Archive of Our Own

The entire way to the city of Fei—, Nie Mingjue struggles to read a poetry book. It’s slim, with barely any poem spanning more than a single page, yet the lines feel endless. The space between stanzas is ample, artistic, almost minimalistic were it not for the richness of the words printed on the page. He can’t seem to fully grasp their beauty—not in the way Lan Xichen does so effortlessly—but he can glimpse at it.

A little bit.

The train rattles and shakes him from his stupor. The book falls to the floor with a dull thud.

Nie Mingjue gasps and bends down to grab it at once. He checks it for damages, thumbing at the beautiful hardcover, and he settles the pages inside neatly, before he looks over the letter he hid in-between its pages. He makes sure it is not visible from the outside and puts the book in the safety of his bag. He is not a fan of poetry, but he can’t help himself.

It’s one of Lan Xichen’s favourite books, after all. 

It was only a matter of time before he ended up trying to decipher it and—after he meets Lan Xichen face to face at last—he hopes perhaps he won’t embarrass himself too much when he finally gives it to him.

The letter it contains holds such power of him that it could unmake him, if so Lan Xichen desired.

There is no one else alive or dead in the world who knows Nie Mingjue better than Lan Xichen.

(Sometimes, Nie Mingjue hopes the reverse is true as well.)

A month ago, Nie Mingjue’s workplace raised the matter of increased ‘nightlife’ activity in the city of Fei—, located in Lanling. Their agents, always in flux, scattered all over the country, cannot spend too much time in one single area, as their number doesn’t allow it, and monsters pop up indiscriminately. The head of the Qinghe branch forwarded this message to the Qinghe night-hunters, Nie Mingjue included, and asked for volunteers to spend the following year monitoring the situation in Fei—. 

It was the fastest reply Nie Mingjue had ever offered to his boss.

Fei— was of interest to him for many reasons, starting from it being the place where his little brother dwelled for his studies, and ending with Fei— being Lan Xichen’s new home.

So, there he was with his life packed up in boxes, travelling via a regional train toward Lanling. A moving van already delivered most of his stuff earlier that morning, but he preferred to take the more leisure approach and kindly asked his little brother to pick him up from the station.

Their conversation was as eventful as one might expect. It went like this:

“Do you still have a spare room?” Nie Mingjue asked him over the phone some days ago.

“Yeah…?” Nie Huasiang’s tentative reply was merely the start of it.

“I’m coming over! My things should arrive in two days.”

“What? Are you visiting? How long are you staying?” The questions poured like a torrent.

“I suppose you could call it a visit… I’m staying for twelve months, give or take.”

“...”

“Huaisang?”

“You’re moving in with me?” Nie Huaisang screeched. “And you only now let me know?!”

Nie Mingjue laughed then and he laughs now remembering the memory. His laughter dies down with a sigh. 

The train is passing through a forestry area and the trees cast deep shadows inside the cabin. A single ray of sunshine falls through, revealing the blazing reds of the setting sun. He should arrive in Fei— later in the evening and hopefully find his little brother waiting for him at the station.

He misses him greatly.

Then, after he’s settled down? He will give Lan Xichen a call.

It’s high time they had an actual drink together.

♠

Nie Huaisang is not that much taller than the last time they saw each other. He continues to fit underneath Nie Mingjue’s arm like a child—though that might just be his own height at play. He is taller than everyone he knows.

“Da-ge, how could you!”

Those are the words that greet him the very moment he steps onto the platform. Nie Huaisang is standing a couple of steps away, hands on his hips and eyebrows pulled into a frown.

“I’m needed here for work. Didn’t you miss me at all?” he retorts, letting his shoulders slump exaggeratedly. He knows his brother well; showing up here is the only sign Nie Mingjue needs to relax.

“I missed you more before I knew I was going to have a flatmate,” Nie Huaisang mutters. Still, he approaches petulantly and puts an arm around Nie Mingjue’s middle, all the while making it seem like he is in physical pain.

“I’ll cook your favorite dish tomorrow,” Nie Mingjue promises. He pats Nie Huaisang on the back once.

After that, they grab his things (two suitcases, heavy, which he has to carry himself for obvious reasons, and Baxia’s travelling cage, which Nie Huaisang takes beaming) and they head out to the street.

“I missed you , little tomato,” Nie Huaisang tells the red canary in a baby voice. “You are a sight for sore eyes, unlike my brother!"

Once they finally get into a taxi, the last drops of tension in his body evaporate. He lets his brother take the lead—the student quickly tells the driver his address, then he slumps back on the back seat next to him. Nie Mingjue keeps silent, but watches him from the corner of his eye.

It never takes long for Nie Huaisang to come around.

They’re barely two streets away from the train station when he feels a slight touch at his side. It’s his brother’s elbow, very conspicuously pointing out toward him.

“I hope you’ll like the place,” Nie Huaisang says. “I really like living here.”

Their uncle wasn’t very approving of Nie Huaisang’s career choices. It felt like the family was banishing him when he finally moved out into the new flat, so far away from home that he could only drop by twice a year. Nie Mingjue starkly remembers how much it hurt to return home the day after Nie Huaisang’s flat was set up and his help wasn’t needed anymore, knowing that he will count on one hand the times the two will see each other every year.

That, coupled with Nie Mingjue’s fluctuating workplaces… time has keenly taken its toll on both of them. Though keeping in touch long-distance with Lan Xichen was like second nature for him now, it wasn’t the same when it came to his little brother. Nie Huaisang, thin and ready to dart away from responsibility like a slippery eel, was someone to be seen in person. Their conversations lost a lot of their flavour over the phone—the particulars of Nie Huaisang’s wit are more evident when mixed with the slant of his eyebrows and the smirk on his lips.

“I’ve heard about many good things to be found in Fei—,” Nie Mingjue says.

Nie Huaisang laughs lightly. It is a relief to hear him in person! Amusement persists in Nie Huasaing’s voice even after his chuckles die down and he smiles as he says, “Like your boyfriend, you mean?”

Nie Mingjue tenses up. This is going to be the downside of living with Nie Huasiang: the teasing, the jokes, and all because Nie Mingjue didn’t burn that one letter he never meant to send or even write in the first place. It was inevitable that the gods would play a joke on him and let Nie Huaisang find it, read it, figure it all out—he was the cleverest person Nie Mingjue knew, after all.

“At least I have someone,” Nie Mingjue remarks. Nie Huaisang’s gasp brings a smirk to Nie Mingjue's face. He struck gold on the first try!

“Why would you assume your multi-talented, fashionable brother is single?” Nie Huaisang asks, clearly offended.

“I guess you would have put up more of a fight when I said I was coming over.”

His brother is gravely silent for several seconds. He looks at him in question, a tiny bit worried about overstepping—sometimes, Nie Mingjue finds himself speaking much more harshly than he intends—but Nie Huaisang looks closer to a pissed off cat than anything else.

“You are officially together, then?” Nie Huaisang asks.

Nie Mingjue desperately wants to say ‘yes’, but he cannot bring himself to lie. The next answer would be ‘I want to,’ but he cannot bear to speak these words either. They stay lodged in his throat like a bundle of nerves before a night hunt, but while he recovers when he faces the dark creatures of the night, now he finds himself frozen, as if he were in a nightmare and unable to take a single step forward.

This is A-Sang, he reminds himself, he can know. He already knows.

Why is it so much harder, then, to voice what he feels instead of writing it?

“Oof, Da-ge, but you did tell him you’re going to be here, yes?”

“Yes.”

Nie Huaisang sighs. It sounds a bit judgmental and a whole lot tired. Thankfully, he maneuvers the conversation to something more palatable after that. As they traverse the city, Nie Huaisang begins a monologue about Fei—, pointing out building after building describing what life is like in the area.

At the flat, Nie Huaisang very quickly shows him where everything is, then disappears into his own room claiming ‘he has homework to do’ for his summer workshops. A bit dazed by the barrage of information and thoroughly tired after the long train ride, Nie Mingjue goes to the guest room (his room now), only to freeze in the doorway in shock.

The pile of bags and boxes he expected to find in the center is nowhere to be found. Instead, his clothes are all placed neatly in the wardrobe, his trinkets and books on a couple of shelves, and even his desk lamp and office supplies are laid out on the desk. His eyes widen as he inspects the nearest drawer: his socks are there, all lined up and grouped by colour.

“A-Sang??” he calls out, reeling.

“What?”

“Did you unpack everything?” Nie Mingjue asks.

A few moments later, Nie Huaisang appears in the open doorway. 

He glances inside haughtily. 

“What does it look like?” Shaking his head, he leaves with a simple, “I’m drawing , don’t bother me.”

