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The letter from Qinghe is quite formal and short—an invitation to partake in the Qingming festival taking place next month to the extent Jiang Cheng’s own duties allow. It doesn’t leave anything up to interpretation, except for the fact it is written by a hand Jiang Cheng recognizes. And that is not a hand that usually deals with writing formal letters.

He writes back swiftly, feeling quite elated by the thought of seeing Nie Huaisang again so soon. On the first day he plans to take care of the Ancestral Hall, and to properly pay his respects to his family, but on the second day he could travel if he sets out really early on. It would be the first time he goes to the Unclean Realm without any political matters to resolve. Dare he say it, it could almost be a short vacation!

Of course, the elation lasts all but two hours after the messenger leaves with the reply. Jiang Cheng paces back and forth for a while, caught between doubting his ability to be pleasant company and doubting the meaning of the letter itself. Could it be an invitation sent out of courtesy simply because he had asked for one? 

On Tomb Sweeping Day, in the privacy of the Ancestral Hall, Jiang Cheng tells his sister,

“I’m afraid.”

There’s no answer, but the admission lifts some weight off of his shoulders. He absentmindedly adjusts the bowl of lotus soup he prepared for them.

“I think I’m hopeful too.”

The following day, Jiang Cheng sets out at the break of dawn. Two disciples accompany him, both very eager to experience the festival in a new light. They are silent for the most part, except when they pass over bigger settlements and kites surge up into the sky. They squabble over which design looks nicer, at first whispering to each other, but when no reprimand comes from Jiang Cheng, they start discussing things louder.

Jiang Cheng is rather glad to hear them in the background. Their conversation pulls him out of his thoughts now and then, though not for long. He feels hesitant yet again. The same doubts as before keep plaguing him—did he read too much in the poem? Maybe Nie Huaisang was only humouring his wish to read it. Jiang Cheng hesitates now to imagine there could be something more between them. He knows his faults all too well, and the matchmakers are more than tired of him.

Even if lost in thought, entering Qinghe territory doesn’t go unnoticed. There’s cliffs upon cliffs upon cliffs, peppered with white and green, spawning for as far as the eye can see, all the way to the Unclean Realm. Every time he passed by this region before, Jiang Cheng was too focused on his tasks to take some time and notice its beauty. Even now, when he is basically travelling for leisure, he is oppressed by uncertainty and can’t spare more than a passing glance. He couldn’t say he regrets accepting the invitation, because he doesn’t—he enjoys Nie Huaisang’s company far too much to regret such a thing, but he dreads being rejected. Knowing his luck, things could easily go in that direction.

At the Unclean Realm, Jiang Cheng and his disciples are received the moment they land. A group of servants leads the two youths to their quarters, while a scholar-official proceeds with the customary greeting toward Jiang Cheng.

The scholar-official is a person Jiang Cheng has actually interacted with before on clan matters. He is an eldery man by the name of Wang Fulin, the usual envoy sent to Yunmeng. At first glance, he is tall and willowy, dressed plainly and exuding humility. On one hand, seeing a familiar face is reassuring, but on the other hand, it leaves him feeling wrong-footed from the start. Where is Nie Huaisang?

Jiang Cheng bows to the man stiffly.

“Sect leader Nie formally apologizes for his absence,” the scholar official says. “This one will show you to your quarters. There will be a banquet at sunset. Should you be in need of anything, please let the servants know and they will assist you to the best of their capacity.”

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng says.

He follows in-step with Wang Fulin, looking around the compound as they delve deeper toward the residence for important guests. The training area is empty, with the exception of one single disciple practicing their swordsmanship vigorously. Jiang Cheng looks on with intrigue, considering the festival is still underway.

Wang Fulin notices him slowing down and offers some explanations:

“That is our most promising pupil! She is truly devoted to the art of the saber and has already formed a golden core by the age of 12!”

“That is indeed impressive,” Jiang Cheng agrees.

“We couldn’t be rid of her even if we tried! Kicking her out of here will only make her practice in the street,” Wang Fulin adds, chuckling heartily. “Place a mountain before a determined child and they will cut it down.”

Knowing Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng can't but wholeheartedly agree.

