mingjue replies with pride.

“You can’t use it the way you would handle a sword,” Xichen continues. “It behaves quite differently. If you used it the same as a sword, it would not work very well.”

Meanwhile Mingjue gestures for one of the junior disciples to bring out a practice saber. Wangji may be small, but he handles the weapon respectfully, even if he seems a little awkward.

“Your brother’s got talent,” Mingjue later tells Xichen. He doesn’t say it, but sometimes he wishes Huaisang was a bit older, or at least willing to practice with him.

“So does yours,” Xichen replies. “He beat my father at chess today.”

Mother allows Mingjue and Xichen to join her on a night hunt, even. They’re both brimming with excitement, and later renditions of events include dragons. In truth they bring back eight squirrels and a boar, which according to mother is respectable.

They take a trip north, to the endless grasslands and long days. Ride horses, barter with locals speaking dialects so thick they barely can understand a word, bathe in clear streams, and speak of the world ahead. What the future might hold, what they wish to see, and it’s a future both hope for.

(Oh, the naive follies of children, Mingjue later thinks. They should have wished to stay in that moment).

But seasons change. Autumn comes swiftly to Qinghe, and the Lan delegation takes their leave. “I’ll see you in Gusu!” Xichen calls as they part.

He’s right.

But in a way that makes Mingjue wish he’d been wrong. Xichen’s mother dies toward the end of winter, and for the first time in his life Mingjue attends a funeral ceremony. He feels helpless, because even if there are no tears on Xichen’s face, he looks as if he was crying on the inside.

It’s auntie who in a quiet moment, out of sight, draws Xichen into a hug and Mingjue can see his best friend collapse into it like a puppet.

“Take care of him,” auntie tells him as she catches him looking. Xichen wipes at his eyes, already red and watery, but Mingjue thinks auntie has always known best, so he imitates her. Draws Xichen against his chest, holds him as tight as he can and doesn’t let go for a long, long time.

He understands Xichen can’t cry. Not when Wangji looks so lost, and their father bowed with grief. When he must be the perfect son everyone expects him to be even if it’s killing him inside.

Mingjue makes sure to keep an eye on Xichen from then on. To accidentally splatter mud on his robes so they can retreat for a while. At the end of it all, Xichen is almost able to smile again.

But bad luck is not yet done with them that year.

In summer, mother takes Mingjue and Huaisang to look for mushrooms. They have done this every year since he can remember, and for a kid who still is scared to be left alone on the busy streets of Qinghe, Huaisang doesn’t mind the woods. Mingjue pretends he’s their powerful protector, and mother lets him get away with it (she can beat about everyone with a saber).

This year, they are attacked. The men dress as bandits, and Mingjue later learns they were too skilled, their aim too precise to be mere scum. There was a hand guiding them, extending from Qishan. And Mingjue has met Wen Ruohan, and though he didn’t like the man, he is still at an age where he can’t understand why he’d try to kill one woman and two children.

That day, Mingjue draws his saber in earnest. His hands shake so badly he nearly drops it. Cold sweat beads his back, mother is on her feet with her saber drawn, too. Huaisang frozen at her side. At least twenty men surround them, clad in black. Their swords gleam.

Mother moves, but instead of charging at the men in front of her, she cuts an opening to the side, the direction of Qinghe. “Mingjue, run!” she roars and the last thing Mingjue sees is her snatching Huaisang up in one arm, and yielding her saber in the other.

He runs. He’s been taught to get help, he knows it is the right thing to do.

But he also regrets it for the rest of his life. This is the last time he sees his mother; she’s powerful but her opponents numbered far more than twenty. There are thirty-seven bodies in the forest as they return, one is mother’s, and the adults don’t allow Mingjue to see her.

Auntie is inconsolable. His father hugs him. Huaisang is missing, night falling, and Mingjue feels cold.

“Sect leader,” somebody calls and both Mingjue and his father turn to see one of their senior disciples approach. He carries a small child in his arms. “We found him. He hid in a rabbit hole, the bandits must have missed him.”

Auntie barely reacts, but father stands and reaches to take the child into his own arms, carefully looking him over. He’s not hurt, only passed out.

“Poor child,” his father mutters. Then he looks to Mingjue, shifts HuaiSang into one arm and reaches out to cup his cheek with the other. “My poor children.”