Nie Mingjue stares at his retreating back precisely the way one would look like if they saw a ghost pass them by.

♠

The next day, Nie Mingjue wakes up at dawn feeling oddly refreshed. He checks his phone, finds several notifications waiting for him from the Fei— department of Night-hunting, a couple of texts from his work colleagues, and finally, what he was looking for—one new message from Lan Xichen.

He taps on it at once.

Lan Xichen: I hope you arrived safely! It might rain tomorrow, don’t forget your umbrella when you go out! 😊

Nie Mingjue catches himself smiling. He never has to look up the weather when he has Lan Xichen’s daily reminders, no matter where he is in the country. Now it’s probably a comfort for the other man—he only has to look up a single location for the day instead of two.

Nie Mingjue: I got here around 10 pm

Nie Mingjue: Didi put all of my stuff in its place!?

Lan Xichen: I always thought he was a rather nice boy

Nie Mingjue: He UNPACKED my stuff

Nie Mingjue: He hates cleaning

Nie Mingjue: My shiRTS ARE FOLDED

Lan Xichen: Enjoy it while it lasts?

Nie Mingjue: It’s probably already gone…

Nie Mingjue: Brb

He gets out of bed at last and goes through his morning routine with a spring in his step. To his dismay, there isn’t much in the fridge, and the three slices of bread he finds on the counter are starting to mold. He’s inspecting one of them, turning it around and marvelling at the amount of fungus he finds on its surface, when the door to Nie Huaisang’s room opens and his little brother shuffles out blearily.

“You’re so noisy,” he complains, then disappears in the bathroom.

“I’m going out to buy food,” Nie Mingjue calls out. He spots a fabric bag thrown over the back of a chair and grabs it for good measure. There’s a lot he needs to stock up on.

“Bring me some chocolate!” Nie Huaisang yells.

Chocolate, sure, that’s exactly what your diet needs, Nie Mingjue thinks in annoyance. He doesn’t remember being like this when he was a student, though, to be honest, they aren’t comparable—not when Nie Mingjue trained to become a night-hunter and had a strict physical regime, both dietary and exercising, which he wasn’t allowed to stray from, whereas Nie Huaisang is an aspiring illustrator who must take care of his eyes and hands most of all.

While he’s waiting in line at the cashier, his phone beeps a couple of times in rapid succession. With the large family in front of him stocking up for what looks like two weeks’ entire worth of feeding three children, Nie Mingjue takes his time and unlocks his phone.

Lan Xichen: There is an ice-cream parlour in the city center that I like a lot

Lan Xichen: Would you like to go there withnme?

Lan Xichen: If you're free today

Lan Xichen: With mw*

Lan Xichen: WITH ME**

Nie Mingjue: Yes but I have to drop by the office before that

Nie Mingjue: Is 4 pm ok?

Lan Xichen starts typing almost the second Nie Mingjue presses enter. A couple of butterflies flutter inside his stomach as he watches the three dots wobble rhythmically; this waiting is so familiar—he's never truly realized it before, how much comfort it brings, but now as he's standing in the middle of the grocery store, it hits him squarely over the head:

I want to hold him in my arms and never let go.

Lan Xichen: 4 pm is perfect! I'll send you directions in a moment 🌺

Nie Mingjue: See you then!

Lan Xichen: 😊😊💕 We should celebrate somehow

Nie Mingjue: Is ice-cream not enough?

Lan Xichen: I MEAN we've been friends for fifteen years, we deserve more for our first proper meeting, don't you think??

Nie Mingjue: You know what I look like, I know what you look like

Lan Xichen: 🥺

Lan Xichen: I would drink a glass of alcohol for this event

Nie Mingjue: Ah

Lan Xichen: Come to my place afterward? Wangji won a bottle of liqueur and between the two of us, there's nobody to appreciate it

Nie Mingjue: Alright

Nie Mingjue: You should have said so from the start

Nie Mingjue pays for the food, packs it up in the bag, then returns to the flat, thinking about the upcoming date the entire time. It feels strange to imagine visiting Lan Xichen so soon, though he cannot pinpoint the reason why. At his age (twenty-six, thank you very much), he isn’t as phased as he was as teen about being in the house of his crush. Now it feels more like a natural step of their relationship—it was meant to arrive at some point and it looks like today is the day they will be able to shake hands and take a selfie together.

He makes breakfast on autopilot, a simple dish with scrambled eggs and a salad, but his little brother is so delighted by the prospect of cooked food that he doesn’t stop chatting the entire time.

“Talk less, eat more,” he tells him.

“I’m eating, I’m eating,” Nie Huaisang replies. “So, as I was saying, Mo Xuanyu has been such a great help getting the paint! I never would’ve expected to find such a well stocked art store in his part of the city.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Nie Mingjue raises an eyebrow. He feels himself settle in work-mode involuntarily at merely the mention of strangeness.

“Ah, it’s mostly old houses and elderly people living there, that’s all. He complains about having to walk a long distance to get to a grocery shop, but then he has this quaint art shop within five minutes of his block? Unfair!”

Nie Huaisang moves his chopsticks around as he speaks, sending bits of egg over the table. At a levelling look from Nie Mingjue, he has the decency to wince.

“I’ll do the dishes,” he promises and that’s exactly what he ends up wrestling with when Nie Mingjue leaves for his office. “Don’t get lost!” he shouts, grinning shamelessly.

“Don’t skip school,” Nie Mingjue retorts, then closes the door behind him.

The city is bustling with life, a far cry from the trip he had last night from the train station. Nie Mingjue spends a few minutes looking up the local public transport, finds the nearest station, then explores the rest of the map while he waits for the bus. Fei— isn’t that big, but it is densely populated, and he has to figure out a plan for how he wants to tackle his work here.

As a night-hunter, Nie Mingjue has been especially trained to keep a low profile and notice certain details that would pass right over the commoner’s head. He can navigate places easily, he blends in with the crowd as if he were always a part of it, and most importantly, he has learned how to spot the tell-tale signs of supernatural activity from eavesdropping alone.

His preferred jobs are in the countryside, where he has met many a demon and cleansed the haunted places easily. A job a day, almost. The city differs in that its night creatures are exponentially more evolved. What one might encounter in the depths of a forest or by the ruins of a small shrine, is merely a fraction of what a diverse palette of creatures live in modern society.

It’s not only a matter of strength and abilities that sets the creatures apart, but also that of their intelligence and appearance, which makes it a difficult job for night-hunters to properly identify them. He likes the simple approach: investigate, track, trap, remove.  However, while subterfuge isn’t exactly his top skill, he is determined to find out what’s going on in Fei—. Nie Huaisang’s peaceful and artistic existence here must not be disrupted, he tells himself, even if he has to make an effort for it.

The night-hunting office of Fei— has a bakery for a front. Fresh bread, aromatic seeds, and the sight of trays and trays of sweets adorning the shelves assault his senses at once. He’s just eaten, but the desire to taste everything overwhelms him—this is what Nie Huaisang probably means when he says there’s always space left for dessert. It’s not even his preferred type of food, yet it looks so delicious that he has to use all his years of training to keep himself from opening his wallet right then and there and splurging.

I could bring Xichen here, he realizes. It would be a tad too close to his real job, but…

Nie Mingjue finds his new boss in an office to the back of the building. He is let into a small, but tidy room, with barely more than a desk and some shelves on the walls. He stands awkwardly by the side of the desk, overly aware of his towering height over everything around. There isn’t even a second chair inside!

The woman behind the desk is dressed in a suit, the fabric pressed to perfection, but her hair is kind of frazzled and her eyes manic when she looks up at him.

“Nie Mingjue, from the Qinghe branch. A recommendation letter should have arrived here a few days ago from my boss.”

“Ah, Nie Mingjue! I have been expecting you,” she says. She picks up an envelope from the stack of documents in her workspace and gives it to him, before continuing: “Wen Qing, head of Lanling Night-Spec. You send your reports to me, but please see my secretary from now on. He hands out assignments and he can answer all of your questions.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods firmly. By the sound of her voice alone, this woman exudes a confidence and no-nonsense attitude that he already admires.

Perhaps working in Fei— will not be so bad after all.

♠

The Lanling Night-Spec secretary is a fidgety young man by the name of Wen Ning (‘Nepotism?’ Nie Mingjue wonders.) who hands him some forms and a booklet. Nie Mingjue spends the better part of an hour filling documents and familiarizing himself with the new place. By definition he will  be out there on the field most of the time, but each region has its rules, people, and particularities that he’d rather get over with first than run into trouble later. He meets other night-hunters, recognizes a few from their sporadic intersections out in the country, and somehow ends up feeling less drained than he’d expected when he’s done.

