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Nie Huaisang should have died like this:
He should have been old—not too old, as his cultivation had never been good enough to extend his lifespan for very long, but not young either, because by the same token he’d have avoided his sect’s curse. He should have died in bed to some illness or age-related complication, as he had never been one to risk his neck in night hunts. There should have been family there, cousins and the odd aunt or uncle who would have managed to outlive him. No children or grandchildren, of course, but he’d come to terms with that long ago. He would have already selected a successor from his extended family, who would be a much better sect leader than Nie Huaisang had been. It should have been an uneventful end to a too-eventful life.
But, just like always, fate had other plans, and Nie Huaisang didn’t die at all.
One minute, he was on his way home from a meeting with some minor sect leaders, and the next, he was standing in a shining hall, dressed in resplendent finery and feeling a lightness of limb that he’d never before experienced. He felt like he could outrun the sun, or lift the moon in the sky, or defeat a thousand enemies with one finger.
“Welcome to the Heavenly Capitol,” said a man before him, dressed in the same kind of shimmering, floaty robes that Nie Huaisang found himself wearing. “Congratulations on your ascension.”
~
“I have questions,” Nie Huaisang said once the man—a literature god—had given a brief orientation of Nie Huaisang’s new role. Godhood seemed to have just as many rules as sect leadership, and the explanation had taken the better part of an hour.
“I’ll answer if I can,” said the literature god.
“Why me?” Nie Huaisang asked. “I’m nothing. I hardly cultivated a golden core. No one respected me a day in my life. There are dogs with more right to ascension than me.”
The literature god smiled politely. “You are an unusual case, it’s true. Usually, it’s impossible to tell why one person might ascend, while another does not. But you’ve had quite an effect on the fate of the world, haven’t you?”
Nie Huaisang suppressed a scoff, and automatically reached into his sleeve for his fan so he could hide his expression. Before he could remember that he wasn’t wearing his old robes, he’d already pulled out a silver fan of exquisite craftmanship. It opened at the lightest touch, and Nie Huaisang held it up, fluttering it slowly.
“I couldn’t say how much of an effect I’ve had,” he said. “I’ve hardly done anything, compared to some of my contemporaries.”
“It’s a question of quality, not quantity,” explained the literature god. “Whenever you’ve chosen to act, your decisions have had far-reaching consequences. Your contemporaries are extraordinary, it’s true, but the threads of their fate all tie back to you in the end.”
Nie Huaisang’s fan froze, and he struggled to think of how that could be possible. How could he be more worthy of this than anyone else? Didn’t all those threads of fate tie back just as strongly to Lan Xichen, to Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, to any of the other accomplished cultivators he knew? Had destiny really skipped them over for Nie Huaisang? And why—just because he’d gotten justice for his brother’s murder, just because he’d done what anyone else would have done in his place?
“Don’t think about it too hard,” the literature god advised. “Just accept it and enjoy your new position.”
~
It took less than a week before Nie Huaisang gave in to the temptation to visit Lan Xichen.
He wasn’t supposed to meddle in mortal affairs—an interesting clause, when he’d apparently ascended in the first place because of his meddling—but there wasn’t anyone to stop him, and he’d never been good at following the rules anyway. He told himself it would just be a quick visit to see how Lan Xichen was doing in seclusion. He hadn’t tried to visit, not since Jin Guangyao had died, but as a god he could stay hidden and just take a peek for himself. Lan Xichen didn’t need to know he was there, didn’t need to know that Nie Huaisang wanted to see him in the first place. He’d be happier without Nie Huaisang in his life, that much was certain.
But Nie Huaisang hesitated before the door to the Hanshi. He didn’t have permission to do this, to intrude on Lan Xichen’s seclusion just for his own gratification. He’d already taken so many liberties with Lan Xichen’s trust when he was alive, and becoming a god hadn’t really erased any of that. It was truly only concern for an old friend that had brought him here, but… maybe it would be better not to know. Maybe not knowing would be a fitting punishment for what Nie Huaisang had done.
But just as Nie Huaisang had decided to leave, the door opened, letting Lan Xichen out into the sunlight. He looked right through Nie Huaisang’s invisible form, scanning the horizon for something, and Nie Huaisang took the chance to look him over. It wasn’t a reassuring sight. Lan Xichen was a shadow of the man he had been—so thin that his already sharp cheekbones looked like spurs of bone, his hair disheveled and his eyes red and wet from recent tears. Nie Huaisang swayed forward with the impulse to support Lan Xichen’s shivering frame, but at the last second he remembered his situation. He couldn’t reveal himself. No one knew he’d ascended—they all thought he was dead. His presence wouldn’t bring Lan Xichen any comfort, just confusion and perhaps even anger over seeing an enemy he thought had been put to rest.