Once he is settled in the guest quarters, Jiang Cheng slumps down on the bed wearily. He stares at the ceiling for several minutes, head empty of thoughts. The journey itself was long and tiring, and that coupled with the insecurity he feels just cements the need for a bit of rest. Surely a sect leader should welcome another visiting sect leader?

Before falling asleep, he thinks quite sourly,

Perhaps Nie Huaisang does not want to see me that much.

At the banquet, Jiang Cheng arrives slightly later than intended. Years of practice let him school his face into a more neutral expression, successfully hiding the anxiety brimming underneath his skin.

As soon as he is announced, he steps inside, taking in the place. The banquet is an exquisite affair. The main hall of the residence has been furnished with a large round table, several smaller ones, and many richly embroidered cushions. The doors are all adorned with willow branches. Everywhere there are trays laden with sweet green rice balls, crispy cakes and eggs, with many more cold dishes spread out on the tables. Several high ranked officials of the Nie clan are attending alongside their families, but Jiang Cheng sees some simpler folk present as well, making for quite a diverse crowd. He spots his two disciples at one of the smaller tables, both appearing quite entertained already. 

And yet... He looks around hoping to see the fluttering of a familiar fan, but the Sect leader Nie is not here. 

Later, as the festivity progresses, Jiang Cheng has tired of eating, making small talk, and most of all, of asking about Nie Huaisang and only getting ‘I don’t know' in reply. The only remotely agreeable person in the room is the minister of agriculture, and that is because the person interpreted a simple greeting as a full conversation. Perhaps Jiang Cheng should leave early and scour the place himself. What could they do to him?

He excuses himself from the crowd nearby, then takes his leave. By the door, he bumps into the scholar-official from before.

One more try wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“Senior Wang, may I ask after Sect leader Nie? There is something I want to discuss with him.”

Wang Fulin averts his eyes. His brows furrow, his mouth thins as he contemplates his answer. 

There is clearly something wrong here, easily changing the nuances of Jiang Cheng’s anxiousness. Perhaps Nie Huaisang isn’t willingly missing? He puts a hand on the official’s shoulder, giving him quite the staredown.

“I would appreciate it if you could tell me where to find him.”

Wang Fulin looks at him sadly, taking several moments before he answers simply, “I don’t know.”

“You—” Jiang Cheng stops himself in time. He realizes he’s clenching his hands and quickly steps away from Wang Fulin before (literal) sparks fly. “Very well,” he grits out, then turns to leave. If nobody wants to point him in the right direction, then Jiang Cheng will just have to spend more time looking on his own.

“Ah, Sect leader,” Wang Fulin speaks behind him, voice hoarse. 

Jiang Cheng stills, listening.

“I really don’t know where he is, but I do know the aviary is a favorite place of his.”

The aviary is a fancy enclosure inside an inner courtyard, hidden away from prying eyes. It takes a couple of minutes to locate it. It spans several meters in width and at least double that in height. The main decoration inside is an arrangement of branches, on which about a dozen birds are perched, sleeping. Soft chirping catches his attention, and he steps toward the net with interest, but none of the birds seems to be awake.

“Shh, shh, don’t disturb them,” a young voice whispers quite alarmed.

Jiang Cheng freezes, suddenly hyper aware of all the small winged creatures in the aviary. He turns, noticing a person approaching him quietly. By their stature, it seems to be a child. They step out of the shadows—it’s the little girl from the training room! She indicates that he should follow her, then walks to a nearby pavilion, where they can presumably talk more freely.

“We were meditating,” she tells Jiang Cheng once outside the bird enclosure. She shows Jiang Cheng a small flute, as if that would make any more sense.

Is she playing music to the birds to meditate?

“I am looking for the Sect leader,” Jiang Cheng says. Truthfully, he is quite perturbed by this encounter.

“Ah, ah, not here, probably not in his proper chambers either!” she replies easily. “You know, I don’t think he’s okay, he barely spoke to me this morning. I was ready for breakfast, quite excited about the upcoming guest—oh, he must have already arrived!—and he only grabbed some fruit and left. Just like that!”

