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It begins, like most things, as a result of self-righteous leaders of minor sects who don’t know when to shut up.
The cultivation conference is hosted at Qinghe this year, finally coming to an end after a week of shallow pleasantries and ‘friendly’ competitions that really just resemble peacocks showing off their feathers at each other. However, the fact that they’ve arrived at the final day means that sect leaders are more insistent than ever, trying to get self-benefitting regulations passed with the blessing of the Chief Cultivator.
They have been arguing about whether or not to raise tariffs between their territories for the past four hours, and Jiang Cheng is ready to summon Zidian.
The evening banquet finally begins after an eternity, but the reprieve it brings is short-lived.
In the years since Lan Xichen had gone into seclusion, his brother had taken over many of his sect leader duties, including attention conferences in his stead. Of course, this means that Wei Wuxian is also present, stuck to his husband’s side like a stubborn leech.
At least during the formal meetings, Wei Wuxian knows to behave himself, but once the banquet begins and cultivators start mingling more freely, he throws all sense of propriety out the window. Currently, he’s all but draped himself over Lan Wangji’s lap while the blank-faced Hanguang-jun drinks tea in place of wine, saying nothing.
Something twists in his chest at the sight, ugly and sharp. Jiang Cheng tears his eyes from the couple forcefully and throws the alcohol in his cup back in one shot. It burns as it goes down, and he relishes in the sting.
As the banquet progresses, free-flowing alcohol begins to loosen tongues that are prone to spread rumours in the first place. The minor sect leaders have always been all too eager to treat mealtimes as chances for socialization and building connections, being overly friendly with one another, generous with compliments. Jiang Cheng has no regards for their flowery words, only accepting enough drinks to not seem impolite, but he remains otherwise distant from the rest of the festivities.
The other sect leaders clearly have no such qualms, nor do they have the sense to burn away excess alcohol using their golden cores in order to remain sober. As such, gossip soon fills the hall.
Since Jin Guangyao’s disgraceful fall, the cultivation world had been relatively peaceful under the watchful eye of the new Chief Cultivator. Significant disputes are rare, so once the cultivators have exhausted the reserve of whose daughter is marrying whose son, or which newlyweds have had children recently, the topic inevitably shifts to the most controversial character in the cultivation world: the Yiling Laozu.
Said Yiling Laozu, the monster of nightmares and hero of legends, is currently hanging off Lan Wangji’s shoulder and attempting to feed him grapes, seemingly content to play the coy househusband to the great Hanguang-jun.
It’s amusing, how the cultivation world is still apprehensive when it comes to Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng isn’t denying his power, but he also knows that he enjoys playing hero too much to become the cultivation world’s dreaded villain once more.
“How curious it is that Sect Leader Jiang has not accepted him back into the Yunmeng Jiang Sect again. After all, Wei Wuxian played a big part in bringing that whoreson’s evil deeds to light. Surely that is enough to erase any past slights?” one cultivator says in a conspiratorial whisper, far too loud to be actually trying to hide his words.
“Have you forgotten? Sect Leader Jiang was the person who killed Wei Wuxian in his first life. No matter that they were once shixiongdi—that fate has surely broken by now,” another cultivator replies, with all the airs of a dramatic storyteller.
“Aiyah, what a shame,” a third cultivator laments. “Wei Wuxian is looking to cultivate righteously again, is he not? He would be a great support to the sect. Would it be that difficult for Sect Leader Jiang to let go of the past?”
Their conversation is slurred, the speech of drunken men, but Jiang Cheng has keen ears, and despite his best efforts to ignore them, the words stab themselves into his heart anyways.
Instinctively, Jiang Cheng wants to get angry. What right did outsiders have to comment on affairs they had no business meddling in? Moreover, he is the Jiang Sect leader, the one to decide who he accepts and rejects from the sect. And anyway, Wei Wuxian had been the one to defect first.
But…a small voice begins to whisper treacherously in his mind…but Wei Wuxian had defected to protect the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, hadn’t he? To protect Jiang Cheng, to the point of giving him his golden core. And…Wei Wuxian would be a great help to the sect, but then when isn’t he? As much as Jiang Cheng loathes to admit, the Yunmeng Jiang Sect wouldn’t be the way it is if Wei Wuxian hadn’t sacrificed his golden core for Jiang Cheng, allowing him to continue on during the Sunshot Campaign. If it wasn’t for the core, Jiang Cheng would be a useless commoner, Lotus Pier’s ashes cooling with the cries of a thousand wronged souls. He might even be dead right now.
A rush of bitterness floods his mouth at the thought. Wei Wuxian might have sacrificed for him, but hadn’t Jiang Cheng sacrificed for Wei Wuxian? He remembers the look of horror on Lan Wangji’s face the day the truth came to light, how distressed the Second Jade of Lan had looked as he had considered the pain Wei Wuxian must have endured as his golden core had been ripped out of him.
Sure, Wei Wuxian may have known the pain of losing his core, but Jiang Cheng remembers how it felt to have Wen Zhuliu’s hand on his throat, forcing twisted spiritual energy into his meridians and down, down, down. Tendrils of energy had sought out his core, coiling around it tightly and squeezing until it shattered into a million pieces, melting away with the certainty that it would never reform again.
