Chapter Text
Later, he doesn’t even remember what the argument was about. Lan Xichen doesn’t believe it matters, anyway. Sect meetings discussed useless affairs so often a person could sleep through one of them and never waste their time.
He is fairly certain this is what Nie Huaisang does most of the time, though he still cannot figure out how he does it with his eyes open. Lan Xichen has had his duty drilled into him far too thoroughly to ever stop paying attention himself, but he will admit to spending more time than he ought to watching his lover surreptitiously from the corner of his eye.
In any case, the argument is as foolish and inane as any in these meetings, and would probably have been entirely forgotten, until Sect Leader Yao brings up Lan Xichen’s brother.
Nie Huaisang immediately tries to intervene at this, shooting Lan Xichen a subtle look of concern which goes unnoticed by the rest of the cultivators. They have opted, by mutual and unspoken agreement, to keep their relationship discreet, if not quite a secret— it is not, Lan Xichen thinks guiltily, as though it affords the Lan clan any special treatment. He would never approve of such behaviour, and Nie Huaisang— well, he is aware that he would never approve of such behaviour. Still, it is difficult for either of them not to intercede on the other’s behalf when the topic turns to dangerous subjects, as it has today, and Lan Xichen feels a pang of gratitude which is quickly outstripped by his temper as Sect Leader Yao continues disparaging Lan Wangji.
He suspects the true issue is that his brother and Wei Wuxian had recently passed through Sect Leader Yao’s territory, and taken on a few jobs that would normally have gone to the Yao sect. Either way, Sect Leader Yao’s comments on his brother’s corrupt nature are deeply unappreciated. If this had happened before Jin Guangyao’s fall, he would have just smiled his way through it, but he finds his patience as of late has become shorter, and he doesn’t entirely think that is a bad thing.
“Running off with the Yiling Patriarch, as though that isn’t a clear sign of corruption!” Sect Leader Yao complains. “And his sect encourages this behaviour! I heard they even held a wedding for the two of them, as though they approved their relationship!” He’s clearly building up to something. “And we call Gusu Lan the most righteous of sects! Why is this allowed?”
“Perhaps I should explain it to you, since you have expressed so much confusion,” Lan Xichen suggests, cutting calmly into the diatribe, his voice clear and cold in a way he expects most of the cultivators have never heard. The hall goes silent, every eye on the two men, and Sect Leader Yao goes red, clearly having expected him to smooth things over as he frequently did. “It is allowed, as you put it, because sect affairs fall under the sovereignty of each sect’s leader and elders, and are not, therefore, subject to interference from any other sect, regardless of the issue. In short, Lan Wangji has asked for and received all the permission he needs.”
Sect Leader Yao is flushed almost purple at having basic etiquette explained to him as though he were a child in front of half the cultivation world. He opens his mouth to speak, but Sect Leader Ouyang elbows him, throwing him an urgent look, and he shuts his mouth abruptly.
“I would advise you not to speak of other sects’ personal matters without a very pressing reason, Sect Leader Yao,” Lan Xichen tells him. “A sect leader could take it the wrong way.”
There is a displeased murmur of agreement amongst the minor sects’ cultivators. Most of them had little to no power as a single sect, and therefore guarded what little they did have viciously. The implication that a sect was trying to interfere in another’s affairs is one of the few matters that might unite them. Sect Leader Yao blanches, always aware of which way the mood of the room was swinging, if nothing else.
“There’s no need to take my remarks so seriously, Sect Leader Lan,” he says, laughing nervously. “Come, let’s move on!”
Lan Xichen starts to argue, then sucks in a deep breath, temper still frayed and unsatisfied. It would do no good though; any further reprimand would just make him look like a bully. He doesn’t know if he is doing a good job of hiding his anger, though. He is unsure what his face looks like, but across the table, Jin Ling looks distinctly alarmed, not quite as practiced at having to hide his emotions as the rest of them. Seeing his expression, Lan Xichen takes a careful breath, forcing himself to calm. “Very well. We’ll move on.