Jiang Cheng listens to her progressively curious ramblings. There isn’t any pause in her ideas, and Jiang Cheng hesitates in interrupting her. He would rather find out what happened from Nie Huaisang himself, but some background information wouldn’t hurt.

“So, I trained all day, and then I feasted copiously. Then I made sure to feed the birds—it is my responsibility, did you know that? Then they started getting restless when some people set off firecrackers, so I played to them like Nie-xiong showed me and they are calm now. I feel better too! Perhaps I should play for Nie-xiong …”

“Do you have any idea where he is? Everyone I ask only tells me where he isn’t.”

The girl shrugs, but after a minute of deliberation, she points to a building nearby.

“Maybe he’s in his old room. It’s a nice place. On the left!”

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng tells her sincerely.

“You’re welcome, mister! Goodbye!” And then she goes back to the aviary, perhaps to continue her meditation.

He finds the door easily enough. At the sight of it, insecurity clouds his judgement yet again. Should he be here, intruding so deeply into another person’s home? What is he looking for, really? If there really is something the matter, who would want to see him when they’re feeling down? What is he even going to say to Nie Huaisang? ‘Why didn’t you come see me?’ sounds far too childish and entitled.

Jiang Cheng stares at the door, clenching and unclenching his fists. He even raises his hand to knock once, but stops before his knuckles reach the paneling. He could still leave now. This is a formal visit only. If anything, Nie Huaisang is the only one who would lose face from the whole affair by not showing up.

He turns around, stops, turns back to the door.

And yet…

He holds onto that glimmer of hope he told Shijie about and knocks.

No answer.

He knocks again, putting more force behind the motion.

No answer.

“Nie Huaisang, are you in there?”

There’s some slight rustling, then very deliberate silence. Jiang Cheng breathes out in irritation. Why is everyone he knows so stubborn?

“Nie Huaisang, I came here to see you. I will leave if you don’t want to talk to me.”

There’s a dull thud, then the sound of something heavy rolling on the floor.

“Don’t leave,” Nie Huaisang pleads from inside the room. There’s some more rustling, and finally the door slides open.

All of Jiang Cheng’s anger dissipates the moment he sees Nie Huaisang. The man looks terrible! His hair is dishevelled, his clothes wrinkled and he leans on the doorframe like he barely has enough strength to stand, looking at Jiang Cheng like he can’t quite find what to say. Jiang Cheng himself stares at Nie Huaisang in silence for precisely five seconds, before he slides the door open completely.

“May I come in?”

Nie Huaisang hangs his head low and nods meekly. He steps away from the entrance, retreating into the shadows of his old room. Jiang Cheng follows him cautiously. There’s some light streaming through the window, but it is too faint to see anything properly. Jiang Cheng’s foot collides with something, sending it and several other items scattering all over the floor.

“Do you have a lamp in here?”

“... yes.”

Nie Huaisang moves about the room with practiced ease. He stands by the window fiddling with the tinderbox, casting the room further into darkness. Jiang Cheng waits by the door, unwilling to risk bumping into more things and make a bigger mess. They are both silent, and it’s suffocating. It feels like hours until Nie Huaisang finally sparks a fire and lights up the lamp.

Soft, warm light bathes the room in orange hues. Jiang Cheng finally sees where he is: a spacious room containing several shelves filled to the brim with scrolls, a couple of low tables and a bed pushed somewhere further in the back. All over the floor are stacks of books, sheets of paper, writing and drawing tools, and a variety of other trinkets. They converge around a bunch of cushions and blankets like a barrier between whoever sits there and the rest of the world.

Nie Huaisang places the oil lamp on the table nearest to the cushions, then remains still, eyes downcast.

“I’ve been a terrible host, please forgive me,” he says with shaky breath. “Did you like the, uhh—”

“Stop this nonsense,” Jiang Cheng cuts in firmly. He sidesteps some of the books and makes his way toward him.

Upclose, the other sect leader looks downright miserable. There’s bags under his eyes and dried tear streaks on both his cheeks. As soon as they make eye contact, Nie Huaisang looks away and hugs himself. It’s quite the sad sight, to be honest.