So Nie Huaisang stayed silent and hidden. He should have left right away. He’d already seen what he’d come for, and it had hurt just as much as he’d thought it would. But when Lan Xichen started off down a path deeper into the mountains, Nie Huaisang found himself following. Lan Xichen wasn’t in a state to go wandering around in the woods unchaperoned, Nie Huaisang reasoned. He would just keep watch until Lan Xichen met up with someone else or returned to the more populated parts of the Cloud Recesses, just to make sure he was safe.
At first, Lan Xichen’s path was familiar to Nie Huaisang. The birds of Gusu had always been far more diverse than the ones Nie Huaisang had gotten to see in the Unclean Realm, and he’d imposed on Lan Xichen for more than one migratory season. He was well-versed in the trails, especially those close to the Hanshi. But after only a few minutes of walking, Lan Xichen left the main path to follow what looked like a game trail, which soon opened up into a small clearing that Nie Huaisang had never seen before. It was barely large enough for two people, but tended as carefully as any of the Cloud Recesses’ gardens.
Lan Xichen settled onto his knees in the center of the clearing, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Perhaps this was private space for meditation, and Lan Xichen was just coming out here to clear his mind. Nie Huaisang wondered how many other people had seen this space. The thought made him uncomfortable, and again he questioned the decision to intrude on Lan Xichen like this.
“Sorry, Xichen-ge. Just a few more minutes,” he said aloud, with a voice that Lan Xichen couldn’t hear. “Just a few more minutes, until I know you’ll be OK.”
Lan Xichen stayed still and quiet for a little while, taking deep, deliberate breaths. When he’d settled, he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a few sticks of incense. He stuck them in the ground, where Nie Huaisang could see the ashen remnants of previous incense, and he lit the sticks with a spark of spiritual energy. The fragrance was lovely, maybe even the best that Nie Huaisang had ever smelled, and he leaned in a little more to enjoy it. He could see Lan Xichen’s face better from this angle as well, eyes closed again and brow furrowed against some invisible pain. Nie Huaisang wondered which pain occupied Lan Xichen’s thoughts today. He’d always had far more than his share.
“Oh, Huaisang,” Lan Xichen sighed. “You weren’t supposed to leave me too. We didn’t even get to see each other again.”
Nie Huaisang staggered back in shock at his name. Had he made some mistake, and let himself be seen? But Lan Xichen stayed seated with his head bowed, and Nie Huaisang realized with another shock that Lan Xichen didn’t know he was there at all. He’d been speaking aloud to what he thought was a dead man.
After everything that had happened, Lan Xichen still missed Nie Huaisang enough to burn incense for him, to drag his frail body out into the woods to mourn him.
Again, Nie Huaisang wanted to reach out. Again, he held himself back.
“And what would you say to me, if we saw each other?” he asked with his silent voice, expecting no answer. He got one anyway—maybe because Lan Xichen had felt the question within some corner of his spirit, or maybe just because he was going to continue speaking anyway.
“I wish I’d known who you really were,” Lan Xichen said, his voice quavering from unshed tears. He drew in a shaky breath. “I wish… I wish I could have apologized. I let so many bad things happen to you, when I should have been protecting you all along.”
“No, Xichen-ge—” Nie Huaisang tried to interrupt.
“I always loved you,” Lan Xichen continued, his tears brimming over to slide down his stark cheekbones. “I always loved you, Huaisang, but now I think you must have hated me. And I can’t bear how that feels.”
Nie Huaisang stepped back as though he’d been struck. He shouldn’t be here, he should never have come and he certainly shouldn’t have stayed to listen. Lan Xichen’s words twisted in his gut like a knife. Nie Huaisang could have been the strongest god in all the heavens and those words would still have cut him to his core.
“Never,” he said, gasping out the word through the pain. “I could never hate you, Xichen-ge.” He reached out with trembling fingers, wanting to brush away the tears that rolled down Lan Xichen’s face, to reassure him with his touch, to return the comfort that Lan Xichen had given him so many times.
But what could he do? What comfort could he give? They could talk and cry and apologize to each other, they could say their feelings honestly and bare their hearts to each other, and then what? Nie Huaisang was a god now, a being above mortals. They lived in different worlds. They couldn’t stay together.
Better to leave things where they were instead. Lan Xichen would recover, eventually, and he would move on with his life. He’d be happier in the end if he had a clean break now, rather than knowing Nie Huaisang was always lingering above him, just out of reach.
And as for Nie Huaisang…
Well, he’d always been a coward. Maybe he didn’t really believe that this could ever be fixed, no matter how many tears and apologies they shared. Maybe he didn’t want to find out whether or not it could be fixed. Maybe it would be better to dream of what could have been, instead of gambling it away for a chance at a few years of happiness together.
So he let his hand fall and he backed away, leaving Lan Xichen where he wept on the forest floor.