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There was something… strange going on with Jiang Cheng.
To be fair, Wei Ying didn’t think he was the best judge of strangeness. This being due to the fact that he had been gone for so long, and he was no fool; he knew the way people watched him, knew the traditions he threw so carelessly into the dirt, knew the shadows that dogged his every step.
Jiang Cheng had to grieve alone while he was away. Jiang Yanli was kept safe, away from the worst of the fighting, so it was through blood and sweat and repressed tears that Jiang Cheng grew into the respected sect leader he now was. Though he was still so young, Wei Ying caught the way his disciples followed his every command with respect and urgency, eager to please and live up to his standards. The other sect leaders and cultivators treated him as an equal, not one to be pitied, and he was everything fierce and brave and untouchable.
But that was exactly it. Untouchable.
Jiang Cheng had always been a prickly sort, offending anyone who dared try to pursue him with surprising efficiency. He never was one to have friends, really, outside of his siblings when growing up, and it was only with them that he submitted to—or even initiated—physical affection.
Wei Ying knew just how much Jiang Cheng craved attention, but he was far too stubborn—and emotionally damaged—to seek it out. He could be like an octopus when the mood hit him, hugging with his entire body, loving with his whole damn soul.
The point being: what the fuck?
Wei Ying watched Jiang Cheng drag Nie Huaisang out of the room, bodily, wrapping an arm around his slender shoulders instead of just keeping a grasp of his arm. Sure, he was embarrassed, because the gods above forbid that someone acknowledge that Jiang Cheng had a feeling, but that didn’t explain… that.
He knew, on some level, that Nie Huaisang was friends with both of them. Their time at the Cloud Recesses had been fun, even if it felt like some hazy, distant memory from another lifetime. He could recall the way Nie Huaisang would perk up when Jiang Cheng would join them, the way that he made an effort to sit next to the other sect heir when they were all together. He even remembered the way that Nie Huaisang would flutter his fan as he watched Jiang Cheng practice, willing to be dragged in the vicinity of physical activity only if Jiang Cheng was there for him to watch.
But when did Jiang Cheng start looking back?
Wei Ying observed them closely over the next few days.
This meant that he had to sit in on the dreadful conferences and boot kissing of the older sect leaders as they talked themselves up like individual hype men. He even underwent the constant stares of one Lan Zhan, growing in intensity every day, and the incessant questioning of where his sword was.
Really, Wei Ying was this close to losing his mind entirely—in more than one way—but it helped to have something to focus on.
Decorum dictated that they sit with their own clans, but it was not lost on Wei Ying how, whenever the conference was called to recess, Nie Huaisang was quick to drift across the room to Jiang Cheng’s side. Nor did he fail to notice the way Jiang Cheng lit up at his presence, some of the tension and pressure easing off of his shoulders when Nie Huaisang latched onto his arm.
They were just so touchy. There was one point during dinner where Jiang Cheng reached over, brushing some invisible dust out of Nie Huaisang’s hair, causing the other boy to giggle and duck behind his fan.
“Shijie,” Wei Ying murmured under his breath, unable to take it anymore, about a week into this. “Have you noticed anything… different about Jiang Cheng lately?”
Jiang Yanli glanced up at him from where she was sorting medical supplies, tilting her head. “In what way do you mean, A-Xian?” she asked. “We’re all a little different than… than before.”
Wei Ying shook his head quickly, not wanting to go down that path—that way led only pain and hurt. “No, not like that. I mean in the relationship sense.”
Surprise flitted over Jiang Yanli’s gentle features, and she followed his gaze to where Jiang Cheng was demonstrating a move with his sword, Nie Huaisang his rapt audience.
She smiled then, understanding replacing her confusion. “I can’t speak for A-Cheng, you know that,” she chided.
“When did this happen though?” Wei Ying pressed, whining. “Did anything even happen yet?”
“You’ll have to talk to him,” Jiang Yanli replied evenly, giving nothing away, though she looked almost as if she was suppressing laughter.
“He won’t tell me,” Wei Ying protested, gesturing for emphasis when Jiang Cheng sheathed Sandu, stepping forward to grasp Nie Huaisang’s wrists in an attempt to get him to practice the move.
Nie Huaisang whined and batted at him, delight obvious in the spark of his eyes as he feigned attempts at getting away. Jiang Cheng did not seem bothered by his dramatics, instead drawing him closer, a faint grin on his lips as they play fought.
Nie Mingjue, passing by the pair, spared them only a short glance. “Good luck if you’re trying to get him to run drills,” he called. “Maybe you’ll get better results than anything I can manage.”
Nie Huaisang flushed and huffed, “Dage!”