Wen Ning doesn’t give him anything to do yet, but promises a larger assignment to come by the end of the week. 

“We need all the hands we can get, but we want our hunters to be familiar with the place first. Please take your time and explore Fei— these days. If you notice anything unusual yourself, please act according to protocols, or reach out to our on-duty team if you need help,” he explains.

Nie Mingjue listens attentively. He doesn’t need the commodity, but he’ll take it, especially since an idea pops into his head while he listens to the secretary—surely Lan Xichen wouldn’t mind showing him around?

The prospect puts him into a great mood. When 2 pm comes around, he is done at the office and on his way home, excited about the upcoming ice-cream date meeting. He puts some music on his phone while he cleans up and figures out an outfit; the lyrics are unfamiliar, but the tune is catchy and he finds himself humming alongside the chorus a few times as he walks from the wardrobe to the hallway mirror.

(Thank the heavens Nie Huaisang isn’t home to see him right now!)

The music fades briefly to let through a sharp beep—Nie Mingjue dives for his phone so fast he almost trips over the carpet.

Nie Huaisang: you promised me food tonight

Nie Huaisang: dont forget

Nie Mingjue’s smile falls.

Nie Mingjue: ill be home in time

Nie Huaisang: 😇😇😇

He sighs. A moment later, he takes a picture of two shirts he laid down on the bed and between each he can’t decide.

Nie Mingjue: ?

[attached photo]

The reply is instantaneous.

Nie Huaisang: 👀💥🔥✨💖💕❓❗⁉️❗❓

Nie Huaisang: ALREADY?????

Nie Huaisang: LEFT!!

Nie Huaisang: IT BRINGS OIUT YOUR EYES

Nie Huaisang: WEAR THAT EPRFUME YOU GOT FORM MY MOM PLS

Nie Mingjue blinks at the barrage of texts. He gives the shirt on the left a second look—red like spilled wine, more suitable for an evening event than what they actually have planned.

Nie Mingjue: It feels a bit too much for an ice-cream trip

Nie Huaisang: nu-uh!

 

He did have it laid out for a reason…

Nie Mingjue: Thanks

Nie Mingjue: Do your homework

Nie Huaisang: :P

♠

Around half past three, the night-hunter is finally, finally ready to head into town. Nie Huaisang’s flat is located in a residential area right by the city center; he considers walking to the ice-cream parlour, but just in case the trip takes longer than his GPS suggests, Nie Mingjue once again loiters by the bus station, fiddling with his phone.

It’s hard to describe what he’s feeling. There’s anxiety, for sure, because this is going to be a treasured memory. It is already a treasured memory and it hasn’t happened yet, that’s how highly anticipated it is. He’s glad they can see each other under quiet circumstances, without fanfare—something precious that can still be appreciated in full quietly.

Lan Xichen: I’m on my way! Whoever gets there first waits by the little statue, ok?

Nie Mingjue: Sure

 

He keeps typing after that, thoughts far, far away. Most of him doesn't even realize what he is saying until he presses send.

Nie Mingjue: Remember when we almost met in Qinghe? I still mourn that missed opportunity… and the case they sent me on in Baling wasn’t even a real case, to add salt to the wound. I miss the time we could have spent together earlier

Lan Xichen: 🥺 We did spend it together!

Lan Xichen: I have that string of emails starred and bookmarked! You sent beautiful pictures from that village

Lan Xichen: And we’ll be meeting in a few minutes

Lan Xichen: Oh I can’t wait for you to meet my brother! 🥰🥰

Nie Mingjue: Ahhh now i’m thinking whether i should let huaisang around you or not

Nie Mingjue: 😖

Lan Xichen: I would love to meet him

Nie Mingjue: That’s your problem Xichen you’re too nice about everyone

Nie Mingjue: My brother must be approached with caution

Lan Xichen: 🤷

The bus arrives then and breaks the flow of their conversation for a minute. Nie Mingjue gets on, stamps his ticket, then thoroughly immerses himself in the messaging app the entire way to the city center. They talk about nothing and everything—it’s their average conversation, with only the setting different today. Now and then, a strange tightness grips Nie Mingjue’s chest to remind him of the momentous occasion waiting around the corner. 

The closer the destination is, the more frequently his heart skips a beat. 

As he gets off the bus, white noise starts to replace his thoughts one by one, until he cannot even recall the name of the ice-cream parlour he has to reach. Guided by a memory he cannot see clearly, he walks down the sidewalk of the main boulevard. Ahead of him the buildings give way to the central plaza: a circular fountain rises in the middle, adorned with koi fish statues all around its edge. The fish are turned toward its center and through their open mouth, streams of water arch symmetrically until they all meet in the middle.

Several benches are scattered across the area. A small crowd is huddled next to the fountain, all of the people decked out in khaki shorts and flashy t-shirts, with cameras hanging off of their necks and their phones in hand. The tourists are listening attentively to the person in the center, who is gesturing to the buildings around the plaza with enthusiasm. Other than them, there are a few families here and there, watching over their children playing with toy cars.

It looks truly mundane, but seeing them sparks to life a gentle idyllicism within his chest.

He looks around for the designated meeting place, breath caught in his throat. The statue Lan Xichen described to him is that of two dogs playing with each other, placed somewhere in front of a fancy, old building.

He sees another group of tourists, the strange mascot of an Italian-theme restaurant, a coffee-themed portable cart, but the dogs are nowhere to be found.

He checks the map again to make sure he’s in the right place and he is, fact which doesn’t calm him down at all.

In the end, he spots him before he sees the statue.

A tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in a light blue shirt stands by the entrance to an art gallery. He has his phone in his hand and he is absorbed by whatever he is typing on it. Next to him, a shiba inu made of stone is captured mid-jump as it wrestles with a smaller dog.

Nie Mingjue has seen Lan Xichen before in pictures from his social media or that Lan Xichen sent to him privately, and he knows the man works as a martial arts instructor for a living. For all intent and purposes, he shouldn’t be surprised at all—Lan Xichen was always handsome, and well-built, and liked to wear his hair long since early high school. Nie Mingjue knows perhaps too well how attractive his friend is. Despite all that, he can’t help the slight misstep, the way his thoughts completely disappear from his mind at the sight of him. Static becomes him as he walks closer. His phone beeps in his hand, but he can’t bear to look away from Lan Xichen now.

When he’s a few meters away, Lan Xichen looks up from his phone and his eyes drift to Nie Mingjue’s face so quickly and easily that it feels like a reflex, as if Nie Mingjue has always been present in his daily life. 

At first, Lan Xichen just stares at him with an unfathomable expression on his face, eyes wide and mouth partly open. A moment later, he beams so brightly that the smile burns through the fog of Nie Mingjue’s head and leaves him even more speechless than before.

“My dear friend,” Lan Xichen cries, one hand coming to rest around Nie Mingjue’s shoulder, “I am so glad to see you!”

His perfume is barely noticeable, but the hint of lemon has Nie Mingjue lean further into his touch, his own hand coming to rest between Lan Xichen’s shoulder blades. He’s glad he is tall now, when he can look down at his face and see the delicate press of Lan Xichen’s eyelashes upon his cheek. When Lan Xichen opens his eyes, the warmest of browns peeks back at him in the shape of two crescent moons.

Lan Xichen is a person who smiles with his entire being.

Nie Mingjue briefly wonders how long a hug is acceptable—it’s certainly been a minute, and though he doesn’t want to let go, he doesn’t want to make it awkward either.

Thankfully, Lan Xichen retracts himself before he can worry about it further.

“You look very well. It seems like there was plenty of sun in Meishan,” Lan Xichen remarks, nodding toward Nie Mingjue’s tanned skin.

“I spent far too long out on the plains back there,” he complains. “Absolutely no clouds on the sky too; just the sun blazing down on me.”

They start walking together, Lan Xichen taking the lead with half a step.

“I told you to wear a hat.”

“I did,” Nie Mingjue insists. “And used up two tubs of sunscreen.”

“It looks good on you,” Lan Xichen says.

Nie Mingjue’s eyes zero in on him at once. He’s not looking back though, busy instead with the crowds on the sidewalk.

“Thanks.”

That’s when Lan Xichen looks at him, eyes twinkling. “They have a lot of ice-cream flavours; I hope you will enjoy the place as much as I did when I discovered it the first time.”

Ahead, the first thing he sees is a plastic ice cream cone sculpture. It guards the entrance to an artistic building with large, spotless windows and a couple dozen tables and chairs on both sides of the door, all full to the very last seat. The crowd surprises him. Do people need to make reservations to get ice-cream nowadays?

“I recommend the blueberry flavour,” Lan Xichen tells him.