This time, Xichen comes to Qinghe for the funeral. The air is different, tense the adults muttering in hushed voices about the incident and the culprits behind it. It’s when Mingjue begins to sense things are not simple, when his father’s long descent toward Qi deviation begins.

“Young Master,” a cultivator Mingjue doesn’t know has stopped Huaisang. That little brother who’s still as pale as paper and has only been allowed out of bed two days ago. “I heard you were there? Poor child, you saw it all happen then?”

He’s fishing for info. That strange man is bothering his little brother to satisfy some idle curiosity and Mingjue feels anger rise in his veins.

“Excuse me,” he says sharply. “Huaisang, come with me.” He holds out his hand, HuaiSang gladly takes it.

There is a part of him, however, that wants to ask the same question. The adults did not let him see his mother then; and in years later he can make an educated guess why. At twelve, he is frustrated. But not frustrated enough to press his terrified little sibling for answers.

Huaisang never tells him. The most Mingjue ever learns from him is that mother fought bravely, that she killed many and might have succeeded if not for a trap that had been laid before. He does not say how she died.

But the adults, and particularly his father, know and understand. They are gentler with Huaisang than they used to be, try to spoil him when he so much as looks at something with a glimmer of interest. Yet fall through autumn and winter, Huaisang stares at the world with empty eyes, and jumps at every noise.

“He ought to start saber training,” auntie says to father one night.

Father shakes his head, sadly. “Not like this.”

In spring, they catch him smiling at a blooming tree, and the spell breaks. Father and Mingjue take him to the market in Qinghe and buy the most ridiculous things they can find. Huaisang giggles.

Auntie is bewildered at the eclectic shopping. She’s also quick to figure that Huaisang can be bribed into basic saber training through pretty trinkets and as a descendant from a jeweler’s family, she owns a share of pretty trinkets. Father once more laughs the way he used to when Mingjue was younger, and then Mingjue already leaves for Gusu.

“Show them,” auntie tells him and hugs him the way mother used to.

“Have fun,” father says and not so secretly hands him a fat purse filled with coin.

“But you will come back?” Huaisang asks, unwilling to let go of Mingjue’s sleeve.

“Of course, I will,” Mingjue replies and easily picks his brother up. “And then I’ll be stronger. If you practice your saber, we can go night hunting together when I’m back!”

Gusu is warm, humid, and has far more rules than Mingjue remembers. Being here as a guest disciple is different; he is even a little nervous. But then Xichen sees him, there’s a shout of “running is not allowed at Cloud Recess!” and they reconnect as if they’d never been parted.

For the most part, Mingjue sticks to the rules of Cloud Recess. They rise early at Qinghe, too; he can keep running and other physical exertions to the training ground; and doesn’t care for gossip. Lan Qiren’s long-winded lectures, however, make him doze off more than once.

“Shall we go into town?” Xichen asks when one afternoon their schedule clears up at short notice. They haven’t had much chance to explore, mostly stuck to the mountain itself. Xichen had taken Mingjue to his mother’s old house, and they’d shared a moment of silence, then.

“Sure,” Mingjue replies. “I heard they’ve got different food? I mean, no offense, but…”

Xichen laughs. “I know.”

They end up in a busy restaurant in Caiyi, claim a table overlooking the river and even if Xichen never quite allows his poise to slip, Mingjue thinks he enjoys the food here, too. The true highlight yet is another: as they’re about to finish, the owner asks if they don’t want to try a jar of ‘Emperor’s Smile’ - a liquor famous far beyond Qinghe.

Xichen hesitates. Mingjue takes out coin from the purse his father gave him and orders two jars. Needless to say, they are both quite drunk as they return, leaning onto each other to remain upright and run right into Lan Wangji.

For an eight-year old, Wangji’s disapproving stare is impressive. No wonder he’s already said to be one of the most promising children of his generation.

Xichen, drunk and happy and without regard for propriety, picks his little brother up and swings him around. “Ach, you’re so cute,” he chirps. “The cutest little brother!” Lan Wangji seems mortally offended, Mingjue slurs something about “No, that’s A-Sang” and Xichen collapses with laughter.

Lan Qiren makes them both copy the complete rules four times.

They still sneak out a few days later again. And again.

One night Mingjue is dared to kiss a girl by one of their fellow disciples. Later Xichen shyly admits to wondering about it himself. “But I could never be so daring.” So Mingjue kisses him, too.