There is silence for a moment longer, and then a minor sect leader clears his throat and brings up a financial dispute with another sect, and the conversation picks up again. Lan Xichen sighs, anger draining from him, and reaches for Nie Huaisang’s hand under the table, the way he has countless times over the past year.
Nie Huaisang flinches.
Or rather, he doesn’t. He doesn’t move in the slightest, but Lan Xichen can feel his muscles tense up in an aborted movement, and when he looks up, his face is flickering with distress that is brought under control just as quickly, but not before Lan Xichen sees it.
He takes his hand away; clenches it into a fist. The action doesn’t convince him that it is anything but empty.
The meeting goes on as before, without anyone else noticing the difference, but Lan Xichen barely notices what is being discussed. Once it is over, Nie Huaisang takes his leave hastily, sliding out of the room before anyone else has even risen out of their seats.
Lan Xichen aches to follow, even starts after him, but he stops himself when he realises he might not be welcome, and ends up leaving the room to wander aimlessly through the rooms of the Unclean Realm, replaying the events of the day in his mind. It isn’t the first time one of them has withdrawn from the other, but this is the first time Lan Xichen cannot understand why, and he finds it troubling to say the least.
After some time, he finds himself drifting over to Nie Huaisang’s small aviary, secreted away in the middle of the fortress. It’s the most peaceful place in the building, but it’s also a strategic move; Nie Huaisang would never leave his birds for too long, and so Lan Xichen is bound to meet him here if he waits long enough. It makes him feel a little better.
He wanders over to a nightingale, looking into its cage. The bird trills at him cheerfully, hopping closer, clearly used to the presence of humans. It edges closer to its food bowl, hopeful, and he smiles.
“I’m sorry,” he says, spreading his hands. “I’m afraid I have nothing for you.” The nightingale droops a little, and he bites down on laughter, reaching into the cage to stroke at its feathers. “Besides, I really don’t think your master would be pleased if I interrupted your feeding schedule, and I’m on thin ice with him as it is.”
“Are you?”
Lan Xichen turns to see Nie Huaisang standing in the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrow arched. “Am I?” he returns, and his voice comes out more uncertain than he would have liked.
Nie Huaisang considers this, hesitates, and then shakes his head, looking off-balance as well. “One treat won’t hurt him,” he opts to say instead, stepping forward to gesture at the nightingale. “Here.” He holds out a dead mealworm in an expectant manner, and biting down on a smile— Nie Huaisang is squeamish about everything except when it comes to his birds—Lan Xichen takes it and passes it carefully to the nightingale. It snatches it straight from his fingers and sets about devouring it, ignoring him completely now that it has food to occupy it with, and Lan Xichen laughs.
“He’s a greedy little thing,” Nie Huaisang comments, wryly. “And he really knows how to con people into giving him food, too.”
“I can’t imagine where he learned it from,” Lan Xichen teases.
Nie Huaisang snorts and steps closer, until they are side by side. “I’m not angry at you, by the way,” he adds, deliberately nonchalant as he watches the nightingale. “So you can stop looking so worried.”
A knot of anxiety unclenches in his chest, and Lan Xichen relaxes a little. “Oh?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Nie Huaisang says. His lips tightened. “I was just… being stupid. I promise, it’s fine.”
His chest knots up all over again. “I don’t believe someone I love being afraid of me is stupid. I find it concerning.”
Nie Huaisang winces at this. “It really isn’t.”
“Huaisang. What did I do?” Lan Xichen reaches out to him, then remembers himself and withdraws his hand. The gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by Nie Huaisang, who tosses him an exasperated look and takes his hand himself, shifting closer as he does until their shoulders are touching. Lan Xichen smiles, but doesn’t allow himself to be distracted. “Please tell me. I want to know.”
Nie Huaisang sighs, very heavily. “...You were angry.”
