Chapter Text
What is Nie MingJue?
He is light, he is warmth, he is a sentiment of the days past that later turned into pain, a thought that he doesn’t dare contemplate for the remainder of his life.
Nie MingJue is his war banner.
—He could be flying high in the sky, or burnt to ashes on the ground.
—But never within his reach.
01.
Meng Yao has caught feelings for someone, he didn’t know when it started, or when it’ll end.
He had realized this upon the first time he returned to the Unclean Realm with Nie MingJue. Back then, he was seventeen, just a small thing, wearing an off-colour Nie Sect Uniform. The sleeves were worn and a tear in his collar had been carefully stitched back together with black threads, tucked behind the fold of the fabric, which he often straightened and adjusted.
His whole appearance exuded the poor and downtrodden air of a commoner. Stepping upon the pristine steps of the Unclean Realm, surrounded by the ephemeral, he walked one step at a time, head lowered, eyes set upon the hem of Sect Leader Nie’s robes.
The last time he entered cultivation society… Well, the situation was unsightly.
But the Unclean Realm wasn't Koi Tower, and Nie Sect was not like the Jin. Sect Leader Nie brought him through the front gate. He was greeted by countless people, but didn’t stop for any of them, Meng Yao had to dodge the greeters and pick up his pace to catch up. In his rush, he ran right into Nie MingJue’s back.
His nose hurt and he could feel his eyes water. He wanted to apologize, but cut himself off after the first word. He didn’t want the Sect Leader to hear his nasally whine.
“Why are you shaking?” Nie MingJue’s voice came from above, “are you cold?”
He shook his head. Before he could properly respond, he felt a weight on his shoulders. Something was covering him, obstructing his vision. With a scoop of his hand, he caught the edge of the robe that almost hit the floor.
Covered in Nie MingJue’s outer robe, head stuck in the middle, unable to move, Meng Yao stood dumbstruck.
Nie MingJue gave a soft laugh, and gathered the robe into Meng Yao’s arms.
“I’m going to look for HuaiSang, best not to show up bloody. Help me bring this to the servants,” he patted Meng Yao on the shoulder, “let them prepare a guest room for you.”
“Yes, sir.”
The outer robe sat heavy in his arm, with the gold Nie Sect sigil visible on top —snarling head of a beast, a cross between dog and boar— mixed with the faint scent of blood and death, coming directly from the top, from the famed ChiFeng-Zun, the mighty unreachable Sect Leader Nie.
From Nie MingJue.
02.
That day, Meng Yao found the servant girl responsible for the laundry, but offered to help out with the bloody robe so it wouldn’t make her uncomfortable. Sitting by the basin in absolute silence, he slowly washed and rung out the heavy robe inch by inch until it was completely clean, just like he used to do in HeJian.
Though the servant girl made sure the water was warm when she left, it had gone cold by the time Meng Yao finished. Kneeling on the ground, he spread out the wet fabric. The golden beast looked even brighter without the bloodstain.
He didn’t know when his cheeks began to heat, but he pressed it to the wet fabric, hoping to gain some coolness, lightly, careful and restrained.
He closed his eyes and lifted his chin, his lips brushing against the tight embroidery. He could feel his breath becoming uneven, yet he didn’t move.
Above his head, a cloud hid him from the moonlight. His thoughts sat in silence.
03.
Two years into the Sunshot Campaign, Sect Leader Nie received a distress call from the Yu Sect, and led Meng Yao and his troops to the mountainous battlefield of An-Yang. The Wen Dogs had the landscape at their advantage, but in the end was no match against the ferociousness of the Nie Sect Cultivators. With Nie MingJue leading from the front lines, their troops swept across the entire region, picking it clean of Wen Dogs.
With the battle over, Nie MingJue was still held back by the pleas of the commoners which Meng Yao had relayed to him. He ordered his people to eradicate the evil spirits which plagued the mountains, while taking Meng Yao on his sword to the highest peak to survey the western battlefield.
Meng Yao had only just formed a golden core, and was barely able to fly. Flying through the treacherous winds and thick miasma, he had nearly fallen off when he felt a sudden lightness. Nie MingJue had held him steady upon his saber.
According to the local Sect Leader, this was the outskirts of their territory, and without frequent exorcism, the resentful energy had accumulated.