In winter, Mingjue returns to Qinghe. Auntie looks exhausted as she greets him, father puts on a warm smile. But he learns there’s trouble brewing to the west, trouble “which may have been put there on purpose”. Mingjue offers to go with father to see to these troubles, yet his father waves it off.

“You just arrived. Take a while and rest, first.”

In truth, Mingjue has too much energy to rest for long. He finds his brother and drags him from the fans he is painting, hopes for a practice spar. His brother will have started his lessons, too, and even if the shortest practice saber still looks too large for him, he does know how to grip it.

But at Mingjue’s first strike - as gentle as he can deal it - the weapon clatters to the ground. Huaisang’s face falls, and Mingjue can’t help the surge of disappointment.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “We’ll try again.”

It doesn’t get better. Before long Huaisang is nearly crying and frustrated, Mingjue calls it to a stop. He notices auntie watching from the shadows, an unhappy frown on her face.

“You’ve grown a lot, Mingjue,” she tells him later. “You’re already so skilled with your saber, you’ll be as good as your father before long.” His father laughs at that.

“Huaisang, however…” Auntie trails off. Huaisang bows his head, picks at his dinner without eating.

“Ach, don’t be so harsh on him,” father replies tersely. “He’ll learn it when he’ll learn it. There’s no need to force him.”

Father has the right of it, Mingjue eventually decides. It’s not as if Huaisang doesn’t try, but he is slight and doesn’t have the muscle necessary to practice with a saber yet. Obviously, not practicing doesn’t help, but it’s a particularly harsh winter and in the end, they don’t dare to force him outside too often, scared he might fall sick.

In Qinghe a number of people die from the cold. Early frost had destroyed part of the harvest, and there’d been only so much they could do. Father grows harried, short-tempered. Mingjue witnesses him shout at people, only to regret it later.

“There is something I need to tell you,” father says to Mingjue late one night.

He learns about the saber spirits. The tombs in Xinglu ridge, and the curse of their bloodline.

“But you .. you’re not…” He can’t bring himself to say ‘dying’. His father – he can’t imagine that. His father is strong and powerful and…

A warm hand reaches out to pat his head. “No, not at all.” Father grins and the tiredness leaves him. “Not for a good many years. But I think it’s time for you to have a saber of your own next year, so I want you to be prepared.”

Mingjue’s heart skips a beat. Getting a saber - one capable of housing a spirit - means he can go night hunting on his own. Means he’s as good as an adult. He bows and thanks his father, and if his voice shakes. Well…

So at the start of the new year, Mingjue receives his saber and for the first time senses it’s still dormant spirit, feels it blade react to him. They will achieve great things, he vows to himself. They will keep Qinghe and the Nie sect proud and strong.

With his new saber he returns to Gusu in spring. It is a little unusual - he passed the courses there, yet father’s goal is different. “Learn about their meditation techniques. It will become important to contain the saber spirit and to control it.”

“Also, have some more fun with your friend,” father adds with a wink. “You’ll be an adult soon enough.”

Mingjue takes the good wishes and an even thicker coin purse and sets out.

Xichen meets him about half-way to Gusu. Like Mingjue’s he’s tall enough to pass for an adult already, and his white robes and genial bearing command the respect of every inn, village, or tavern they visit. While in theory, Mingjue is a guest disciple at Cloud Recess, this time they spend a lot of time roaming the world and night hunting.

At fifteen they are well-accomplished with their weapons and defeating ghouls and ferocious corpses in itself is not a challenge. Xichen has to master bearing the stench from some corpses, Mingjue must learn to contain his strength in order to avoid unnecessary property damage.

It’s a good summer. Sometimes they sleep under the sky, in open fields or grassy clearings. Those nights they watch the stars, and talk. More often than not, grateful villagers will host them. Depending on the village, this means barns, inns, well-kept guest rooms or, in one peculiar case, a former whorehouse.

Lan Xichen blushes a delicate red, right to his ears. Mingjue laughs.

He also, pursuing the left-overs from the place’s former function, discovers an illustrated book featuring men, and men only. Xichen, reading over his shoulder, only mumbles “how does this even work?”

Mingjue is certain Lan Qiren will have his head for letting Xichen see this, and not even auntie will be able to dissuade him. His own cheeks burn, but he bravely turns the page and they discover the answer. It’s another experience booked under ‘we shall never speak of this again’. But that night Mingjue lies awake, and he can’t help but wonder what it would feel like. He knows (and later he will laugh at himself, for how he thought he did) he is not a cut-sleeve. Yet kissing Xichen was nice.