“I’ll do my best,” Jiang Cheng answered, straightening up into proper posture so that he could salute in respect.
Nie Mingjue tossed his head and laughed, a truly rare sound for a camp so haunted by the realities of war. Some of the younger disciples jumped and shot furtive glances over at the source, more terrified than when Nie Mingjue would shout in anger.
“I don’t know if I want to spend time with you anymore, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang sniffed, haughty. “You’re too mean.”
“Sure,” Jiang Cheng agreed, easy and unbothered, grabbing a hold of his arm when he theatrically tried to make a break for it. “Where are you going?”
“Anywhere but here!”
They continued to bicker and veritably goof around, everyone around them going about their business as if this was entirely normal.
“A-Cheng is the only one who can answer your questions,” Jiang Yanli finally said, practically radiating her pleasure at the turn of events. “It’ll be good for the two of you to talk about things, anyway.”
Wei Ying tsked his tongue, dragging his teeth over his lower lip as he thought. There was no way Jiang Cheng would be honest with him about his feelings, but maybe…
Nie Huaisang had been his friend, too.
It turned out, getting Nie Huaisang alone was a challenge.
If he wasn’t glued to Jiang Cheng’s side, he was following his brother around or being doted on by Lan Xichen. Nie disciples tended to trail his steps, probably assigned by Nie Mingjue to keep an eye on him, and Nie Huaisang took this in stride.
It wasn’t until Wei Ying was taking a completely random walk around the camp at night while most others were in the dining hall, eating their supper, that he found his chance.
Oddly enough, Nie Huaisang was sitting out on the outskirts of the camp, kneeling carefully in the grass. His robes billowed out around him like perfectly arranged art, his hair draping down his back and framing his face as he looked up at his companion, who was just getting to his feet when Wei Ying turned the corner.
Wei Ying froze, ducking behind an empty tent as he watched Lan Wangji salute shallowly to Nie Huaisang before turning on his heel and gracefully sweeping away and out of sight.
Nie Huaisang visibly sighed, flicking his fan open and closed as he sat, lost in thought.
Wei Ying frowned, his brow furrowing as he approached his one time friend. Were they still friends, these years later? He knew that Nie Huaisang had expressed interest in this—but then, everyone expressed interest in him, for better or for worse.
“Why was Lan Zhan talking to you?” Wei Ying asked, breaking the silence and aiming to startle him.
Nie Huaisang simply tilted his head, not bothering to look over his shoulder at him. “Believe it or not, Lan Wangji considers me one of his only friends,” he hummed, idly twirling a lock of hair around his finger.
After a moment of suspicious silence, Nie Huaisang laughed and added, “And he wanted to ask me about you.”
“About me?” Wei Ying echoed, blinking and caught off guard. He hesitantly lowered himself down next to Nie Huaisang, wondering if he, too, had changed from the boy he once was when they were all at Gusu.
“Of course.” Nie Huaisang glanced at him, hiding his mouth behind his fan. “I already told you how concerned your boys were about you, haven’t I? Just because you’ve given him the cold shoulder doesn’t mean he’d give up on you.”
Wei Ying found himself flushing for no good reason. This conversation was leaving him rather wrong footed, as if he was still young. “My boys?”
“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” Nie Huaisang queried, sly and mischievous. “What happened to that clever tongue of yours?”
“And what would you know about my clever tongue?” Wei Ying purred, switching tactics.
Their teasing flirting was a common occurrence in their youth, more innocent play than anything else, and in hindsight Wei Ying recalled just how annoyed Jiang Cheng would get whenever they slipped into it.
Nie Huaisang’s eyes fluttered, exaggerated and coy. “Not as much as I’d like, surely,” he murmured.
“Or, is it my mouth that you’re interested in?” Wei Ying pressed, reaching to curl his fingers around Nie Huaisang’s wrist and guiding his hand down so that he could see his face. “And not another from Lotus Pier?”
Nie Huaisang raised a brow at him, huffing out a laugh. “So many questions,” he complained, pouting his lips. “You’ve grown even less straightforward than ever!”
“You know how Jiang Cheng is,” Wei Ying burst out, unable to beat around the bush any longer. “He won’t talk to me!”
“Did you try?” Nie Huaisang asked, unfazed.
“I—that’s not the point,” Wei Ying protested, shuffling forward on his knees. “Come on, Nie-xiong, we’re friends. Aren’t we?”
“Of course we are,” Nie Huaisang said immediately, reaching to grasp onto his hand.
Wei Ying laced their fingers together, fighting the instinct to flinch and pull away. This was just Nie Huaisang. He was harmless, if not nearly as dull as he pretended to be on the regular.
They were safe. Or… as safe as they could possibly get, in times like these.