Nie Mingjue nods. As they enter, the parlour’s air conditioner hits him directly in the face, fresh and cool and already putting him more at ease than before. On the left to the entrance is the serving area, consisting of a long counter with many, many colorful ice-cream bowls arranged on three rows. Two employees are standing behind the till, both dressed in green striped aprons and wearing little chef hats on their heads. On the wall behind them lies painted the entire selection of flavours the place offers.

Nie Mingjue blinks twice at the sight of it.

Beside him, Lan Xichen laughs, most certainly at his expense.

“Take your time,” he whispers. Beneath the lingering amusement, Nie Mingjue thinks he hears a little bit of joy and his own heart swells in reply.

“I’ll have three scoops in a waffle cone, please,” Lan Xichen says.

While the server takes the details of his order, Nie Mingjue watches him stand a few paces in front, so close to him that he could simply reach out and touch his arm if he wanted to.

“And you, sir?”

He looks to the other employee with confusion.

“Ah! Uh,” and quickly looks to the menu again, aware of his increasing heartbeat. “Blueberry, raspberry, and red currants.”

“Would you like a topping? We have…”

“Chocolate,” he answers quietly.

“Right away, sir.”

The employee prepares the ice-cream expertly. They swirl the topping in a neat spiral, add an extra piece of waffle and sprinkle colorful bits of sugar over it all at the end. Nie Mingjue takes it gingerly in his hands, then glances at Lan Xichen and finds him already paying for the both of them. By some kind of telepathy, Lan Xichen chooses that moment to glance at him; he smiles innocently, definitely aware of the thoughts Nie Mingjue has right now.

Oh, he should have paid more attention!

He leans toward him and whispers threateningly, "Next one's on me."

Lan Xichen stares back at him with his smile unchanged. "Of course. Let's walk! There is a park close by where we can enjoy the ice-cream in peace."

Back on the sidewalk, Nie Mingjue busies himself with watching his ice-cream as he follows Lan Xichen. The countless trees lining the boulevard provide enough shade that he shouldn’t feel as hot as he does. Perhaps he should have worn a lighter colour in this heat… 

“How are your students doing?” Nie Mingjue asks.

“Well!” 

Praise always falls first from Lan Xichen’s lips when it’s about his martial arts class. Now Nie Mingjue has the chance to really see him come alive as he talks and it is a marvelous picture, to see someone so passionate about their workplace.

(He didn’t have a real choice when he was younger, when he started walking down the night-hunter life.)

“You should see my youngest class…” Lan Xichen murmurs full of affection. “They’re incredibly energetic and my attempts at teaching them discipline are working, despite my uncle’s protests. You remember the—”

“Of course I remember!” Nie Mingjue cuts in. “His teachings are excellent and effective, and he is a great master of the arts, but that doesn’t mean you cannot take a step to the future while still respecting tradition.”

“Hmm, were you as keen on this back then as you are now?” Lan Xichen teases him. “I think you had a different reaction the first time we talked about tradition.”

Nie Mingjue blushes. He’s had a lot of time to think about traditions, life, honouring one’s ancestors and seeking out progress for oneself, and nowadays, he isn’t completely sure where he stands anymore. What’s certain however is how starkly he believes in Lan Xichen’s ability to teach.

“You know it’s complicated,” he mumbles.

“I know, I’m just teasing you.”

“Ha ha,” Nie Mingjue replies drily.

“Look! There’s the park,” Lan Xichen points in the distance, where the foliage of brilliantly green trees peeks out behind a building. “It’s quiet, you’ll see.”

They speed up and quickly cross the street to the park. As they get closer, Nie Mingjue sees more and more trees, then a polished stone path starting its undulating way through the green refuge. Short bushes lines the alley, each of them neatly trimmed into geometrical shapes. Benches litter the way on both sides, a lot of them empty. Most of the people present are roaming from one side of the park to the next.

“There’s a spot I really like,” Lan Xichen says. He grabs Nie Mingjue by the arm and guides him further in, a spring in his step.

“It is quiet,” Nie Mingjue remarks as they advance. The trees swallow most of the noise of the traffic; coupled with the birds chirping on the trees, it is more of a getaway than he would have expected.

Somewhere to their right rises a wooden bridge, arching delicately over a small channel. The water trickling through comes from a lake nearby, its surface gleaming peacefully in the gentle light of the afternoon. Nie Mingjue spots a handful of geese waddling through the water and he stops to watch them for a few seconds, until they get out of sight.

Lan Xichen stops as well and looks back at him with his ever present smile. Even in his letters he always seemed like the sort of person who would spread a good mood wherever he went. Simply his presence by Nie Mingjue’s side is enough to let him relax and enjoy the little things of life he wouldn’t have noticed had he been alone.

By the time they finally reach Lan Xichen’s favourite spot, both their ice-creams are down to half.

“So, is it good?” Lan Xichen asks.

“A bit too sweet for my taste, but it will do once in a while.”

“You are very strict with your taste buds!”

“It’s just my diet. You follow one of your own, you know what it’s like.” It’s not Nie Mingjue’s fault (entirely) that he has to keep off of sweets. He needs to keep himself in good shape to be able to react at any moment during his line of work, especially since his life is often in danger.

“Of course,” Lan Xichen agrees serenely.

Although , Nie Mingjue thinks as they lapse into silence, busy with their cold dessert, I might get used to this if it means we could go out together more often.

The bakery from Lanling Night-Spec comes to mind again. He would have to bear the tempting goods there stoically, but perhaps Lan Xichen would agree to try them one day. Wen Ning very helpfully let him know that he has a very attractive membership to the place, being one of their employees.

(The only person who mustn't find out about it is Nie Huaisang.)

“So… is the situation bad here? You didn’t tell me much over the phone,” Lan Xichen asks. He keeps his eyes on the waffle cone in his hands, though his attention is clearly on Nie Mingjue.

A few years ago, Nie Mingjue might have let some information slip during a late-night phone call. Suffice to say Lan Xichen dealt with the news with much more grace and acceptance than he expected.

Nie Mingjue shrugs. “I don’t know and the few details I have, I can’t share.”

Lan Xichen nods, not surprised by the answer at all. “I thought as much.”

“I need to familiarize myself with the place this week. Are—are you free? I would appreciate your company and guidance.”

Lan Xichen hums. “I can show you around—” 

Nie Mingjue smiles.

“—But, I have a condition.”

Nie Mingjue’s smile freezes in its inception and he looks in question at Lan Xichen.

“You must bring Baxia with you. I want to see it!”

Ah.

Leaning closer to Lan Xichen, he whispers, “Baxia is always with me.”

He holds out his hand, index finger held higher than the rest, and waits.

Lan Xichen looks at him strangely, then focuses on his hand with such wonder on his face that he looks like a child about to celebrate his birthday.

It takes a few moments of suspenseful waiting until the star of the show appears: Nie Mingjue feels Baxia’s little feet tickle the back of his neck, as if it were perched on his shoulder and it moved to the other side. Feathers brush against the short hair of his undercut, then the tickling follows his shoulder until it reaches the highest point. From there, a flap of the wings sends a tiny burst of wind against his cheek and…

There is the little red bird, landing dutifully on his finger.

Baxia ruffles its feathers adorably, picks at one of its wings with its beak, then settles down. It chirps once, perhaps in question—’Why am I here? Where is the danger?’—then it remains quiet.

“W-wait,” Lan Xichen says. He leans back, away from them both, his eyes wide in surprise. “Wait, it—”

Nie Mingjue brings his hand closer to Lan Xichen. The man looks at Baxia with awe and a little bit of fear; all in all, he seems to be taking it much better than Nie Mingjue expected.

“It’s here,” Nie Mingjue says. He’s holding down a chuckle; he doesn’t want to laugh at Lan Xichen’s expense, but the way he reaches out tentatively toward the little bird is too cute and precious to witness with a serious expression.

“I…”

“I told you plenty about my work, didn’t I? This is the least strange thing about it.”

“I… What the hell?”

Nie Mingjue really laughs then, unable to keep it down anymore. The sound bursts out of his throat loudly, full of joy. It only goes on for a short time, merely a few dozen seconds, but he hasn’t felt so carefree in a long time. With his eyes crinkled mirthfully, he scoots closer to Lan Xichen on the bench.

“Hold out your hand. Baxia does what it wants, but maybe it likes you enough to allow a few pats.” As he says this, Nie Mingjue levels the little bird with a stare serious enough that it would send his little brother running were it directed at him instead.

Baxia keeps turning its head this and that way, mindless of the conversation going on around it.