So how…

No.

Next to him, he hears Xichen shift as well. Even the legendary Lan sleeping schedule is no match for teenage follies.

Luckily, the next day they need to dispatch an entire horde of ferocious corpses (resulting from an unfortunate monk messing up his sutras while attempting to bless a burial ground) and that provides a good distraction.

Yet as they wander the world, they can’t escape their future responsibilities.

“Did you hear, the Jin sect…”

“There was another border clash…”

“...aren’t doing anything.”

The Wen sect’s long shadow has stretched to cover even the eastern regions, and none of the rumors are kind. Unhappiness brews, traveling merchants telling horrifying tales, and first peasant choosing to relocate from the troubled west arrive. Mingjue is glad not to hear familiar dialects from them but knows it may be due to luck alone.

As if he read his troubled mind, Xichen reaches out to put his own hand over Mingjue’s. “Don’t pay heed to the gossip,” he assures him. But the light in his own eyes says he worries, too. Neither of them attends this year’s discussion conference. But there’s a troubling encounter between Lan Qiren, father, and Wen Ruohan. Voices on the wind speak of war. Father’s letter says nothing, except that Huaisang has taken sick again.

When Mingjue returns home that autumn he finds his little brother thin and pale, looking far young than ten. “It doesn’t bear speaking of,” auntie comments when he asks to the cause of his sickness. Father gloomily frowns at the dish before him.

“I only wanted to play with the birds,” Huaisang tells him. His fingers tremble as he folds his arms around himself. “I’d heard them speak. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to do that.”

Mingjue is sixteen. He understands. “What did you hear?” he demands and scares his brother into flinching back.

“N-n-nothing,” Huaisang manages. “Just some strange ramblings. I mean, birds, even if they can speak don’t know what they say.”

And that’s the point.

“It is a strange twist of fate,” father later shares with Mingjue and Mingjue alone. “But Huaisang did overhear certain things regarding the Wen sect’s techniques and aspirations.”

“Then his illness…”

Father sighs. “I wasn’t fast enough to get him out. Somebody had seen him play with the birds and reported to Wen Ruohan… Luckily they used a poison we were well-prepared to deal with.”

Poisoned. His little brother was poisoned, all for being an airhead overhearing the wrong kind of information.

Mingjue shudders.

“Don’t tell him, Mingjue,” father adds. “I don’t want him to know.”

Mingjue wants to protest. His brother ought to know he helped, however unintentional it was. He ought to be proud. Yet father shakes his head, allowing no argument. Later that night Mingjue sneaks a peek at his sleeping brother, and maybe he begins to understand. Huaisang’s only ten, he doesn’t need those burdens.

From here on Mingjue becomes second to his father. He learns about their sect; not only the family secrets, but also the accounting, paperwork, and command structures. Instead of practicing with the disciples, Mingjue gets to instruct the young ones and spars with the seniors.

He follows his father on night hunts and diplomatic visits. Grits his teeth through tense negotiations and learns how to lead and command. “The most important thing is to lead by example,” his father says, and then smiles fondly. “But I don’t think you’ll ever fail at that.”

They’re the same height now, him and his father. Soon Mingjue gets to night hunt with a squad of people he picked himself. All are former friends or fellow students, determined to prove themselves to the world.

“Are we ever going to do something about the Wen dogs?” one of them asks, exasperated. Corpses had been dumped near a village, turned and kept them occupied a good while. None of the corpses had come from the region, and they’d all glanced west with deep frowns.

Mingjue huffs. “I wish we could. But as long as there’s no proof…”

Everyone sighs. Father has insisted on them maintaining the status quo. Even should they come across a Wen cultivator, they are only to chase them out, not to harm them. It’s an exercise in frustration.

“That dog!” father roars when he returns from Qishan. It had been a sudden summon, leaving many in Qinghe worried. “Who does he think he is, ordering me around like a servant?!”

A cup flies at the wall. Auntie looks at the shards with just as dark a look. “He’s not going to stop,” she declares.

“Yeah, and Jin Guangshan isn’t stopping him either,” father adds, voice skipping to upset laughter. “If not for him! Even Jiang Fengmian has had enough, and they’re the furthest away from Qishan!”

“What did he even want?” Mingjue asks. Father’s moods daunt him, still.

“Wen Ruohan? He wanted me to look at a saber and then even had the audacity to demand to handle mine.”