“Yes?” Lan Xichen says in confusion. His stomach turns over. “Did you think it was unwarranted? I’m certain I could have handled it in a more cordial manner—”
“No, nothing like that, of course not. Even angry, you’re nowhere near as rude as Sect Leader Yao is on a daily basis,” Nie Huaisang assures him. His mouth twists unhappily. “It just... bothers me sometimes. When people get angry around me. Especially if they’re close.”
Lan Xichen shakes his head. “It bothers you?”
Nie Huaisang smiles weakly. “I don’t suppose you know what it’s like to be the weakest person in the room, do you?”
Lan Xichen pauses.
He has never truly considered before what it must be like for Nie Huaisang, to be surrounded by people who could kill him in a heartbeat. To have been surrounded his entire life by people who could kill him in a heartbeat, and not be able to defend himself. He has never had to think of such things.
Obviously, he would never willingly harm Nie Huaisang, and it stings a little, to know that he does not know this. But then, Nie Huaisang has been hurt before by people he’d loved. By his own brother, for all that it hadn’t been his fault.
Staring at the birds without really taking them in, Lan Xichen suddenly remembers his fourteenth summer, which he’d spent visiting Qinghe Nie, in great part because Sect Leader Nie— Nie Mingjue’s father— had been deteriorating quickly, and the Lan elders had wanted to strengthen ties between the sects by having him help Nie Mingjue with his many new duties. He hadn’t minded— he’d known Nie Mingjue had been quietly drowning under the weight of leadership and the demands of being his younger brother’s last remaining guardian, and he’d badly wanted to go long before it had been suggested.
He’d arrived to find the Unclean Realm in good order, but none of it could hide the strain that was showing on every face, the tension that hung in the air through every conversation. Nie Mingjue was constantly hunched over paperwork and reports in his father’s study, and somehow even his bulk had seemed small in that room, as though he was playing at being a sect leader. Even Nie Huaisang, cosseted and protected as always, had gone quiet after his initial enthusiastic greeting, resembling Lan Wangji more than his usual self with his solemnity. It had been eerie.
Lan Xichen had set about putting everyone at ease, and for the most part he had done a good job of it. He had even managed to coax Nie Mingjue out onto the sparring grounds, insisting that being cooped up was doing very little for his friend’s temper, and for a moment he had almost gotten him to smile with his old ease. But then there had been a thin wail from the fortress behind them, and the two of them whirled around, hands going to the hilts of their swords instinctively, as Nie Huaisang came running out.
“Da-ge!” Nie Huaisang had screeched, and flung himself across the training yard at Nie Mingjue, who’d scooped him up into his arms easily, as though he was a much younger child. “Da-ge, help!”
“What is it?” Nie Mingjue demanded. “Huaisang, answer me!”
“A-die…” Nie Huaisang managed, between sobs. “He’s having a deviation. I tried to help him, but I couldn’t.”
“Huaisang!” Nie Mingjue’s face contorts in horror. “He could have killed you!”
“He threw me across the room,” Nie Huaisang admits miserably, burrowing closer to his brother. “Da-ge, it hurts.”
Lan Xichen had stopped dead then, stunned. He had not had a chance to see Nie Mingjue’s father for himself, locked away in the infirmary as he had been. He’d known the man was in a bad state, but this...
“I’ll take care of this,” Nie Mingjue said, thunderclouds on his face. “Xichen, take him.”
Lan Xichen blinked as Nie Huaisang was thrust unceremoniously into his arms, staggering a little from surprise. The younger boy only buried his face into his shoulder, hiccupping wildly, as his brother went storming back into the fortress, followed by several of his closer lieutenants.
“A-Sang, let me look at you,” Lan Xichen said, rallying. “Are you badly hurt? Come on, I can help.”
It had taken him a moment, but he eventually managed to coax Nie Huaisang into lifting his face. Lan Xichen had looked at his cheek, bright red and already swelling up, probably going to bruise, and felt his fingers itch to reach for his sword with a violence that shocked him. He’d seen plenty of injuries worse than this, and on children younger than Nie Huaisang— they were cultivators, after all. But those had been training accidents, usually inflicted by unruly disciples guilty and horrified at the harm they had caused, not by an adult. Not by someone trying to cause harm to a child.