Jiang Cheng reaches out toward him slowly, hesitating at first. He’s not used to comforting people—even less now, since Jin Ling has left Lotus Pier for good. He closes his eyes briefly, thinking of his older sister’s gentle touch. What would she do if she were here instead? 

He settles his hand on the crook of Nie Huaisang's neck, nudging him to look at him. They're close enough that Jiang Cheng could count his eyelashes if he wanted to.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asks softly.

Nie Huaisang places one of his own hands over Jiang Cheng’s and rests his cheek on top of it. He’s staring into the distance, lost in thought. For a few seconds, his mouth stretches into a sad, self-deprecating smile.

“Nothing has happened,” he replies. “Everything is going well, in fact.”

“You don’t look very well,” Jiang Cheng states pointedly.

“We can’t all look as handsome as you, Jiang Wanyin.”

Jiang Cheng—evidently—blushes. He remains undeterred though:

“Please, tell me what’s bothering you.”

Nie Huaisang sighs. He moves a step away until he’s by the cushions and sits down heavily. He leaves some space for Jiang Cheng, who sits down to his right a moment later. Once they’re both settled, he picks out a scroll, hands it to Jiang Cheng, then unrolls it until it reaches Nie Huaisang’s left side.

“Look,” he says, pointing to the first segment on the scroll, “do you recognize this?”

Jiang Cheng angles the scroll a bit so that more light falls onto its surface. It depicts a stream with large rocks breaking the flow of the water; the shore is painted further to the left, full of greenery but overall quite nondescript. Jiang Cheng studies it with interest—there is indeed something about it that feels familiar. 

“Is this… is this from Gusu?” he asks. The moment he gives voice to his thoughts, the memories return. How long ago was it that the three of them (with Wei Wuxian) would go to that small stream and fish?

“It is. I wasn’t very good at catching anything though…” 

Nie Huaisang laughs silently to himself, then waves an insistent hand at Jiang Cheng’s side of the scroll, urging him to roll it up. Once the stream segment is out of sight, he reveals another portion of the scroll: the entrance to the Orchid Room from the Cloud Recesses.

Jiang Cheng looks at the painting with disbelief—it is exactly the way he remembers it from their childhood! Before tragedy struck the Cloud Recesses as well, that is.

Several minutes pass in this manner. Jiang Cheng marvels at the countless handscrolls Nie Huaisang seems to have produced back in the day. He even has one with scenery from Yunmeng! Nie Huaisang himself appears more and more at ease with each detail he points out, so Jiang Cheng remains a silent spectator. He’d always known Nie Huaisang was a good artist, but perhaps he hadn’t quite realized the scope of it before.

“Wasn’t it wonderful back then?” Nie Huaisang muses as he’s rolling up the last handscroll. “Oh, to be a guest disciple in Gusu in late spring…”

Jiang Cheng says nothing. It is sad to think about how much of his life he’s spent plagued by tragedy and grief. To think back then he was concerned with keeping up with his training and bantering with Wei Wuxian on a daily basis. To have no idea what the future had in store for them all.

He should have hugged his family more when he had had the chance.

Then there’s Nie Huaisang, who often joined him and Wei Wuxian during their free time. Back then, Jiang Cheng was quite annoyed with Nie Huaisang’s tendency to slack off and waste his time with frivolities. Why would he spend so much time reading fiction and drawing, when instead he should be cultivating and training himself? Besides, Wei Wuxian did in no way need an enabler, and yet there they were—getting in trouble.

Truth to be told, Jiang Cheng felt some sort of kinship between him and Nie Huaisang. Their families demanded a lot, and both were disappointed in them. What he couldn’t understand was why Nie Huaisang wouldn’t do his best to do his duties. How could he waive it all away and pursue his interests? It baffled him even more when he thought who Nie Huaisang’s older brother was. To defy such a man… unthinkable!

Retrospectively, he realizes perhaps some envy was mixed in as well. Sometimes, when a reprimand would hit too hard, he would think of Nie Huaisang and how easily he walked his own path in life. And then his annoyance would turn to admiration. What courage to stand up to his family!

Nie Huaisang snaps closed a lacquered wooden box. The sound brings Jiang Cheng out of his trance, and he blinks, reorienting himself.