“Then you have to tell me what’s going on between you two,” Wei Ying insisted. “Don’t pretend. I’ve seen the way you are around him. How he is around you.”
Nie Huaisang looked at him, his lips parting, only to close once more as he thought over his response. And then, like the utter gremlin he was, he smiled.
“I don’t know, Wei-xiong,” he demurred. “This sounds like a family matter, does it not?”
“Not you too,” Wei Ying said in horror.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Nie Huaisang said with certainty. “In fact, I don’t know if anything at all is going on between Jiang-zongzhu and I. I would have to ask him, too.”
Wei Ying stared at him. Was he being serious? It was a very real possibility—Jiang Cheng had never once been forthright about his feelings, and gods above forbid that he’d ever have to confess.
But—no. No, surely not. Jiang Cheng was so obvious, and so soft around him. Nie Huaisang was pulling his leg.
“Huaisang,” he said, his voice breaking. “Just tell me.”
“It’s rather late, isn’t it?” Nie Huaisang mused, pulling his hand away and getting up to his feet. “I think Jiang-zongzhu will be around tomorrow, if you want to talk to him. I imagine he likes to spar early, when the sun rises.”
“And how would you know that?”
Nie Huaisang flicked his fan open again, fanning idly at his face. The little gusts of air blew his bangs back, revealing more of his delicate features, the slope of his nose and the curve of his jaw.
It dawned on Wei Ying then that Nie Huaisang did meet all of Jiang Cheng’s ridiculous standards—that he was indisputably beautiful, but more than that, that he could smooth out Jiang Cheng’s edges, that they would be a perfect, if strange, balance.
“I’ll let him know to expect you,” Nie Huaisang said, breaking his train of thought. “So don’t let him down, Wei-xiong!”
Fuck.
The sneaky, slippery bastard.
Wei Ying fought back a resigned smile, glad, deep down in his heart, that someone had taken up the mantle of protecting Jiang Cheng. For as tough as his shidi’s exterior appeared, he had perhaps the largest, softest heart of any person Wei Ying had ever met.
He groaned and flopped onto his back, the cool grass prickling at his hands and the back of his neck. There was no avoiding it, was there?
They’d have to talk.
As described, the sun was barely cresting over the horizon when Wei Ying found his brother on the outskirts of camp. Jiang Cheng was fully dressed, working through his forms with deadly accuracy, outlined by the warm orange golden glow of the sunrise and accompanied by flashes of violet electricity as Zidian was incorporated flawlessly into his routine.
This early in the morning, exhaustion clinging to Wei Ying right along with his shadow, with the darkness and the whispers that plagued him, he almost didn’t recognize the boy he had grown up alongside with.
This Jiang Cheng was sect leader, one of the lone survivors of the Yunmeng Jiang sect and the one to spearhead its revival and restoration. This Jiang Cheng was all anger, sharper and more jagged than the irritation he swathed himself in as a protection mechanism in his youth. This Jiang Cheng was something to behold, a crash of lightning from a thunderous sky, impossible to deny and fearsome in his inevitability.
He would surely achieve immortality, and he would go on, and on, and on, drawing breath until the very last.
Wei Ying’s eyes stung as Jiang Cheng turned, meeting his gaze.
Worth it. He was worth all of the pain, and the agony, and the misery.
Wei Ying would go through it all a thousand times over for him.
“What are you doing out here?” Jiang Cheng asked, his breath misting in the dawn chill, his eyes flickering down to Wei Ying’s side in an obvious search for Suibian. “Do you want to spar?”
“Maybe later,” Wei Ying said dismissively, automatically. “I’m actually here to talk to you.”
Jiang Cheng’s lips quirked, clearly disbelieving. “About…?”
“Uh,” Wei Ying stalled, feeling awfully wrongfooted.
If he teased him, as he generally defaulted into, Jiang Cheng wasn’t likely to open up to him or be honest, and then he would never know. But if he was overly sincere, Jiang Cheng was likely to think that he was completely possessed, and he’d practically be confirming that something was wrong with him, as was everyone’s assumption.
Huh. Maybe, in hindsight, it wasn’t just Jiang Cheng who had difficulty with emotional honesty.
Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes, taking a step forward. “Nie Huaisang only said that you’d be meeting me,” he said thoughtfully. “Not what it was about. Is this about Lan Wangji?”
Baffled, Wei Ying stared at him. “What?”
Jiang Cheng seemed to take this as confirmation. “I know he’s been really… persistent in reconnecting with you. But if he’s bothering you, I’ll tell him to back off.”
Wei Ying floundered, waving his hands to try to negate whatever tangent Jiang Cheng was bracing for. “I don’t know what you’re on about!” he screeched.