“That goat-fucking scum,” auntie spits.

“Mother!” Huaisang exclaims from the doorway. He stands there, and it’s a draw as to whether his presence or his mother swearing caused more surprise. Still, the darkness breaks up as he shuffles inside.

It’s another thing Mingjue can’t help but notice. For all Huaisang’s a failure with his saber, he’s good at calming heated tempers. And cheering on the other disciples. While the sidelines isn’t exactly where he’s supposed to be, father is happy to leave him be.

Then father takes Mingjue on a night hunt.

It’s a ferocious beast, certainly. Yet they’ve night hunted together before, they’re accompanied by the sect’s best disciples and juniors. Nothing should go wrong.

Except that day father’s saber shatters.

The beast gores him. It’s only due to his high level of cultivation that he survives long enough to get help.

Mingjue barely remembers that night. Others tell him he was the one to slaughter the beast. Apparently, he’d flung himself forward with a terrifying roar, decapacitated the monster with a single strike from his blade and rushed to his father’s side before anyone else could do so much as move. His own memories only return when he’s back in his father’s chamber, and Huaisang rushes in, pale and wide-eyed.

“Big brother, what happened?”

There’s blood on the ground and Mingjue’s clothes. Auntie quietly whispers to father, holding his hand and feeding him spiritual energy. Their sect’s head healer talking to his assistants with a deep frown. The shattered pieces of his father’s saber, resting in an open box.

“Wen Ruohan,” Mingjue answers and a dark ball of rage forms in his stomach. He knows he won’t forget, not as long as Wen Ruohan is alive.

They call in all healers they know. But father’s decline cannot be stopped. On bad days he rages and rants, curses everyone and lashes out at those close to him. These are the days Mingjue gets called to help subdue him; and it does nothing but make him feel helpless.

Other days father barely remembers who they are or is too weak to sit up. The few days he is clear of mind he likes to play chess with Huaisang. Mingjue now informally leads the sect, and barely has time left to breathe.

“You look pale,” Xichen tells him, sorrow in his eyes. The Lan sect’s head healer has come, but both already know the verdict. Father’s passing is but a matter of time now. “When have you last slept?”

Mingjue can’t remember.

“Come,” Xichen says and gently takes his arm. “For a night.”

And maybe they’re seventeen and too old for this, but that night they share a bed, seeking strength in the memory of happier times. Of a wide blue sky and soft grass, warm sunlight and cheerful laughter.

For once, Mingjue wakes well-rested. That morning he decides to have a distant uncle - his father’s former second - handle the sect business. He goes to his father and finds Huaisang asleep on a chair at his bedside.

Father’s eyes are clear. “You look better, Mingjue,” he observes with a soft smile, a pale echo of his old brilliant laughter. “Now see that your brother gets some decent sleep, too. He was up until dawn and wouldn’t leave.”

“Sect leader Nie,” Lan Xichen greets politely as Mingjue bows to pick up Huaisang.

Father bows his head in return. “Lan Xichen. It is good to see you. I wish circumstances allowed me to be a better host, but alas…”

Mingjue is curious what Xichen would have to discuss with his father. But he’s holding his brother in his arms and does feel a bit guilty. Huaisang has been sitting at father’s side all the time while Mingjue had been running around, handling sect matters. He deserves a break, too, particularly as Huaisang’s been weathering father’s mood swings.

Huaisang doesn’t wake before late afternoon, and the Lan sect departs long before that. Xichen doesn’t lie to Mingjue about father’s fate, but instead gives him a token for Cloud Recess. “Come whenever,” he says. “You and Huaisang, both, are always welcome in my home.”

Auntie waves goodbye to the Lan sect, too. It’s her first public appearance in weeks. She’s been withdrawn, lately. Mingjue had at a time considered asking her to lead the sect in father’s place. But she’s sunken into herself, stares into space and is fading, too.

But that night they all have dinner in father’s room, with her sitting on the edge of father’s bed, Mingjue and Huaisang on the floor and they share stories and laugh as they once did.

“I’m not sure if Lan Xichen was aware what he was saying earlier,” father sets out once they’ve finished their dishes. “But it did sound as if he was asking my permission to marry you, Mingjue.”

Mingjue, just about to say Xichen would never err with his words, swallows his drink wrong.

Auntie and Huaisang bend over laughing. Mingjue must look bright red by now, but he’s still coughing too much to actually protest.