“It was certainly a more peaceful time,” Jiang Cheng agrees.

Nie Huaisang picks out another scroll, but this one is full of text. He only glimpses at the beginning before he throws it to Jiang Cheng as if it burned his hand.

“Ah, this is one of the scrolls we had to study near the end, do you remember it?” He asks.

“You’ve actually kept the materials?”

“Some of them. I don’t know why—they’re not as useful anymore.” He sighs. “Perhaps I am simply too caught up living in the past.”

Jiang Cheng is definitely not the appropriate person to comment on such behaviour. 

They're looking at painted folding fans next when Huaisang speaks up unprompted.

“I went to our clan’s Ancestral Hall yesterday. Gathered a handful of disciples and tidied up the place. It didn’t take very long, actually.”

His voice becomes more and more hollow as he talks.

"I went there once with my brother, years ago, when some thieves had broken in. It hurt to be there again. We almost… stepped on the right path back then. We were so close to it…"

Nie Huaisang puts down the fan he's fiddling with and buries his face in his hands.

“Every year, every year I wonder how I could be so ignorant as to let my brother be… be… poisoned —” he spits the word “—right before my eyes. If I had paid more attention…”

“Huaisang…”

“But I didn’t! I didn’t know!” He looks at Jiang Cheng with eyes full of grief, tears trailing down his cheeks. He wipes them angrily with the sleeve of his robes, then goes on with vitriol, “How could my good friend do this to my family? Kill his own sworn brother? We were friends !”

Jiang Cheng feels completely out of his depth. In part, he understands Nie Huaisang’s pain. He too has complicated experiences with someone he trusted very much. Betrayal cuts far too deeply for simple words to mend.

“Maybe I could have saved my brother,” Nie Huaisang whispers. He’s hugging his knees to his chest now, and no longer bothering to dry his eyes.

“This is all done and in the past, A-Sang,” Jiang Cheng says quietly. He puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer, until Jiang Cheng can lay his cheek on his head. 

"I could have—"

"Each of us has regrets," Jiang Cheng intervenes firmly. "I could have supported my brother before—" he swallows hard, acutely aware of the rapidly growing pit in his stomach "—but I didn't. I didn't."

Huaisang mumbles something unintelligible into the collar of Jiang Cheng's robe.

"Hmm?"

"I'm so lonely," he whimpers, louder this time. "You are the only person left that I—”

Jiang Cheng breathes in deeply, unable to think about anything at all.

"I'm here now, and I'm listening," he says. In the spur of the moment, he presses a kiss to Nie Huaisang's head. "I'm here."

Nie Huaisang sniffles, burrowing his face into Jiang Cheng's neck desperately. He puts an arm around Jiang Cheng's waist, and the other he throws over his chest. It's unusual for Jiang Cheng to be embraced so tightly, with such fervour, but he responds in kind. He is filled with the urge to protect Nie Huaisang, both from the world and from Nie Huaisang's own thoughts. He knows firsthand how hard it is to find a way out of that type of insurmountable anguish.

"We can only go forward and do better," Jiang Cheng says, voice wobbling. His eyes are starting to prickle alarmingly.

“A-are you crying?” Nie Huaisang asks him, his sob turning into a short laugh, full of disbelief.

“You’re crying!” he retorts, wiping his eyes with his free hand.

Nie Huaisang finds it in himself to chuckle at Jiang Cheng’s expense again, then he slumps on Jiang Cheng wearily. All is not lost, it seems. Jiang Cheng can't bear to imagine what a distressing day Nie Huaisang must have had, to be spiralling so deeply into self-guilt. To think just yesterday Jiang Cheng was telling his sister how hopeful he felt about his relationship with Huaisang, and now to hear what a different experience Nie Huaisang had with the memory of his own family...

Jiang Cheng cards his fingers through Nie Huaisang's hair, playing absently with a strand, then another, until he feels Nie Huaisang relax properly in his arms. They spend several minutes like that, taking comfort in one another's presence. There's no need for any more words.

Nie Huaisang takes hold of Jiang Cheng's right hand and studies Zidian curiously. He twists Jiang Cheng's wrists around so he can get a better look at the details of the weapon, but the lighting is much fainter than before. A moment later, they are thrown into darkness.