Lan Xichen follows the instructions with such timidity and care that Nie Mingjue’s chest constricts with affection. This man is somehow even more wonderful company than Nie Mingjue could have ever imagined.

Finally, Lan Xichen moves his hand close to Nie Mingjue’s, and both of them stare at Baxia with bated breath.

A few seconds pass, then a few more, until almost an entire minute goes by.

Baxia chirps once more, high-pitched and sharp, then hops back toward Nie Mingjue. The tip of its feathers brush against his cheek; he feels it on his skin like a gentle caress, then the bird disappears into the ether.

Lan Xichen looks at him crestfallen.

“No, no, no, don’t be sad! It is hard to obtain a spiritual companion’s trust, even if you already have the trust of the owner.”

Upon hearing that, the sadness on Lan Xichen’s face takes on a coy edge. Within a blink, he looks to Nie Mingjue through his lashes with innocence.

“I do?”

“Of course you do! What a meaningless question!”

Lan Xichen shrugs, but he doesn’t try to hide the pleased smile growing on his face. “It is a blessing to have you next to me. Forgive me, I just wanted to see your face.”

Nie Mingjue feels his face grow so warm that he is sure he looks as red as his avian friend. “Just look then,” he replies gruffly.

He thinks of the poetry book waiting in his backpack. 

He thinks of the letter inside that he penned so carefully one late night… 

Soon, he hopes.

Soon.

♠

The two of them spend almost two hours wandering the park, going from one end to the other and back again. They walk down every path, they stop to admire the geese on the lake, they talk. At the other edge of the park there are a few food stalls. Lan Xichen convinces him to try some food and they end up eating three types of spring rolls and sharing a candied hawthorn stick as they hover by one of the park’s entrances. Although the sun isn’t going to set for another two hours at the very least, the mood starts to wane toward the quiet whimsicality of summer evenings. Clouds started to gather in the sky perhaps an hour ago, grey, but unthreatening. Now, it is a proper blanket and it swallows more and more of the sky with each passing minute.

“Perfect timing,” Nie Mingjue comments at the feel of the first droplet of rain on his forearm.

“Oh no,” says Lan Xichen. At the inquisitive look Nie Mingjue throws at him, he blushes faintly and adds, “I forgot my umbrella.”

“You literally texted me earlier—”

“I know, I know, but I got so caught up in catching the bus that I… I forgot.”

Nie Mingjue sighs. “I’ve got mine and it should be large enough.”

He fetches the umbrella from his backpack and opens it without further ado. It’s a sturdy one he bought when he had work further down south during the monsoon season and it’s been holding out well over the years. The design is slightly ostentatious, what with its shimmery koi fish on the silver backdrop, but it does its job so well Nie Mingjue got used to it (and perhaps has even grown fond of it.)

They’re both well built, but thankfully the umbrella is large enough and Nie Mingjue only has to sacrifice a small bit of his left side to the rain. They navigate the street awkwardly, dodging people left and right, all of them seeking shelter from the upcoming storm. What started out as a light drizzle now falls over them almost with a vengeance; large droplets of water hit the silver umbrella rhythmically and turn the city into static—Nie Mingjue would laugh at the change of events. The anxiety dwelling in his thoughts mere hours ago has switched places with the pleasant sun in the sky.

Lan Xichen takes them to another bus station, then they set out toward his flat somewhere on the other side of the city.

♠

Lan Xichen lives on the second floor of a large residential complex. The hallways are long on both sides from the entrance, with dim lights and grimy walls. The staircase itself looks straight out of a thriller, much to Nie Mingjue’s chagrin. He almost comments on the sorry state of everything, but stops himself in time before he commits a social blunder. Lan Xichen’s family suffered greatly when their compound in Gusu burned down entirely in the middle of winter. Accident or no accident, they ended up scattering in Gusu and in Lanling for Lan Xichen in particular.

For a few months, Nie Mingjue could barely get a reply out of him—it still hurts to remember the beginning of the year, when Nie Mingjue received a letter from Lan Wangji telling him Lan Xichen’s new address and asking him to keep an eye on his older brother, if he could.

How could he do anything more than send messages and hope one day the ‘read’ receipt would become a reply?

He was caught up in a troublesome matter near Yiling at the time. Perhaps he should have abandoned his duty and found his friend instead; he should have given him a proper shoulder to lean on, instead of words. 

Words can only do so much, in the end.

The jingle of Lan Xichen’s keys as he unlocks his door brings Nie Mingjue back to the present.

“Are you alright? Your mood dropped all of a sudden,” Lan Xichen says. He pushes the door open and motions for him to enter first.

“It’s been a long time,” is all Nie Mingjue musters to say.

Lan Xichen hums in agreement tiredly. Nie Mingjue wishes he could say something comforting for once. Anything at all that could lift the mood. Whatever Lan Xichen is thinking about, it doesn’t sound any better than the regret which fills his own heart.

The foyer is pretty small. It quickly turns into a challenge to put away the umbrella without wetting the furniture and making a mess of the floor. 

“The koi are orange? I was sure they were white?” Lan Xichen inspects the pattern with awe before taking the umbrella to the bathroom.

“It changes colour when it gets wet,” Nie Mingjue explains.

Lan Xichen’s apartment is clearly meant for a single person. His younger brother’s things make the already cramped space feel even more claustrophobic. There is a bathroom, a small kitchen and two minuscule rooms, one barely fitting a bed, and the other a sofa and a few pieces of furniture. 

Nie Mingjue sits down on the sofa gingerly, trying to make himself as small as possible. Across from him stands a wooden wardrobe, separated by a low table. Books are stacked on top of the wardrobe, underneath the table itself, and to the side of the wardrobe. A tiny laptop sits on top of a large stack of papers.

He listens to Lan Xichen rummaging through his kitchen as he inspects his surroundings. More trinkets come to his attention: a tiny acrylic painting made on a palm-sized canvas depicting violet flowers, Lan Xichen’s flute resting on top of a lacquered box, two open perfume boxes. A larger, prettily carved box rests on the floor nearby, the only piece in the room not bearing anything else on top of it. 

The ceiling lamp gives off a pleasant, warm light; there isn't much space, indeed, but it is well-lived in and well loved.

Lan Xichen is exactly the sort of person to make even the saddest of places feel like a home, after all.

“I’m sorry I cannot receive you on better terms,” Lan Xichen says when he returns to the room. He sets down two mugs and a tray full of fruit (peaches, apricots, cherries, to name a few) then goes back to the kitchen and brings with him the star of the evening: the bottle of liqueur.

Nie Mingjue waits for him to return for good before he says, “Don’t worry yourself.”

Lan Xichen hovers awkwardly by the sofa for a few seconds until he makes up his mind and sits down by Nie Mingjue’s side. Their arms touch from shoulder to elbow—it’s not as strange as Nie Mingjue feared, though with every second he becomes very aware of this point of contact.

“I was happy when you said you’ll be staying for a year,” Lan Xichen begins.

“But?”

“Well, the few hours we spent together today were enough to convince me one year won’t be enough.”

As soon as he says this, he reaches toward the fruit and busies himself with an apricot.

Nie Mingjue blinks emptily a few times, then huffs. “I am certainly glad to hear Baxia’s rejection didn’t put an end to our friendship.”

“I have considered it, but I am willing to wait for it to come around.”

“Perhaps you should sing to it in a language it understands,” Nie Mingjue suggests. He desperately wants to hear him play the flute too, but while he knows he is a brave man out on the field, he knows matters of the heart are tricky. It is too soon to face so many of his wishes at once.

“I shall consider it. Now, let’s see if this drink is any good.”

“You said Lan Wangji won this?”

Lan Xichen opens the bottle and holds it at an angle as he pours the liquid into the two mugs. Nie Mingjue’s question makes him laugh, but his hands are so steady they don’t move at all. 

“Yes! He went to buy bread at the supermarket and he was their ten thousandth customer! Can you imagine it?”

Nie Mingjue laughs heartily. “What luck! How long is he staying with you, by the way?”

“Another week at most. He’s been accepted to the Academy of Music, but until classes begin he’ll spend the rest of the summer with Uncle in Gusu.”

Nie Mingjue tries not to look around when he hears Lan Xichen say this. Will they be living together in this small apartment when school starts?

“That’s great news! Congratulations,” he says.

“Thank you. He should be back soon; he’s been going out in town often. I don’t actually know what he’s up to nowadays,” Lan Xichen frowns.

Nie Mingjue takes a sip of the liqueur and nods in appreciation. “This is really good!”

Lan Xichen follows suit, the frown on his face deepening for a different reason now. “Is it? I don’t have much to compare it to.”