“So, what did you say?” Auntie asks once she’s recovered from her mirth.

Father beams at them. “Of course, I agreed.”

Mingjue never finds out what exactly was said. He’s certain it was not a marriage proposal, but rather Xichen offering his support in a heartfelt manner. Father later says “he’s a good friend, Mingjue. You’re lucky to have him”, and Mingjue can’t help but agree.

That’s the last evening his father is clear of mind.

It’s freezing spring day when he passes. Despite his father’s weakness at the end, in the throes of the qi deviation that takes his life he manages to throw Huaisang across the room and strike one of their maids before he finally collapses, dead. Mingjue won’t admit it, doesn’t even have the time to think it as he searches for his brother’s pulse then. But he’s relieved.

Relieved and frightened.

His ascension to sect leader is a solemn occasion. Xichen makes the journey from Gusu with his father and several clan elders, Jiang Fengmian comes with an entourage all the way from Yunmeng. Jin Guangshan remains conspicuously absent, claiming sickness.

Wen Ruohan comes, flanked by his sons and commanders. He smiles politely, and gifts Huaisang a colorful pet bird. “Since you liked them so much,” he says and brushes a hand over Huaisang’s hair.

Mingjue clenches his fists. If he took Wen Ruohan’s head right now and here -

Then he would do exactly as Wen Ruohan wants him to. It’s why he brought his strongest cultivators; he wants Mingjue to strike first and allow him to cause a bloodbath. Because whereas Wen Ruohan brought his commanders, other sects came with their elders and youngsters.

Mingjue bites his tongue until he tastes blood and keeps his silence.

“You did well,” auntie tells him later. “Now keep it together until he is gone.”

“But the bird,” Mingjue says. He suspects a trap. Huaisang had found out about the Wen sect’s secrets through a bird, Wen Ruohan would use a bird to spy on them, too.

“I know,” auntie says. “But we must wait.”

So, they dance on eggshells. His father’s funeral is a scharade, and anger bubbles under Mingjue’s skin. In silence he vows revenge, vows to kill Wen Ruohan and mock him, too. Xichen watches him with worry.

They manage. Barely, but all Nie sect disciples, elders, servants and maids restrain their anger until the Wen sect has left and only Xichen remains, more family than guest by now. The bird is spirited away momentarily, checked for tampering, but it is either harmless or too well-hidden.

It is relegated to a remote corner of the compound for the time being, chirping sadly unless Huaisang sneaks in to keep it company.

“I’m so sorry,” Xichen offers as they have a moment to themselves. “This must be a terrible time for you.” Once they’d both dreamt of the glorious occasion of becoming sect leader. There’d be celebrations and happiness.

Reality had not been so kind.

Mingjue sighs. “It’s not what I imagined.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s far more paperwork than I expected,” Mingjue continues, trying to cheer up Xichen because his face is better suited to smiling. “And the accounts. That’s a nightmare. You know, if I ask uncle Yilan if we can afford to buy more spirit-catching nets, he won’t tell me yes or now, but will talk about trading and price development and I have no idea what he means.”

“But you’re not … troubled?” Xichen asks, momentarily stumped.

Mingjue is tempted to shrug. But the truth is, he knows what’s stored in their coffers and auntie had made sure to exchange some more perishable objects into precious stones and metals. “No, no troubles of that sort.”

“In any case,” Xichen begins awkwardly. “I talked to father, and he said it would be alright if I stayed here for a while. If anything, my family will gladly help you.”

It’s a kind offer. Among the current sect leaders, Mingjue now is the youngest by far, and neither of them had to take on these duties before their twenties. Knowing he has their support will mean a lot in the years to come.

“Thank you,” Mingjue replies.

Thus Xichen stays. He’s a welcome guest, not only for Mingjue, but also for Huaisang. Since Mingjue doesn’t need support handling sect business (“you’re doing perfectly fine,” one of the elders tells him at a point, “Your father wasn’t half as prepared when he was your age”), Xichen spends the days with Huaisang and his mother.

Auntie, Mingjue only learns later, has contracted a fatal sickness. She hadn’t told them, not wanting to add to their worries when their father was approaching death. But Xichen figures it out within moments, and only Huaisang remains in the dark.

“She has perhaps half a year left,” Xichen tells Mingjue one quiet night they share a chamber.

Mingjue sighs.