"Ah, there wasn't much oil left in the lamp," Nie Huaisang says. He tries to stand, but Jiang Cheng doesn't let him.

"Let it be."

Nie Huaisang chuckles again—a good sign—then resumes his position like a lazy cat. It feels a lot like they have made some progress.

"I met your most promising disciple today," Jiang Cheng says. He remembers how fierce that girl had looked with her saber, already capable of performing complex training routines with ease. "She left quite the impression."

"Ooh, little A-Feng! She is quite unrelenting. I think old man Wang will adopt her officially in the near future,” Huaisang comments.

“Old man Wang?”

“You know… Old man Wang? I send him to Yunmeng when there’s business to attend to.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyebrows rise in disbelief. 

“That’s quite an informal form of address for such an experienced senior official,” he remarks.

“Well... “ Huaisang drags the syllable out, “We have quite the history.”

Jiang Cheng sighs. Trust Nie Huaisang to be on such familiar terms with his officials.

Another detail catches his attention though—

“The girl is an orphan?”

“Yes. She was a beggar that we—that is, Wang Fulin and I—found once while dealing with some local disturbance. She’s been living here in the main compound, but I have eyes. The old man is quite attached to her.” Nie Huaisang sighs noisily. “Perhaps you don’t know this, but Wang Fulin’s family was killed back when we fought the Wens. He had two children and a beautiful wife. Now, I hope little A-Feng can soften his old heart a bit.”

How strange for so many years to pass and still be haunted by the deeds of the Wens!

“I did not know, but from my experience, he is quite patient. He left a good impression.”

Nie Huaisang laughs heartily. “Oh, that’s perfect! If not even old man Wang could have left a good impression, then I really don’t know who I’d have to send to Yunmeng.”

Jiang Cheng pokes him in the side, eliciting a yelp.

“Well, it’s true! You have to admit it. Your temper is legendary!”

Jiang Cheng refuses to answer.

Later, when Nie Huaisang is starting to yawn, Jiang Cheng decides they’ve had enough of lying on the floor. He starts getting up, but nothing in life comes without obstacles.

“Let go of my sleeve.”

“I was almost asleep! But then you moved!”  

“You can sleep on the bed. Come on, you need to rest properly,” Jiang Cheng instructs. He tugs on the sleeve, but Nie Huaisang predictably doesn’t let go. Without much of a choice, he kneels back down.

“Ah, good—Aah! What are you doing?”

Thankfully, Nie Huaisang isn’t too heavy to carry. Jiang Cheng holds him securely, one hand underneath his knees, the other around his torso. Nie Huaisang's arms fly around his neck in surprise, strangling him a tiny bit, but Jiang Cheng will let it pass this time. He walks to the bed without tripping over anything—a feat in and of itself, considering there is no light—and lays the other sect leader down gently. Jiang Cheng retrieves the blankets from the floor and gives them a good shake, then returns to him and wraps him up like a cocoon.

“Well, now I won’t sleep,” Nie Huaisang says. Coincidentally, a yawn swallows whatever protests he was about to say next.

He huffs.

“Fine, but would you… would you stay here until I fall asleep?”

It must be well into the night by now. Jiang Cheng could return to his quarters, but he doesn’t want to run away anymore. He sits on the edge of the bed, trailing a hand down Nie Huaisang’s hair. He gently moves a couple of strands out of his face, then rests his hand over Nie Huaisang’s hand on top of the covers.

“Do you know any songs, Wanyin?” Nie Huaisang asks, quite pointedly stressing the courtesy name. Perhaps he’s trying to fluster Jiang Cheng again, but there’s a longing in his voice that gives his genuine feelings away.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t even think to resist the suggestion.

“My sister often sang this song when we were all children,” he says. Already he can hear her in his mind, a young Jiang Yanli comforting him to the best of her abilities. He doesn’t remember all the words, but they come to him once he starts to sing, as if she’s nearby, whispering to him what comes next.

When the song ends, Nie Huaisang is asleep.