Held at Nie MingJue’s side, Meng Yao looked down upon the smoky miasma. The trees were covered by darkness, as if scorched by a forest fire.
Softly, he said, “Things are hard for the civilians at An-Yang.”
It was difficult to live in a place without cultivation sects, and even harder during times of strife.
“Our sweep will do the job temporarily. But this place has too much resentful energy, so sooner or later the evil spirits will rise again,” absently, Nie MingJue tapped his fingers with the hand that rest upon Meng Yao’s shoulder, “this place is too far from QingHe for us to take care of. The Yu Sect is too small to exert the effort.”
“Treatments always come too late in these secluded areas, the evil spirits will increase in time and more and more civilians will be hurt. The major families has been discussing this matter for over 20 years, and has never managed to agree upon a solution, then Wen Sect started to take over, and the discussion got dropped. There’s still no solution.”
Meng Yao didn’t know how to answer. Nie MingJue had so much thoughts on this matter. He remembered the desperate pleas of the villagers. He didn’t know what to think. Glancing down, he saw the flags which the villagers set up, a misshapen beast head sigil flew in the mountain wind.
Those villagers feared being ignored, so they sewed the Nie Sect sigil overnight, referencing crudely drawn books. If it was a proud and arrogant sect, their handiwork might have offended them. Thankfully, it was the Nie Sect.
Finally Meng Yao thought of something positive to say, “We have to focus on the war right now. We'll clean up the evil spirits thoroughly this time, and it should last a few years. By the time the war is over, we can decide whether the area falls to us or the Yu Sect.”
“…You’re right.”
ChiFeng-Zun had always been a serious person, but he had a nice laugh, low and quiet, with a hint of huskiness. It reminded him of wind sweeping across a valley.
04.
When they descended from the mountain, Nie MingJue asked Meng Yao if he felt a bit better.
Meng Yao finally understood why Nie MingJue brought him to the mountain.
The sideway glances from the Yus, idle gossips at the camps, the subtle sneers from other cultivators whenever he passed by, they weighed his heart down. Thanks to his background, he couldn’t express any frustrations he felt.
Nie MingJue told him that he’s enough, that he was excellent, that he didn’t need to pay the others any mind.
The wind swept across the valley, and created ripples amongst the depths.
05.
He didn’t dare look to that person’s face, in fear of saying something he couldn’t take back. He could only stare at the dark war banners, a smudge of ink against the sky, rising and falling, synchronizing with his rapid heartbeats.
He closed his eyes. His throat tightened as he forced the words out, a voice barely audible against the sound of the wind, “Sect Leader…”
—I’d follow you from dust to dust.*
06.
There are some things you cannot say, dare not say, should not say.
Whether it was Meng Yao of the past or for the LianFang-Zun that came after, this shackle clamped tightly around his throat, sealing every word.
The only difference was that the Meng Yao of the past dared to hope.
He tried to speak when he knew he shouldn’t.
He hoped that one day, they’d be equals and share their thoughts in the open. But what results did it bring?
He was still young back then, full of thoughts and not enough experience. All he could do was turn the thought in his head over and over. He cut a corner of the sect leader’s ruined robe and kept it by his heart, for a peace of mind, for an impossible dream.
Day after day, until it became an obsession.
07.
When LianFang-Zun looked back upon his life, he could only sigh at his own naivety.
He still had a heart full of hope back then, even though he had struggled through the very bottom of the society, he had Nie MingJue to protect him before he could experience too many hardship within the cultivation world. He was impressionable enough to believe that the laws of their society was as fair as Nie MingJue had taught him, that if he tried hard enough, his efforts would be rewarded.
Without enough experience, it was easy to be idealistic.
He never thought that the first person he met was the brightest light amongst the high stage of cultivation society.
08.
Outside the tent, the accomplished ones boasted loudly. Inside the tent, Meng Yao knelt amongst the map and many drafts of strategies, completely in the dark.
He reached within his robe and searched. The Jin Sect uniform was too big on him, so the piece of fabric he tucked by his heart had slipped to his stomach. Slowly, he traced the faded beast head pattern with his fingers and smiled.
With hope in his heart, he wouldn’t let anything stop him.
Luck was fickle, and the heavens were not on his side, but more than just hardship, life had taught him schemes and cunning. What should be his will be his, he just needed to put in some extra effort.