Nie Huaisang is so tiny, tinier than his own brother, and far more delicate. Lan Xichen wants to go inside, go after Nie Mingjue and find his father and—
“Xichen-gege?” Nie Huaisang blinked at him solemnly, long eyelashes wet and clumped together with tears, and Lan Xichen had startled, anger leaving him in a rush.
“I’m sorry, A-Sang,” he had said, and forced any nonsensical thoughts about what he would like to do to Nie Huaisang’s father away. Sect Leader Nie wasn’t himself, and besides, Nie Mingjue would not be gentle to anyone that hurt his little brother, not even his own father. It was far more important to comfort Nie Huaisang, who was still sniffling and scrubbing at his face woefully. “Do you want to go to the kitchens? We can get you some ice for your face, and I’m sure the cooks could be persuaded to feed you sweets, just this once.”
Nie Huaisang looked reluctantly intrigued. “Sweets?”
“As many as you want,” Lan Xichen promised recklessly.
There was a gleam in his eyes now. “As many as I want?”
“Yes.”
“I want many!” Nie Huaisang nodded vigorously, tears drying up at an amazing speed, and Lan Xichen had to stifle an undignified snort. Nie Mingjue was right in his complaints, his little brother was cunning and opportunistic. Still, he had promised.
“Come on then,” he said warmly, and set him down, reaching out to take his hand. “But don’t make yourself sick.”
Sect Leader Nie hadn’t died that day, but soon after. Lan Xichen had stayed for the funeral, and some cold part of him had refused to be sorry no matter how many times he had tried to tell himself that the man had been a good father, that his sons had mourned him, that he hadn’t been himself. That it was the right thing to feel. That part of him had only looked at a dead enemy and felt satisfaction. He supposes that in their rage he and Nie Huaisang are similar: very slow to anger and equally slow to forgive, once they feel they have sufficient cause. Lan Xichen still looks at Wei Wuxian and feels a stab of dislike sometimes, no matter how many times he tells himself to let go, no matter how many times he tells himself that his brother is happy now.
They both tend to reserve their temper for people who slight their family; that is another similarity they share.
In any case, that had been the first time he had realised he possessed those instincts, the same as any fighter— that when violence happened, he wanted to repay it in violence. He is well in control of it, and has been since he was young, but it exists all the same.
“A-Sang,” he murmurs, still half in the past. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“You didn’t,” Nie Huaisang mumbles, looking away. “I know—I knew— as soon as I pulled away that I was being ridiculous. You wouldn’t do that to me.”
“Most people forget I’m a killer,” he admits. It is something that bothers him from time to time, that people are so willing to forget his capacity for violence. It feels— unfair.
But he doubts Nie Huaisang had ever held such delusions, or he would not have used him against Jin Guangyao to such effect.
Nie Huaisang’s hand drifts upwards compulsively to rub at his shoulder, his face strained. Lan Xichen knows the scar that cuts across it, has seen it so many times it has just become another part of Nie Huaisang to him, but now he remembers bringing Nie Huaisang to the healers’ after his brother’s death, and the dull, dead expression on his face as his wound had been stitched up. “I wish I could.”
“I’m sorry,” Lan Xichen says, stomach curling with discomfort. He’s never been uncomfortable with his own strength before; if anything, he’s wished himself stronger. It is very strange, to want to be… less, than what he is, to be ashamed of his power. “I don’t think— there’s no way that I can think of to make us more equal, not in this. I could never give up fighting—”
Nie Huaisang blinks, then frowns at him. “I would never want that.”