“I’m so sorry,” Xichen says and wraps his arms around him. Mingjue has outgrown him, but Xichen’s arms are strong and he’s warm and it’s easy to lean on him. Just for a little. Just in the darkness of an unlit room the two will allow their hearts to speak.

Then auntie kills both Huaisang’s bird and herself. Huaisang finds them, having stolen out to play with his bird before dawn. The bird lies dead in its cage, neck snapped. Auntie hangs from the mulberry tree she so loved.

He screams.

Seeing her, Mingjue understands why father did not allow him to see mother when she had been killed.

He can’t spare Huaisang the same. Couldn’t spare him from all the other deaths, either, and for a moment Mingjue forgets his responsibilities, his duties, and throws his arms around his little brother and turns him away. “Don’t look, A-Sang, just look at me.”

Huaisang keeps staring at nothing.

“Sect leader?” Somebody clears their throat awkwardly. Mingjue remembers. He still holds his little brother tight (and that body is too light and too small) and forces his back to straighten. “Cut her down and prepare her for burial. The illness took her life.”

Several people bow their heads and hurry to obey. While not all elders had agreed with his father’s choice of taking a second wife, they had grown to like her. Nothing can be won from exposing the manner of her death; illness would have claimed her soon in any case.

Auntie’s funeral is a quieter occasion. Mingjue is surprised when both Madame Jin and Yu Ziyuan arrive. He knows auntie had corresponded with many in the cultivation world through letters; he had not known she had maintained close friendships.

It’s a little awkward when, after drink has been shared, Madame Jin pats his shoulder. “She really hadn’t lied when she said you’d grown up to be a fine young man.”

Xichen agrees heartily. Yu Ziyuan raises an eyebrow at that, and for a moment there’s a lighter air between them.

But lightheartedness is rare these days.

“If Wen Ruohan gives you trouble, let us know,” Yu Ziyuan says. “We can send a few of our own people to get lost around Qishan, too. Or maybe lose a beast or two there.” The ring on her hand emits purple sparks.

Madame Jin laughs. “I think we can do the same. My husband is terrible at keeping track of his things, anyway.”

There’s no winning against the Wen sect right now. But troubling them is the petty sort of revenge Mingjue feels is a good prelude to taking Wen Ruohan’s head. “Please,” he says with a grim smile. 

Xichen seems troubled. But if he has concerns, he does not voice them.

It can’t be avoided for the two to ask after Huaisang. “I understand,” Madame Jin sighs when Mingjue tells them his brother isn’t well. “Poor child. Please give him my best wishes.”

Mingjue nods, though he wonders if it will do anything. Ever since he found his mother hanging from a tree, Huaisang has become a ghost. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t eat, and only wanders into the courtyard where his mother died to sit there and look at nothing.

Should he remove the trees, Mingjue remarks to Xichen one night.

Xichen shakes his head. “I have been thinking,” he reveals a few weeks later. “Or perhaps that is not right. I… I feel selfish, but I may need to go back to Gusu for a short while.”

Mingjue nods, unsurprised. They share a bed that night, like many nights before. He hasn’t read Xichen’s letters, but he knows there have been a number from Gusu lately. Like him, Xichen is going to become sect leader one day; he will need to learn from his father all he can before the day comes. Mingjue won’t begrudge him that.

“Keeping you here would be selfish,” Mingjue returns swiftly. His fingers tangle with the Lan sect head ribbon.

“I do plan on returning,” Xichen protests and gently kicks Mingjue’s shin under the covers. “No, I was thinking that maybe Huaisang should come, too.”

“To Gusu?”

Xichen nods. “I think a change of environment might do him well.” He doesn’t say that they have many books in Cloud Recess specialised in healing, also concerning the healing of the mind.

Mingjue thinks about it. He is loath to let his little brother out of his sight yet can’t look at him without hurting. Huaisang’s a shadow of himself, and he knows there’s concern he may not survive the next winter. It’s a thought Mingjue refuses to entertain.

But he isn’t blind.

“If you believe it might help,” he says.

Xichen exhales. They’re both big brothers. They may have trusted another with their bodies, with their secrets. But for Mingjue his little brother is everything, and he knows Wangji, to Xichen is the same.

“I promise nothing will happen to him,” Xichen vows later as the plans have been finalized. “On my life, Mingjue.”

Mingjue nods. He takes an afternoon to sit with his brother in that silent courtyard. The leaves are falling, the air cold. Huaisang has already been wrapped in a fur-lined winter robe, body too frail to bear the early chill.