“It is, it is,” Nie Mingjue assures him. The alcohol fills his mouth with an aromatic, almost smokey taste; it blends the sweetness of white chocolate with the taste of coffee and whiskey in perfect balance.

From the corner of his eye he sees Lan Xichen lean toward the bottle, about to refill his mug.

“Wait, wait, wait, take it slow! Did you just drink it in one shot?”

Lan Xichen stares at his empty mug, then at Nie Mingjue and shrugs. “It was so little though…”

“No, no, it is quite strong. Don’t overdo it—though I suppose we’re already at your house. No need for me to worry about getting you home safe,” Nie Mingjue laughs.

“Great point! I shall drink another.”

Nie Mingjue sighs, but decides to intervene if his friend with his history of light-tolerance for alcohol looks like he needs it.

♠

With both of them slightly buzzed, Lan Xichen seems like the apparition of a martial god. A faint blush colours his cheeks and spreads down his neck all the way to his chest. He’s opened the top two buttons of his shirt, and at this point, feeling loose-tongue and looser-handed, Nie Mingjue fears he might open the rest to see just how far the blush goes. He's listening to him talk about his workplace, and it shouldn't feel so comforting, but it does, and despite knowing his limits very well when it comes to drinking, right now Nie Mingjue feels entirely drunk on love.

"There will be a regional competition at the end of autumn and I am looking forward to that," Lan Xichen says. "I have at least five pupils ready to face it now… Perhaps I could help another three reach that standard by the time it comes around."

"I am sure they will bring back medals if they are under your guidance," Nie Mingjue responds absently. 

A strand of hair has fallen out of Lan Xichen's loose bun; it hangs down the side of his face in a way that demands to be tucked behind his ear. He follows it with his eyes, enraptured.

"That's very kind of you to say," Lan Xichen turns to face him just a bit and it's enough. "Thank you—oh."

Lan Xichen falls silent. 

Nie Mingjue feels his heartbeat thudding in his ears. His hand freezes by the side of Lan Xichen's face, where it's keeping his hair away. They stare at each other with mirrored expressions of surprise and the blush Nie Mingjue sees appear on Lan Xichen's face is surely as deep as the one on his own.

Outside it’s raining heavily. Such silence stretches between them that only the white noise of water hitting roof tiles and asphalt carries over inside the room.

Lan Xichen's eyes search his face—he follows their movement avidly, until the moment Lan Xichen looks down and—

—the doorbell rings.

They startle, the mood broken.

"Is that Lan Wangji?" Nie Mingjue asks. He can barely hear his voice over the buzzing in his head. 

Did they almost kiss? Did he imagine Lan Xichen leaning forward?

"He has a key…" Lan Xichen murmurs as he stands, similarly shaken by the interruption. He spares a glance at Nie Mingjue, completely and entirely undecipherable, before he walks to the front door.

The keys jingle noisily.

"I'm sorry to bother you at this hour," a stranger's voice comes from the hallway.

"Come in! Are you alright?"

Lan Xichen's change in tone alerts Nie Mingjue at once. He stands and goes to the doorway to see what's going on.

A young man around Nie Huaisang's statue is standing in the middle of the foyer, arms around himself and clothes dripping wet. Lan Xichen fetches a towel from the bathroom and puts it over the stranger's hair gently.

"I don't know," the man answers quietly. "I couldn't bear to stay there all al—did you get a bird?"

"What?"

Nie Mingjue stands straighter. In a single moment, his brain switches to Business Mode and wakes his senses up.

"There's a bird singing nearby," the man looks around himself and finally notices Nie Mingjue. "You have guests! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I'll… we can talk another day."

He hands the towel back to Lan Xichen, nods to them in lieu of goodbye, then vanishes out the front door, all in the span of a few seconds.

Nie Mingjue's eyes widen and he exchanges a befuddled look with Lan Xichen. "What the fuck was that?"

For a few moments, Lan Xichen looks blankly at him, then he inhales sharply.

“A-Yao!” he calls out, running out on the hallway, but the man is probably out of the building by now. 

“Was that… Meng Yao?” Nie Mingjue asks, craning his neck to look outside as well. He’s read about Lan Xichen’s friend several times after Lan Xichen got a hold of himself in Lanling. An intelligent man with an interest in helping the lower class, Meng Yao had come across as very hard-working and empathetic through Lan Xichen’s letters. The man in the hallway most definitely did not fit the mental image Nie Mingjue had created for him. From the first glance it was clear he was barely keeping himself together!

“Yes, that’s him.” Lan Xichen returns to the foyer and closes the door behind him. "I'm… confused. What bird was he talking about? Do you hear something?"

Nie Mingjue sighs wearily. The situation is rapidly turning into the worst case scenario for him: the intersection of his personal life with his job.

"I'm worried for him, he didn't look very well,” Lan Xichen continues.

That is an understatement, thinks Nie Mingjue. 

Before he can respond, the front door opens again.

A tall young man steps inside, clad in a red raincoat. He pauses mid-step upon entering and looks to Nie Mingjue with something akin to wonder.

The resemblance he bears to Lan Xichen is so striking that Nie Mingjue looks from one to the other, trying to spot the difference beyond purely their facial expressions.

“Good evening,” says Lan Wangji—for who else could it be?

He introduces himself properly. A few minutes later, after he’s put away his outwear, he joins them in the living room, where he sits down on a stack of magazines near the window. They look at each other awkwardly for a minute, Lan Wangji seemingly content on remaining silent, whereas Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue both still reeling from the previous encounter with Meng Yao.

Ultimately, Lan Wangji is the one who breaks the silence.

“What do you think of Fei—?” he asks. 

The attempt at conversation is greatly appreciated, as it takes their attention away from the bird song.

“I haven’t seen much yet, but it seems pleasant,” Nie Mingjue says.

Lan Xichen intervenes as well, and from that point onward, they delve into an in-depth discussion about the history, qualities and tourist locations of the region. Beyond Mount Tai, Lan Wangji lists a couple other points of interest. The man is clearly interested in history and culture and though he speaks quite succinctly, Nie Mingjue listens to him with rapt attention, always on the look-out for potential sites of demonic activity.

What better a place to attract the supernatural than an ancient site full of regret?

♠

Near nine o’clock, Nie Mingjue takes his leave with the promise of meeting up again tomorrow morning. Before he goes, he beckons Lan Xichen closer with a gesture of his hand and whispers to him conspiratorially,

“You should check in on your friend.”

“Will you tell me what’s going on?” Lan Xichen demands.

“Tomorrow,” Nie Mingjue promises.

♠

On his way home, he stops by a non-stop fast food place and asks for the most unhealthy menu they have, alongside a milkshake and a can of soda. He feels absolutely vile when he pays for the order, but he is one hundred percent certain this will buy him Nie Huaisang’s good graces instantly. With his mind constantly going back to the strange behaviour of Meng Yao, he is in no condition to focus on cooking anything for his little brother.

The decision is incredibly successful: the moment he gets home, he finds Nie Huaisang a couple of steps away from the entrance, hands behind his back and eyes expectant.

“I’m hungry,” Nie Huaisang pouts.

Nie Mingjue holds out the paper bag with confidence, all the while praying for it to work.

The sight of the food draws out an emotional, dramatic gasp out of Nie Huaisang. He takes it at once and holds it close to his chest protectively. There are almost literal stars shining in his eyes.

Nie Mingjue hates himself for encouraging his little brother’s terrible food habits, but at the same time, he breathes out in relief. He’s too tired for all of this.

They relocate to the kitchen table, where Nie Huaisang wastes no time digging in and Nie Mingjue nurses a cup of water, lost in thought.

“So what’s he like?” Nie Huaisang asks in-between two bits of a hamburger.

“Nice.”

Nie Huaisang puts down the hamburger and frowns at him. “Just ‘nice’? Did something happen?”

“He’s a good person,” Nie Mingjue says, allowing a bit more fervour into his answer. “Your mom would call him an old soul, perhaps.”

“You–you look down, though,” his brother points at him with a fry, nodding his head sagely.

“A small problem came up at work.”

Nie Huaisang chokes on the french fry. He starts coughing and laughing, which leads to more choking. Nie Mingjue slides the soda toward him wordlessly.

“How could you already have problems at work?” Nie Huaisang keeps huffing and chuckling. “Did they make bread using the wrong amount of baking soda and it won’t stop growing now? Though that doesn’t sound like a problem, now that I think about it…”

“Some trouble with requisition,” Nie Mingjue lies smoothly. His job is a strange amalgam of responsibilities he has had to make up on the spot, which started with the worst lie he could have possibly invented (bread quality inspector) and only grew when Nie Huaisang asked him more about it and actually remembered his previous throwaway details…

(At least Lanling Night-Spec has an actual bakery as a front this time around.)