As for morals… all that matters is what people see.
09.
Everything went smoothly, if not for the sound of saber unsheathing.
Nie MingJue had witnessed him killing his superior. With rage, he demanded for him to confess his crimes.
ChiFeng-Zun’s anger and disappointment spilled through every word. It was the first time he glared at him with such vitriol. He was angry enough to call the work of many sleepless nights “a bit of credit”, angry enough to demand about the genuiness of their first meeting.
He said, “don’t lie to my face!”
The way he said those words, it was as if he was speaking to a Wen Dog.
Every single instance, regardless of sincerity, had became a lie at that moment.
Meng Yao knew, it didn’t matter what he said to defend himself, Nie MingJue would never believe him again—Even though there was nothing to defend in the first place.
To the past which there was no other witness, to the most sincere feelings in his heart, there was none who could speak for him but himself.
And it won’t be believed.
10.
Meng Yao knelt down by Nie MingJue’s feet. For a moment, he thought he could give his life in exchange for a chance of forgiveness from that person.
But only for a moment.
He didn’t know if it was a reaction, the indignation carved into his bones, or his unstoppable ambition. Or perhaps, it was simply because the way Nie MingJue looked to him at that moment was akin to the impersonal glare of an enemy.
—Later in life, LianFang-Zun would only admit to the former; but that moment, Meng Yao only feared the latter.
He feigned suicide, ambushed Nie MingJue when he was busy sending him qi, and escaped.
Back then, he ran through the forest for his life. When he finally stopped to check for his own wound, he realized that the piece of fabric that had slipped to his stomach was already stuck to his wound with congealed blood. He ripped it off with force, uncaring that it reopened his wounds. Kneeling with half his body submerged within the icy stream, he spread the fabric open with shaking hands.
The beast head pattern was pierced right through by his own sword, a light rip, and it fell into pieces.
Meng Yao started laughing, bit by bit, it turned into sobs.
He knew fate was unkind. He didn’t knew to what extent.
The blood on the broken fabric begun to darken in colour, the fragmented beast head became unrecognizable. Submerging it within the water, the colour of blood only spread.
The pieces slipped through his fingers, and travelled down the stream.
This time, he could never wash it clean again.
11.
Wen RuoHan had asked him: Why did he come to QiShan?
He answered with some generic “to follow true power”, “not appreciated for his efforts”, “nowhere else that’d accept him”, “indignant for dismissal”, and all that was expected. He couldn’t remember which was which.
All he could remember was that Sect Leader Wen had stepped down from his high dais and set his foot upon his shoulder, grinding his body against the cold marble floor until it was numb.
12.
QiShan was harder than LangYa.
His little schemes and plans back then, what people call sins. Those were nothing in QiShan.
But at least Nie MingJue wasn’t in the Nightless City. At least Nie MingJue wouldn’t see him.
If Nie MingJue couldn’t see it, then it wasn’t important.
13.
Before that day at the Flame Palace, Meng Yao never thought he’d be the one to kill Wen RuoHan.
Up to the moment Wen RuoHan’s blood splattered before his eyes, he still couldn’t be sure.
But the moment he stepped through the gate on that day, he knew only one thing for sure. Nie MingJue must live to the end.
14.
Later, in the play-pretend games inspired by the Sunshot campaign, many little LianFang-Zuns would wave their little hands after killing Wen RuoHan, enjoying their moment of victory.
Back in that moment, all Meng Yao could remember was holding Nie MingJue, the sensation of the bloodied beast head embroidered robes against his skin, and the hammering sound of heartbeats. He couldn’t remember which one of them it belonged to.
15.
Wen RuoHan died—he killed him.
The Sunshot Campaign was victorious.
With his life he fought for a future, for his background, for the safety of another.
He finally won.
When he realized this, his legs had grown soft. Balancing on BaXia in one hand, he dragged Nie MingJue with all his strength and escaped as far as he could. He didn’t dare stop.
When he had trampled over countless Wen banners, when his heart soured beyond reigns, Nie MingJue’s hand, draped over his neck, finally twitched.
He wanted to laugh. He wanted to know how the Jin Sect would treat him, how the cultivation world would treat him. He wanted to hear... what Nie MingJue had to say.
Nie MingJue asked hoarsely, “Wen RuoHan, is he dead?”