So how?
How. Can. He. Let. Go?
The memory makes Jiang Cheng’s stomach flip, and he doesn’t realize how tightly he’s gripping onto the wine cup until it shatters in his hand, tiny shards of ceramic creating rivulets of crimson in his palm. It’s suddenly too hot, too difficult to breathe. Under the clamour of the banquet, nobody notices.
Nobody, save for one person.
A light breeze brushes past him as someone flutters up to his side, waving a fan back and forth in front of a misleadingly lovely, delicate face.
“Oh dear, Jiang-xiong must have had too much to drink,” he says to no one in particular, batting his eyes. “Allow me to escort you to your room.”
Without waiting for a response, he takes Jiang Cheng’s arm and leads him out of the banquet hall. The corridor is much quieter, settling Jiang Cheng’s nerves. Instead of leading him to his guest room, however, Nie Huaisang guides him to a large set of double doors, forming the entrance to the private chambers of the Nie Sect leader.
The doors are ornate and tall, imposing like everything else in the Unclean Realms, but Nie Huaisang nudges them open with one hand effortlessly. Once inside, he eases the doors shut before leading Jiang Cheng to a vanity table.
Alone, Nie Huaisang switches personas, exuding a halo of firm stillness that calms Jiang Cheng down immediately, grounding him in the present.
“I’m fine,” Jiang Cheng forces out when Nie Huaisang pries his bleeding palm open, his voice rough.
“Of course, A-Cheng. Humour me, hmm? Let me take care of you,” Nie Huaisang soothes, the way one might placate a young child. Jiang Cheng scowls, but he allows Nie Huaisang to pick the shards of the wine cup out of his hand carefully. The cuts are shallow, and with his level of cultivation, some are already starting to close on their own.
When he’s finished treating the wound, Nie Huaisang presses a small kiss into his bandaged palm before straightening up. “I’ll have the servants draw you a bath. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be back soon.”
Nie Huaisang disappears from the room then, presumably to close the banquet formally, leaving Jiang Cheng to clean up on his own.
True to his word, Nie Huaisang returns half an hour later, his expression drawn tight the way it does after a long day of playing mind games with sect leaders who are so far beneath his intelligence, it’s honestly impressive. He relaxes into a more genuine smile when he sees Jiang Cheng, methodically removing his hair accessories in his inner robe as he sits on the bed.
When he catches Nie Huaisang staring, Jiang Cheng quirks his mouth into a half-smile and allows the rest of his hair to fall loose over his shoulders. It should feel strange, vulnerable, to have another person see him with his hair down, but with Nie Huaisang, he only feels safe.
Nie Huaisang’s eyes darken at the sight, and he washes up in record time, but when he joins Jiang Cheng on the bed again, it is only to push him down so they are lying on their sides, facing one another.
“Would Sect Leader Jiang be so kind as to grace his lowly one with his thoughts?” Nie Huaisang says playfully, cushioning his head on an arm.
Jiang Cheng scoffs, avoiding his gaze. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says a beat later. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You were upset, earlier. “ Nie Huaisang leans forward and whispers lowly, so close that they’re sharing the same air, making the tiny hairs on Jiang Cheng’s neck stand up. “Is it because of what the cultivators said?”
Jiang Cheng doesn’t bother to answer, instead focusing on ignoring how distracting his lover is being. Nie Huaisang is asking on purpose, anyways. As always, he knows the answer.
“A-Cheng…maybe…maybe you don’t have to be so hard on yourself,” Nie Huaisang sighs. Any closer and they would be kissing.
Jiang Cheng leans back, scoffing. “So you think I should let go of the past and move on too, huh.”
“I do think you should move on,” Nie Huaisang answers, surprisingly straightforward. “But for yourself, not for anyone else. Holding onto the memories like this…you’re only punishing yourself. It distresses me to see you in pain, my love.”
Jiang Cheng remains silent, making it clear that he doesn’t want to speak about the subject at all, but Nie Huaisang is nothing if not persistent.
“I am not suggesting you forget it altogether, because it matters, but…. There’s no debt to be repaid between the two of you, there never has been, and I think you both are just too stubborn to admit it.”
“Nie Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng says, taking a deep breath. “Shut up.”
“Hmm, make me,” Nie Huaisang replies cheekily, making Jiang Cheng roll his eyes, even though he obliges the not-so-subtle request for a kiss.
Nie Huaisang sighs happily and pushes Jiang Cheng down so he can lie against his chest. Pulling the covers over both of them, he peers up at Jiang Cheng through dark lashes. “I just wish you could be kinder to yourself, yeah?”
Jiang Cheng closes his eyes to avoid his loving gaze, too knowing, like Nie Huaisang can see right through him. It’s in his nature to use anger as a defensive mechanism—he is his mother’s son, after all—but somehow, Nie Huaisang always understands.
His lover softens up impossibly then, tilting his head up to press a soft kiss to Jiang Cheng’s cheek when he recognizes the beginnings of a downward spiral. “Go to sleep, A-Cheng. I’m here.”