“Can you make infinite bread? What if it simply doesn’t stop expanding?”

“Obviously not, dumbass.”

“It would be so nice though!”

“Talk less, eat more,” Nie Mingjue insists.

Later, in his room, he boots up his laptop and starts researching. Night-Spec has a database absolutely brimming with information about the supernatural, which every night-hunter contributes to with details from their own experience. It’s easy to browse, extremely accessible, and frankly the only actually well-organized part of the entire company. Thankfully, it is also the only one they need to function well.

Baoshan Sanren, retired night-hunter and the CEO, communicates so little with the rest of the board that Night-Spec is in practice run by each regional branch head as opposed to a single guiding voice. Nie Mingjue hasn’t even seen a single picture of the woman, but he’s heard the legends about her.

Baoshan Sanren single-handedly took down a water demon.

Baoshan Sanren fought bare-handed with a naga and won.

Baoshan Sanren gave directions to Hu Shen once, in the woods, when he was lost.

The people talk a lot.

Nie Mingjue stifles a laugh as he remembers the outrageous claims. He opens up his list of contacts, finds the specific colleague he’s looking for, and sends him a direct message.

Nie Mingjue: hello! it’s been a while

Nie Mingjue: i think i have one of those pesky formless spirits on my plate

Nie Mingjue: important behavioural changes, apathy, apparently sudden onset?

Nie Mingjue: i saw the person myself and they heard Baxia out of the blue

He drums his fingers on the desk, waiting for a reply.

Song Zichen is a friend he made by mistake years ago, when they both got stranded in a mountain village due to a blizzard. Not one to stay and befriend other night-hunters, Nie Mingjue had to be forced by nature itself to exchange small talk with his work colleague, but one thing led to another and now they regularly seek each other for advice. It’s especially useful in this case, because Song Zichen has had to deal with a lot on his plate due to formless spirits who burrow deep within their victim’s chest and cause havoc on their psyche.

He sees the yellow ‘idle’ dot next to Song Zichen’s name turn green and leans forward, alert. A moment later, the other night-hunter finally replies.

Song Zichen: Hello! It has, it has. I’m around Yunmeng right now with my trainee. I told you about A-Qing, didn’t I?

Nie Mingjue: yes, how is she handling her training?

Song Zichen: Very well! I hope we meet again someday, I would be grateful if you showed her your dagger work.

Nie Mingjue: there’s no doubt about it

Song Zichen: Thank you!

Song Zichen: Now, about your problem…

Song Zichen spends the better part of an hour detailing his experience with the gao huang gui, a ghost which slowly turns their victim into a mere shell of their former self and consumes their qi until there is nothing left of the person but a catatonic body. He goes into great detail, from the difficulties identifying such a creature, to how easily it may spread to a new host when the unfortunate victim sees psychologist after psychologist in hopes of treating their ‘depression’. Getting rid of it is a matter of spiritual surgery, in a sense.

Song Zichen: Miss Wen Qing is head of Lanling, isn’t she? She could help you out, her specialty is spiritual surgery.

Song Zichen: I recommend you try to calm the spirit down first, then bring the victim in.

Nie Mingjue: … this is too intricate for me

Song Zichen: We have to face all types of foes, my friend, even the slippery ones of the mind.

Nie Mingjue: thank you!

At the end of their conversation, Song Zichen sends him a handful of documents. They part close to midnight, when exhaustion has finally caught up with Nie Mingjue and the promise of sleep is too strong to ignore any longer. Before he turns in for the night, he looks through the files wearily. Baxia is perched on his shoulder, bobbing its head curiously at the screen, at him, at the rest of the room—it is always a challenge to figure out what his companion is actually paying attention to. It keeps chirping in his ear, low, muffled noises that don’t make it far past its small chest.

“What if you distract it with your singing?” Nie Mingjue suggests; he brings a finger to Baxia’s chest and pats the short feathers there affectionately. The entire bird can fit in his palm, so tiny it is. Intimidation is the least of it’s skills, but it makes up for it with its innate talent at detecting foul creatures and interfering with their thought process. 

He was disappointed once, years ago, when he let his little brother pick his spiritual companion for him. What was he even thinking, giving a young Nie Huaisang so much freedom over such a vital part of his future career? Alas, what had to happen, happened, and Nie Mingjue has had to compensate and bring in the intimidation factor himself.

In any case, they make a good duo nowadays.

Right before bed, he checks his phone and finds an unread message from Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen: Wow there’s a guy in red right in front of me and he looks SO LOST ahahaha I think he’s looking for someone huh

♠

He sleeps fitfully. Baxia’s chirping keeps echoing in his dreams, distorted, singing notes he doesn’t recognize; it overlaps with bits of dialogue from the day and the images of finding Meng Yao in the hallway, suffering. In his dream, when Meng Yao looks at him, his eyes harden and seem to pierce right through Nie Mingjue.

Morning feels very, very far away.

♠

The second time Nie Mingjue meets Lan Xichen, he’s already fallen into the cadence of his steps, the flow of his sentences. They’re somewhere in Lan Xichen’s part of the city, walking side by side toward a secluded public garden. Lan Xichen promised quiet and enough privacy that they could both discuss important business and see some of the area on the way.

Most of the buildings around are residential blocks, painted beige and yellows faded from age and the weather. Now and then, a balcony adds color to the image with overflowing house plants and small attempts at in-door gardening. 

At ground level, the street is lined on both sides by little shops, all vividly decorated with banners and ads. Clothes, tools, trinkets, grocery stores, fast food places—there seems to be a bit of everything here.

Lan Xichen doesn’t let him linger too long staring at the storefronts. He has one hand on the crook of Nie Mingjue’s elbow and is gently pulling him along whenever something shiny distracts him from their walk.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take much longer to reach the public garden. It’s a lot smaller than the park, but contains just as many trees, if not more. Instead of bushes, this place has flower beds on the sides of the alleyways, housing many different species of pansies and other flowers Nie Mingjue doesn’t recognize.

Lan Xichen shows him to a place walled off by wooden trellises interwoven with ivy and roses. In the center, framed by two short benches, is a minuscule stone table covered in withered leaves and petals. Lan Xichen blows them off and places his to-go coffee on the table. He takes one of the benches and Nie Mingjue sits down opposite of him in an unspoken agreement.

“Did you keep in touch with Meng Yao like I advised?” Nie Mingjue asks.

“Yes, we talked all night.”

As if to drive the point home, a yawn overtakes Lan Xichen. He hides his face behind a hand, embarrassed.

“I haven’t missed my bed-time in some time and it shows,” he admits.

“You did well,” states Nie Mingjue and tries to catch Lan Xichen’s eye. When the man keeps avoiding his gaze, he resorts to reaching out toward him and resting his hand on the table. 

Lan Xichen looks down at his hand, then his eyes flicker to Nie Mingjue’s face, shiny with unshed tears.

“You were immensely helpful.”

“I thought he seemed off the past few weeks, but I didn’t think…” Lan Xichen leans on his elbows over the stone table and rests his forehead on his clasped hands.

“You said he was dealing with some stuff in spring.”

“His mother died last winter… When we met, he was mourning her still. He was holding himself together pretty well though and he—”

Lan Xichen breathes in deeply.

Waits a few moments before he speaks again.

“He even helped me hold myself together!”

Nie Mingjue listens silently. He feels the scratch of Baxia’s feet trailing over his skin, but pays it no mind. With Lan Xichen as he is right now, he doesn’t dare move a muscle, lest he interrupt him.

“I should have realized something was wrong when he started revealing himself. It hasn’t even been a year, but we’ve grown close enough for me to know for sure he isn’t someone who easily shows their real feelings to the world.”

“No, no, don’t blame yourself,” Nie Mingjue cuts in. He doesn’t quite know what to add, but this alone he must say before the moment passes. Lan Xichen needs to hear it spoken out loud.

“I could have—”

“You couldn’t have done anything! If what I suspect is true, this isn’t something you can prevent in any way.”

Lan Xichen moves one of his hands over Nie Mingjue’s on the table and asks, “What do you suspect?”

“I…” He looks to their hands, momentarily distracted, then shakes his head and dispels the pink-lined thoughts gathering in his mind before they side-track him entirely. “I need to check if he is really possessed by a ghost. For that, you must arrange a meeting.”

“A ghost…” Lan Xichen repeats, deflating.

“You know what I do,” Nie Mingjue whispers. “There is a creature which feigns different ailments of the mind. Some call it ‘gao huang gui’. It’s difficult to detect.”

“How do you know, then? You barely saw the man for a whole minute.”