“Huaisang,” Mingjue gently wraps an arm around his brother’s shoulders, but his sibling doesn’t react. For a short moment Mingjue wishes fiercely Huaisang would just wake up. Then he wouldn’t have to let him go, could keep him here, and maybe things could finally be the way they were meant to.

But Huaisang’s eyes remain empty, and Mingjue’s burn.

“Please don’t leave me, too.”

The journey to Gusu is a solemn trip in secrecy. Mingjue can’t help but recall happier times. Or even those not that long ago when he’d looked forward to seeing his brother off to Gusu so he’d finally form that golden core and gain some skill with his saber. This time, he doesn’t dare to hope.

Back in Qinghe, he throws himself into work and begins to plot revenge. It takes up all his time, which is good - his thoughts can’t stray, not when nightmares lie in wait. He doesn’t even notice the time passing, until a letter arrives from Gusu.

Xichen writes about a mild winter and progress. The bland food of Cloud Recess suits Huaisang better, and slowly, but certainly some life returns to him. Spring becomes summer becomes autumn. Discussion conferences come and go, Mingjue grows into his role.

Pity becomes respect, Jin Guangshan starts avoiding him out of fear, and Wen Ruohan stops mocking him. Mingjue has seen to the fortification of their borders. He’d developed a plan to counter the Wen sect’s mischief, and it’s working nicely. A part of him wants to tell Xichen - who’d helped come up with the plan - but this isn’t anything he dares to put in writing.

When they’ll meet again.

First comes another letter. One from Xichen, one from Huaisang. Mingjue nearly drops it, then he must sit down.

“I’m sorry for not writing to you, big brother, and many other things,” Huaisang begins, and talks of life in Gusu and so many details and Mingjue reads every word again and again and again. There are loud omissions in that letter. But it’s a start, and as Xichen’s letter says “I think next year he might be ready join uncle’s classes, if you’d like him to”.

Mingjue doesn’t hesitate. He reaches for the brush, pens a short “I want to kiss you” and sends it before he can reconsider.

Then he grabs his saber, races outside, and is stopped when a group of surprised disciples exclaims “sect leader!”. Right. As a sect leader, barging into other sect’s compounds without announcement is rude. He might have a good excuse, but not one many people know of.

He tampers down his excitement. In fact, he thinks, Xichen would have told him to come if he thought Huaisang ready. Not yet then, he decides though it is painful, and writes a second, longer letter.

It’s spring when he comes to Cloud Recess on a semi-official visit. Xichen greets him with a bright smile and hurries him through the formalities. Qingheng-jun, Lan Qiren, they all know and don’t begrudge him for being distracted.

“Big brother,” Huaisang greets with a sweet smile when they finally see each other again. It’s been a year and his little brother no longer looks like a ghost. Color has returned to his cheeks, some flesh to his bones. He’s still slight and short, but no longer looks as if a stiff breeze might blow him over.

Mingjue can’t find the right words. Instead he crosses the distance and embraces his brother, lifts him off the ground, and relishes the sensation of arms reaching up to return the hug. His eyes burn.

“I’m sorry, big brother,” Huaisang says quietly.

For a moment Mingjue recalls all the horrors behind them. Auntie’s death, father’s death, poison. Mother’s death.

“Don’t apologize,” Mingjue replies. “None of it was your fault.”

And then, finally, things turn around. Huaisang returns to Qinghe for a short while, just enough to reassure the elders and disciples and maids who’d all been so worried for him. Seeing the second young master as they affectionately call him now chat with his brother, stroll through the market or cheer on the disciples returns a happiness that seemed long lost to all of them.

Sure, Huaisang is hopeless with a saber. But he’s generous with smiles and kind words. For once Mingjue decides to leave it be. Lan Qiren should be able to handle that, and if not. Well. He now understands his father a little better.

They light incense for their ancestors.

In early summer, Huaisang leaves for Gusu again. This time, he’ll be a guest disciple as Mingjue once was, and Mingjue hopes it will be as joyous a time for Huaisang as it was for him. He hands him a purse of coin, too.

In turn, Qinghe gets another visitor. Xichen arrives at the gate, a smile on his lips and a hastily penned letter from Mingjue in his sleeve.

“Can I take you up on that?” Xichen asks, a spark in his eyes.

And before the trees auntie loved, the walls his father built, and the mountains his ancestors chose as home, Mingjue kisses Xichen.

End