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It starts, as so many things do in Jiang Cheng’s damned life, with a surge of panic.
He is in Lanling, attending the first cultivation conference with Jin Ling as sect leader. The conference has taken a midday break. Instead of loitering in the noise and waves of false laughter, Jiang Cheng has opted to travel through the nearby gardens. Servants and Jin disciples pass around him, dutifully bowing when they notice his presence. Completely in spite of the chaos inside Glamor Hall, the outside is perfectly serene. Flowers are blooming in the Spring warmth, birds are singing their mating songs, and there are no worries Jiang Cheng has to presently attend to. It’s lovely. A breath of fresh air after the turmoil of the past few months.
Jiang Cheng finds a small pavilion. It is only large enough to house two people in its marble and gold structure. Jiang Cheng settles himself in a seat and looks out into the gardens, the small network of ponds and peonies and bushes.
Then the panic sets in.
It begins in his heart, beating mercilessly against his rib cage. Lungs restrict around the force as everything in him focuses on the rapid thumping. A tenseness seizes his head and back, some invisible force gripping the back of his neck like he’s to be taken to the chopping block. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.
No, his mind screams. No no no. Why is this happening? What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Nothing is happening!
He manages to get a hand on the pavilion railing. Stands up. Still can’t breathe. Help. He needs help.
“Jiang-zongzhu!”
That’s Nie Huaisang. Jiang Cheng has barely seen him since Guanyin Temple. But he’s been—impressive. He’s no longer the Headshaker. No longer the boy he knew in the Cloud Recesses. Someone new. Someone strange. Someone elegant and cunning. But, right now, more than anything, he is someone welcome.
Nie Huaisang hurries into his view. He looks worried, which is wrong. There is no need for such a capable man to be worried about Jiang Cheng. Nobody needs to worry about him.
That’s how it’s always been and always should have been.
“Jiang-zongzhu, I need you to breathe with me.” Nie Huaisang takes Jiang Cheng’s hand by the knuckles and guides the fingers to his chest, where a steady heart lays and beats throughout layers of tissue and bone. Nie Huaisang brings the palm to rest with the fingers, so that Jiang Cheng can feel the rise and fall of his chest. The steady breathing reaches the nerves of Jiang Cheng’s hand, races through his arm, meets his own lungs and encourages him to match it.
“Good, you’re doing great,” Nie Huaisang whispers. Jiang Cheng looks up from where Nie Huaisang is holding his hand to meet the sect leader’s eyes. Nie Huaisang is smiling softly, encouragingly, at him. Jiang Cheng wants to crawl into his skin, into the safety promised by that smile.
Nie Huaisang looks around before offering his other hand. Jiang Cheng considers, then takes it. “Let’s go somewhere safe,” Nie Huaisang says as he helps Jiang Cheng stand.
Somewhere safe turns out to be Nie Huaisang’s own rooms. They manage to sneak in without notice. Quickly, Nie Huaisang ushers Jiang Cheng to sit at the dining table, hands fluttering around his form as he makes sure Jiang Cheng is comfortable. Jiang Cheng, boneless and exhausted, allows the care, even leans into the warmth offered by a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Soon enough, Nie Huaisang sits at the table, too, eyes wide as he scans his companion.
“…I’m not dying,” Jiang Cheng manages to say. Nie Huaisang laughs, short and soft, in response.
“Yes, I know. I’m no stranger to these types of attacks.” Nie Huaisang begins to prepare the tea with a smile too calm for the revelation he just made.
“You’re not?”
The smile turns sad for a second. “When I was a child, after my mother left us. Then there was the time after da-ge… and Jin Guangyao.” Nie Huaisang meets Jiang Cheng’s eyes. “I am no stranger to loss, but my reaction is always the same.”
Condolences are on the tip of Jiang Cheng’s tongue, but there are miles and years yet before he can truly mean them for Nie Huaisang. They have both lost more than could ever bear to offer. Any condolences between them would be empty, bitter like sea water at the back of their throats. Instead, Jiang Cheng offers him a small, sad twist of the lips, an acknowledgement. Nie Huaisang offers the same in turn.
“Have you lost anything recently, Jiang-zongzhu?”
Shame immediately piles into his chest and shoulders, weighing heavy on his ribcage. “No… I have not.”
“Not a brother for the second time?”
The shame quickly burns into anger. “He has happily married into the Lan sect! How is that my loss?!”
He cannot read Nie Huaisang’s expression as he says, “Then perhaps it is my loss. While I had wished his happiness with Hanguang-jun, I had also wished to see my school-day friends reunited.”
The implication sets Jiang Cheng’s mouth into a snarl. “You! I am not a pawn in your little scheme!”
“You all were,” Nie Huaisang counters. “That is common knowledge, Jiang-zongzhu. Granted, though, you never moved quite how I expected you to.”