In the morning, Jiang Cheng wakes up with two pains: one in his neck and one in his back. Another pain in his eyes follows when he opens them—the sun rays reach precisely the half of the bed he has been lying in. He stands careful not to jostle Nie Huaisang, then regards the room like one would survey a battlefield after war. The sun fills it with light, revealing all the things that Nie Huaisang finds comfort in and loves dearly. Jiang Cheng looks once more to the sleeping man fondly, shaking his head, then sets to work.

Not knowing the original place of the items, he can only organise them in piles and put them neatly to a side. It’s quite nostalgic work, especially when he ends up leafing through a booklet from the Cloud Recesses. The harder part is being sufficiently quiet as he moves around.

Very soon he discovers he needn’t be so stealthy after all:

“Jiang Cheng?” 

Jiang Cheng turns around from the window and finds Nie Huaisang sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m here,” he says.

Nie Huaisang smiles.

On the third day of the Qingming festival, night finds Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang looking down at the Unclean Realm from the top of one of the towers. People are out and about on the streets, each with their own kite, flying them high into the sky. Small lanterns are tied to the kites, filling the night sky with countless twinkling stars.

The two sect leaders watch the performance enraptured. The chilly mountain air, the tall, dark shapes of the mountains themselves—they add a magical touch to the moment.

“You know,” Nie Huaisang says suddenly, voice small, “I was quite taken with you when we were young.”

Jiang Cheng stills, afraid to look at him and afraid to miss out on his expression at the same time. His heart is hammering in his ears and it’s becoming harder to focus.

What about now? He thinks, What about now?

“You’re very kind, but I do not think many people get to see it. I’m glad I could be one of them,” Nie Huaisang continues. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all... this during your holiday.” He sighs.

Jiang Cheng looks at him then, finds him smiling sadly as he gestures to all of himself. It hurts to see such an expression on Nie Huaisang’s face.

“I also want to say thank you—” 

“What about now?” Jiang Cheng interrupts his small speech. He feels jittery all over, with a swarm of butterflies making rounds in his stomach.

Nie Huaisang blinks, confused.

“What?”

“How do—how do you feel about me now?”

Nie Huaisang’s mouth hangs open. His face is reddening more and more with each passing second.

“I… I…”

Jiang Cheng has been preparing for this rejection for more than a month now. He closes his eyes, draws out a long breath, all in the hopes of accepting it more easily. He will be fine. He has to be.

A pair of hands takes his own into its hold.

Jiang Cheng’s eyes snap open, confused.

“A-Cheng, every time I see you, I fall a little bit more in love with you.”

Nie Huaisang brings Jiang Cheng’s hands to his mouth and presses a couple of butterfly kisses to his knuckles.

“... you like me?” Jiang Cheng asks quietly. He can’t quite process this unexpected development.

“Yes. Do you like me?” he retorts, lighting up with such a big smile on his face that it would be enough to dispel any sadness in the world.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng breathes out. The word is liberating, like he finally let himself be taken by the current of the river instead of swimming against the flow.

“You really like me? Me?” Nie Huaisang repeats, overjoyed. His eyes follow Jiang Cheng’s movements like he couldn’t possibly look away.

“Yes, I like you. I like you a lot.” Jiang Cheng can’t seem to control the smile on his face.

They look at each other then and both burst into laughter. Could it really be so easy?

“May I kiss you?” Nie Huaisang asks coyly, stepping closer to him.

“Please.”

Nie Huaisang grabs the collars of his robe and pulls him down until their faces are close enough that they share the same breath.

“I’ve been dreaming of this,” he admits, then closes the gap between them.

It’s a soft press of the lips at first, over in a few seconds. Jiang Cheng feels Nie Huaisang’s mouth stretching into a smile, before Nie Huaisang wraps his arms around Jiang Cheng’s neck and kisses him again, pressing their bodies closer to each other. Jiang Cheng returns the embrace, kissing back with the same amount of fervour.

It takes a while until they leave the tower.

Bonus:

“I’m surprised you’re not flying one of your own,” Jiang Cheng comments off-handedly, nodding toward the kites.

Nie Huaisang simpers. “Normally I would—a handcrafted one, of course—but I would need my hands to fly a kite.” He gives their intertwined hands a shake. “And right now, I’d rather hold yours.”