Jiang Cheng furrowed his brow. “You don’t have to tolerate it just because you two had that weird thing when you were younger.”
“What thing?” Wei Ying echoed, feeling heat rising to his cheeks for the first time in a long time. “Jiang Cheng, you’ve lost your mind!”
“Or is this about—”
“It’s about you! You and Nie Huaisang!” Wei Ying said in a rush, cutting off whatever other mortifying thought Jiang Cheng had in his head.
Jiang Cheng paused. And then, ever so damning, his own face started to flush. “What about us?” he muttered, mullish.
“You two are being so weird,” Wei Ying barrelled onward, stubborn and lifting his chin. “Since when are you the affectionate type?”
“You’re ridiculous,” Jiang Cheng told him, rolling his eyes.
“You can’t tell me that I’m seeing things.” Wei Ying latched onto his arm, crowing as Jiang Cheng tried to shake him off. “See! This is what I mean! You let him cling!”
“He’s not annoying,” Jiang Cheng shot back.
“You find everyone annoying,” Wei Ying huffed. “And before you say ‘not shijie,’ she doesn’t count.”
Jiang Cheng glared at him. Wei Ying stared back.
And this whole dynamic was so familiar, so them, like a flicker of a memory from a lifetime ago, that Wei Ying almost started crying. He relished in it as much as it ached, because they would never be the same again—their normal would never return, another casualty of this war.
Wei Ying began to slump just as Jiang Cheng relented, letting his arm wrap around his shoulders and bumping his elbow lightly against Wei Ying’s side.
“You’re thinking too much,” he muttered, turning his head away. And then, quieter: “I like him.”
Wei Ying’s head shot up, sufficiently distracted. He started to smile before he could think better of it, wide and catlike and almost drowning in the sheer joy he thought his tired, empty body could no longer feel.
“You like him,” he repeated, pulling Jiang Cheng closer. “My shidi has a crush!”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Jiang Cheng corrected, clearing his throat. Then he seemed to think better of it, straightening and shaking his head. “Anyway, it’s almost time for breakfast.”
“Wait. Wait. Are you telling me that it’s official?” Wei Ying scrambled to follow him as he began to march off. “Jiang Cheng! You need courting advice from your older, wiser brother!”
They attracted many stares as they bickered and shouted their way through the camp, but not in the way that Wei Ying had grown accustomed to as of late. For just one moment, he could forget everything they had gone through, and everything they had yet to have to do.
For a moment, he could be simply an older brother, chasing after his younger sibling and teasing him until he was so red he was certain to explode.
“So,” Nie Huaisang hummed as he pulled off his outer robe, draping it carefully over the back of a chair. “How did your talk go?”
“You could’ve just told him,” Jiang Cheng griped at him from where he sat, already only in his under robes, his long hair loose and ready for bed. “Saved me the harassment.”
Nie Huaisang laughed, a quiet thing, padding across the room to stand in front of him, tracing his fingers across his defined jawline. “Yes, but you two need to be on the same page again,” he murmured, admiring the tanned skin under his hands.
“I doubt we’ve ever been on the same page,” Jiang Cheng grumbled, leaning into the tender touch.
Nie Huaisang smiled, so helplessly in love he couldn’t stand it. “And how are you feeling?” he asked, keen.
Jiang Cheng sighed, his eyes fluttering closed, his dark lashes kissing the tops of his cheeks. Nie Huaisang would kill a thousand men to keep this one safe and happy and here with him.
“Good,” Jiang Cheng admitted, tilting his head to press his lips against Nie Huaisang’s palm. “Happy.”
“Mm, you should never question me.” Nie Huaisang slid his arms around Jiang Cheng’s neck, leaning down to hover ever closer, pressing a ghost of a kiss against his nose. “What exactly did you tell him, anyway?”
Jiang Cheng’s hands slid up and down his back, coming to rest at his waist, his thumbs stroking the gentle jut of his hip bone. “That I was courting you,” he answered lowly. “That we intend to marry.”
Nie Huaisang beamed, trailing feather light kisses across his cheeks and brow and jaw. “No specifics?”
Jiang Cheng huffed, tipping his head back in an attempt to capture his lips in a kiss. When Nie Huaisang evaded, he groaned. “I don’t need two older brothers trying to kill us. Let’s keep the details secret for a little while longer.”
Nie Huaisang pouted, only to yelp and burst into giggles when Jiang Cheng hoisted him up, flipping their positions and laying him down on his back against the sheets.
“Fine,” Nie Huaisang breathed, looking up at his beloved’s dark, affectionate eyes. “I can deal with keeping you to myself, I suppose.”
“You better.” Jiang Cheng smirked, and then he dove down for a kiss.