“No?” He swallows, his stomach clenching. It bothers him that this is a problem he cannot fix. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
“This is my problem,” Nie Huaisang says firmly. “It’ll always be a problem, regardless of whether you give up your sword or not.” He throws Lan Xichen a pointed glance. “And you’ve never once asked me to stop scheming even after I used it against you; I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a hypocrite. I would never ask you to give up your weapon for no better reason than my fear.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Lan Xichen allows reluctantly. “I just… I don’t want to lose you over this.” Even the thought makes a bolt of panic and distress run through him and he looks away, shutting his eyes and trying to get himself back under control. A firm tug on his hand brings him back to himself, and he turns in surprise to look at Nie Huaisang, who is wearing a stubborn expression.
“I’m not a coin to be lost or stolen,” Nie Huaisang tells him. “I’m a person, and I chose to stay with you. I still choose you.”
Lan Xichen flushes a little. Nie Huaisang isn’t sincere very often, and it always throws him off when it happens. “I’m glad,” he offers simply.
Nie Huaisang leans over to cup his face in one hand, fingers sliding through Lan Xichen’s hair. Lan Xichen wonders if he knows he could lift his hand and wind it through the ribbon around his forehead, if he knows he would be allowed. Probably not, he decides, and on an impulse, leans forward to press his forehead against the other man’s. Nie Huaisang freezes, eyes suddenly wide.
“What are you so surprised for, hmm?” Lan Xichen teases. He always likes getting the upper hand in one of their conversations; normally Nie Huaisang is the one teasing him. “Didn’t I say you could touch me?”
Nie Huaisang kisses him in answer, fiercely, then draws back to rest his forehead back against his own. “I love you.”
He says it so simply that it takes a moment for Lan Xichen to realise what he’d said. He knows Nie Huaisang loves him, of course he does, but he has never said it out loud before, hadn’t even known he wanted to hear it until this moment. It makes his heart ache with a pleasant sort of pain, and he buries his head into Nie Huaisang’s shoulder, arms coming up to pull him closer as he breathes him in. Nie Huaisang lets out a soft huff of amusement but returns his embrace just as tightly.
They stay that way for another long minute before finally remembering they still have duties to complete and untangling themselves from each other, drawing back. It feels a little like waking up too soon and stumbling around still half-asleep, the way he had when his clan had declared him old enough to adhere to the Gusu Lan sleeping hours, except this time, instead of wanting to crawl back into bed all he wants to do is curl up with Nie Huaisang someplace quiet and let the rest of the world take care of its own problems for once. It’s only the discipline that’s been drummed into him that allows him to pull away, and he wonders with some amusement if he should thank his clan or curse them.
“If you like, I could teach you some techniques that would work well against a Lan cultivator,” Lan Xichen offers cautiously, straightening. “It might make you feel better.”
Nie Huaisang narrows his eyes at him. “Is this some kind of plot to get me to practice my saber? Xichen, how could you?”
He looks so genuinely betrayed that Lan Xichen has to laugh. “Is that a no then?”
“I appreciate the offer, but no,” Nie Huaisang smiles at him fondly. “It isn’t my way of doing things.”
Lan Xichen nods in acknowledgement. “Still, I am certain the Gusu Lan sect has done research into fears like this. I could check our archives if you like?”
“If you like,” Nie Huaisang echoes with a smile. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”
In the distance, someone calls for Nie Huaisang, and the two of them start, looking around. Nie Huaisang lets out a soft snort.
“Ah, there’s still the banquet to get through,” he complains, pulling his fan from his belt and flicking it open in front of his face as though he is trying to hide himself. “Xichen, don’t leave me alone, alright?”
“All the sect leaders sit together,” Lan Xichen points out with amusement.
“Still.”
Lan Xichen smiles at him, feeling helplessly fond. “If that’s what you want.”
Nie Huaisang pouts, sends him a sideways look. “It’s what I always want.”
Oh. Lan Xichen flushes again, brightly.
“We should go,” Nie Huaisang says regretfully, eyeing the doors.
“Mm,” Lan Xichen agrees. “Huaisang…”
“Yes?”
Lan Xichen smiles and swoops in daringly to steal a kiss from Nie Huaisang’s startled lips, and then darts out the door before he can react, luxuriating in the soft laughter that follows after him as he waits for his lover to catch up.