Nie Mingjue doesn’t have to look at Lan Xichen’s face to hear the reproach in his voice. He sighs. He has had to explain the matters of the supernatural to many people from all layers of society and with vastly different approaches to the unknown. He’s had to wrestle worse non-believers than Lan Xichen’s contradictory stance, but right now, it feels like Lan Xichen’s rejection to believe him would hurt more than anything else.

He notices his little feathered tomato is hopping on his shoulder, in the periphery of his visual field. A moment later, it lands on his arm and travels alongside his upper limb until it reaches Lan Xichen’s hand.

“The bird song he heard was definitely Baxia,” he says.

Lan Xichen watches the little bird step on top of his fingers, then travel upwards past his knuckles and wrist.

“Its presence alone is enough to tickle even the most hidden of spirits. This is its calling.”

Baxia chirps, almost as if it is stressing the words of its master.

“Can the bird help him? How can we help him?”

“I know someone of great renown and skill who should be able to deal with it, but first we must make sure it is this type of ghost and calm it down. It won’t come with us willingly, that’s for sure.”

Lan Xichen sighs. There is still worry etched onto the lines of his face, but it is not as deep and striking as it was at the beginning of their conversation.

“He should be at home now. I can take you there, unless you have other things planned first.”

The way he words the second sentence annoys Nie Mingjue something fierce. He stands, careless of the way both Lan Xichen and Baxia startle and lean backward.

“Of course we will go now. He is your friend and even if he weren’t, what else am I to do when my help is needed?”

Lan Xichen looks at him with big, teary eyes again. The smile on his face is small, but full of gratitude. He stands as well, keeping Baxia on his hand in front of his chest.

“Let’s go, then.”

♠

The only things Nie Mingjue remembers about Meng Yao from his and Lan Xichen’s correspondence are that the man has an incredible memory, few friends, and that he plays music on the side. This musical part is what brought them together in the first place—lured in by Lan Xichen practicing his flute, Meng Yao approached him and complimented him, then they started talking and, to nobody’s surprise, least of all Nie Mingjue’s, they became friends.

Nobody talks to Lan Xichen and doesn’t walk away feeling fuller, brighter, and at peace.

Meng Yao lives in the same area, in a smaller block than Lan Xichen’s but just as rundown and sorry on the eyes. It’s no wonder these two found each other; though Nie Mingjue doesn’t truly know him, he must have been good company to match Lan Xichen’s wit and compassion.

Lan Xichen shows him to the entrance they must take, then rings the intercom.

It rings and rings and rings, but nobody picks up.

With regret on his face, Lan Xichen pulls out a small set of keys from his bag and unlocks the entrance to the block.

“I didn’t want to enter like this,” he whispers.

“I’m sure he’ll forgive you, Xichen.”

Nie Mingjue’s words do little to appease the crease on Lan Xichen’s forehead. The man does offer him a smile in return, a bit empty, but it’s better than nothing.

They take the stairs two at a time. On the third floor, Lan Xichen slows down and walks up to a simple wooden door, painted black. A metal ‘3’ gleams in the dim light of the staircase lamp. Next to it, a dark smudge reveals the place where a second ‘3’ must have been once upon a time.

Lan Xichen looks at him once, brimming with anxiety. Nie Mingjue nods encouragingly and spurs him on to knock on the door.

There’s no answer at first, so Lan Xichen knocks again, this time louder.

“A-Yao? It’s Xichen,” he says, leaning close toward the door.

Keys jingle on the other side, then the door cracks open. Meng Yao watches them from the safety of his apartment, face devoid of emotion. His eyes flicker to Nie Mingjue for a second, only to return to Lan Xichen and linger there.

“Can we come in, please?”

“I wasn’t expecting guests,” Meng Yao says quietly. He doesn’t move an inch.

Lan Xichen takes a step forward. “Please, let us in. Last night you said—”

A dark look passes over Meng Yao’s face. He looks down at his feet and breathes in deeply.

“I don’t need help!”

“A-Yao—”

“What is this song?! Where is it coming from?” He lifts his head mid-exclamation and searches both their faces with manic eyes.

Nie Mingjue, who stayed on the sideline dutifully and let Lan Xichen try his best, decides this is as good a moment as any to step in. He whistles low, merely to attract Baxia’s attention, then walks in front of the open door.

“Please,” is all he says, but this time it is enough.

Baxia’s song follows a certain pattern now, one Song Zichen gave him the musical sheets for. It’s melodious, slower in tempo, notes dragged out to the best of Baxia’s ability. Its high-pitched edges retain the bird’s personality without subtracting from the charm of the song itself.

Meng Yao stares at him with confusion, perhaps a touch of fear.

A moment later, he steps away from the door and lets them in.

Meng Yao’s apartment is extremely untidy. It’s not dirty per se, but his possessions are scattered all over the place. From the doorway alone, Nie Mingjue sees half of his kitchen counters stacked up with mugs and washed dishes he never put away. Clothes from the previous season still hang in the hallway despite the temperatures no longer allowing any sort of trench coats, and there seems to be a sea of paper lining the floor in one of the rooms. 

Meng Yao shuffles to the kitchen meekly; his eyes are on Nie Mingjue, but he is most certainly listening to the song now.

Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen follow him inside silently. They make eye contact in the foyer, similar expressions of apprehension on their faces, then stop by the kitchen table.

Meng Yao all but falls down on one of the chairs. He covers his face with his hands and rests his elbows on the table; it makes him appear even smaller and sadder than before.

Briefly, Nie Mingjue wishes this wasn’t the way he met Lan Xichen’s friend, but there’s nothing much he can do about it except help him move forward.

“Do you hear that?” he whispers, sitting down on the other available chair. “Focus on it.”

He draws a home-crafted, hand-written talisman out of his inner breast pocket and lays it on the table between them. He keeps an eye on Meng Yao as he works to channel his qi and activate the sigil within; the text is faded in one corner, but poses no threat to the effect of the spell. It lights up a moment later, dousing both Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao’s faces. The shadows underneath Meng Yao’s eyes disappear at the change in light-source, leaving behind a youthful face.

Behind him, Nie Mingjue hears Lan Xichen gasp softly.

It must be quite a sight to see for the first time.

He tries to stay focused. He’s had audiences before and ones less composed than Lan Xichen is at that.

Meng Yao mumbles something.

“What did you say?” Nie Mingjue turns back to him at once, alert.

“It’s gentle,” the man repeats in a wobbly voice.

“You deserve that gentleness,” Nie Mingjue states firmly.

It comes as a simple huff at first, then a gasp as Meng Yao turns away from them both and buries his face in his hands again.

“You’re possessed by a ghost. I know someone who can cut it out, take these dark thoughts away from you.”

“Possessed?” Meng Yao’s sob turns into a laugh. “I’m fucking depressed. You cannot help me.”

“A-Yao, trust him,” Lan Xichen says, his own voice threatening to break.

“Nobody said you can’t be both.”

Meng Yao looks at him sharply, eyes wide in disbelief.

Nie Mingjue shrugs. “Let my friend take a look at you. There’s ways to help both of your problems.”

An hour and a half later, with an exhausted Baxia still chirping faintly in the background, Meng Yao finally agrees.

♠

Days later, the setting sun catches Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen by the lake in the central park. They’re sitting on a bench together, leaning against each other’s side, and watching the geese from a distance. Personally, Nie Mingjue thinks they look the very definition of exhausted, but Lan Xichen surprises him with his will to still make conversation and laugh.

“At this point, I can only sit here and listen to you,” he tells Lan Xichen with a sigh.

“That’s perfectly alright, A-Jue! I have so many things I want to tell you!”

Nie Mingjue smiles.

This is everything he dreamed about on the train to Lanling.

♠

Before they split up and go to their respective bus stations, Nie Mingjue stops Lan Xichen with a gentle touch on his forearm. He hands him the poetry book without another word.

“Oh! You started reading this too?” Lan Xichen takes it with care and beams when he sees the title. “Beautiful edition.”

“It is. I bookmarked my favourite poem. Would you read it when you get home?”

“Of course!”

“Lunch tomorrow at one?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

♠

Dear Xichen,

I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve written these words. At first it was a formality, you know—how else would someone start a letter? But after we stayed in touch, I really started feeling it. You’re dear to me. From the way you doodle in the margins of the page, to the way you draw every stroke of every character in painstaking detail, to the brilliance of your ideas and the kindness of your heart, every word you write to me fills me with joy, and every time we talk I wish the moment would never end.

You’ve been by my side in the hardest moments of my life and encouraged me to walk forward despite the grim view of the world I had. I don’t have enough skill to word it as well as I should, but I hope my intentions are clear at least.

I care about you.

Yours,

Mingjue

♠♠♠