Jiang Cheng slams his hand on the table. Without breaking eye contact, Nie Huaisang stands the teacups back up. “And what do you mean by that?!”
“I guess you could say I idealized you. I knew Hanguang-jun would protect him against all odds. But I truly thought you would do the same. That, if given time to talk, you two would have been able to put your old hurts aside.”
Jiang Cheng recognizes the sting of tears and the agony gripping his throat, but still he shouts out, “Are you blaming me?!”
Of course he’s blaming you.
Nie Huaisang’s hand shoots out to cup his cheek. Everything inside Jiang Cheng stills. No panic. No anger. Only stillness and a lovely touch. “No, I’m not. I am telling you I was wrong.” His thumb glides against his cheek, wiping away a tear. “I thought I had you and him figured out. But that was only from a short time of studying together. Everything else I knew was from rumors. It wasn’t until after everything was done that I realized how deeply you two have been hurting. It will take more than a revenge plan to reunite you.”
Jiang Cheng collapses into himself, becomes smaller in the blanket around his shoulders. “What am I supposed to do?”
The hand on his cheek disappears, taking his heart with it. Nie Huaisang pours their tea and the scent of honey fills the air between them. “Talk to him, Jiang-zongzhu. I can certainly mediate any conversations between you two. I will not tell a living soul of what I hear.”
Jiang Cheng mindlessly digs his thumbnail into his palm to focus on the pain and pressure. He does not drink when Nie Huaisang offers him his cup. “Maybe…” Then, without even thinking of the words, “I thought I had let him go.” The admittance breaks out from his teeth, shattering whatever was holding him together. The tears fall, his heart hammers wildly in his chest, and he can’t breathe—he can’t breathe. It hurts, it all hurts, like a million needles plunged mindlessly into his back. He sinks into the blanket, trying to find safety.
“Jiang-zongzhu, do you know how to whistle?” Nie Huaisang asks, calm.
Too calm. He wants to hurt you.
Jiang Cheng manages to nod.
Small, delicate hands appear in Jiang Cheng’s vision. He focuses on them, on the gold and jade bracelets and rings. Without touching him, Nie Huaisang guides Jiang Cheng’s chin up until they are eye to eye. “Repeat after me, then.”
A whistle, sharp and fast, breaks into the space between them. Jiang Cheng recognizes it as a bird’s call, though he cannot identify the species.
Jiang Cheng copies the sound best he can. It is broken and too soft, but Nie Huaisang still smiles approvingly at him.
“That was a skylark! I love its call,” Nie Huaisang explains. “I found that whenever I had these attacks, repeating birdsong helps most of all. I can teach you a few, if you would like.”
Jiang Cheng nods. Boneless, he leans forward until Nie Huaisang catches him in his arms. Nie Huaisang’s chest is sturdy, much more than he would have thought, but it is soft. Jiang Cheng finds strength in his arms to hold Nie Huaisang’s waist and bring him close. “Thank you,” he breathes into green robes. “Thank you,” he breathes to an old friend.
“You are more than welcome, Jiang-zongzhu,” Nie Huaisang whispers. There is a break in his voice and it is all the more reason for Jiang Cheng to bury his face into Nie Huaisang’s chest. “I hope you know I am not doing this for some ulterior motive.”
“I know it now.”
Nie Huaisang chuckles. The resulting rumble is a welcome sensation against Jiang Cheng’s cheek. “I guess you do. Jiang-xiong an old friend to me, first and foremost. I do not have those in great supply.”
As Nie Huaisang begins to bring his nails down Jiang Cheng’s back, he responds, “You would do this much for an old friend?”
“Those who have earned it, yes,” Nie Huaisang quips. “I do not lay my affections easily.”
“I must have much of your affections, then.”
Nie Huaisang pauses in his ministrations. Jiang Cheng blinks and sits up so he can see Nie Huaisang’s face. The expression that meets him is one of frozen fear. He looks so young and small that Jiang Cheng nearly hits himself for hurting him.
But, then, “May I kiss you?”
The question has him curious enough to say, “Yes.”
The kiss is short, but there is intent in the way Nie Huaisang holds Jiang Cheng’s jaw, presses their lips together. When he pulls back, he does not go far at all. Their noses touching, their breaths intermingling, Jiang Cheng can see the shades of green in Nie Huaisang’s eyes and, most importantly, the brokenness and loneliness and desperation.
“How long?” Jiang Cheng asks.
“Long enough to forget when it started,” Nie Huaisang replies.
They kiss again, and it is like nothing Jiang Cheng ever knew he needed. He burns but it is better than anything he has known before. He holds Nie Huaisang by the waist and kisses him with what little knowledge he has, brings him in until there is no space between them. It’s amazing. It’s perfect. He doesn’t know yet if what drives him is affection or love or loneliness. But, for the first time in a long, long time, Jiang Cheng wants to find out.