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The first time Huaisang came across a leaf warbler, he was eight years old. Da-ge had been playing that all was well, but Huaisang was not stupid. He knew what qi deviation was, and he saw the ways his father was changing.
One day, when Da-ge was away on a night hunt, Huaisang knocked over an ornament while painting in his father's office. His father - though it wasn't really his father anymore, was it? - had struck him across the face, and Huaisang, stunned and confused and suddenly all alone, had run. Straight out of the fortress, past the guards, and into the forests that circled Qinghe Nie. No-one saw him.
Winter was settling upon Qinghe, and the small Nie found himself lost and shivering in the wilderness. He curled against the dirt and sobbed. Some time passed before he heard the first warble.
He glanced up, and saw himself.
The bird was small and soft, like him. It seemed to be wearing Qinghe Nie colours: shades of slate grey with greenish-gold accents. Its warbles sounded melancholy, somehow. Maybe he was sad, just like Huaisang. Maybe he was scared, just like Huaisang. Nie Huaisang lay there for hours, watching the bird flit from leaf to leaf, pecking at branches and warbling softly. Time seemed to have diluted into something disincarnate, formless. It was dark now.
Numbly, as if he was underwater, Huaisang recognized the sound of voices. He blinked, slowly, and then there were arms under him, scooping him up to a familiar chest.
"Huaisang," said Da-ge, voice rough. His braids were fraying, and his cheeks and hair were dusted with snow. How long ago had it started snowing? When had Da-ge come back from the night hunt?
Huaisang allowed himself to be swaddled in thick cloaks, still clinging tightly to his brother's warmth. Da-ge sounded frantic, but he didn't need to be, Huaisang thought. It was okay now. Huaisang came back to himself. Da-ge was here, and the bird was gone.
Da-ge was dead, and so was Meng Yao. Two winters had passed since the night at Guanyin Temple. Now, Huaisang was standing on the premises of the hanshi in the Cloud Recesses. The leaf warbler was back. What was it doing all the way out here? As he raised his hand to knock on the hanshi's door, Huaisang wondered if he should be more afraid. But Huaisang felt placated as he watched the warbler flit from tile to tile, a familiar numbness encroaching upon his mind.
This senselessness, thick and unrelenting, had settled permanently within Huaisang after Da-ge's death: a lingering frost at the periphery of his mind, a sheer drop at the edge of his psyche. A quiet paralysis that had allowed Huaisang to move, to breathe, to plan despite his soul-wrenching grief. The numb was useful to him, then. When he was still out there. But now, without revenge to occupy his thoughts, Huaisang felt off-kilter, unmoored. In such uncertainty, the numb took hold with greater vengeance, eclipsing his existence in a kind of blur that couldn't be blinked away, or sharpened with a good night's rest. It was as if he was far away from himself, drifting above his own life, a bird.
Huaisang knocked on the door.
"Enter."
The hanshi looked the same as it always did. Lan Xichen did not. The grey of the winter air seemed to bleed into Xichen's skin, whitening his lips and sagging his eyes. Even his gaze lacked the familiar warmth which Huaisang, no matter the age or the occasion, had always found comfort in.
Oh, thought Huaisang. I did this.
"Sect leader Nie." Xichen kowtowed politely, but his eyes never left Huaisang's.
"Zewu-jun."
Silence.
"I trust you were informed of my visit in advance?"
"Yes, my brother spoke to me."
Silence again. This was leagues away from the easy camaraderie they had shared in years past; the hero-worship turned friendship-but-maybe-something-more, that was open, flowing, hopeful. That river had long since dried. Huaisang was surprised that Xichen had agreed to see him at all, and moreso that Lan Wangji had let him.
Huaisang lifted a small satchel, presenting it to Xichen. "I thought…" he shifted. "I thought that I might paint fans in your company. I brought my materials."
There was a beat, and then: "If that is what Sect-leader Nie desires."
Right. Not exactly an enthusiastic welcome, then. Not that Huaisang deserved any better. "I brought spares, if you'd like to join me? I've always admired your calligraphy. It would be nice to see it again, remind myself of your technique."
Xichen's face remained closed off, impassive. His eyes grew colder. "I should return to my meditation. If you wish to paint, I will not disturb you."
Distant disappointment panged in Huaisang's stomach, like a pebble dropping in a lake. Of course.
"Of course," Huaisang repeated out loud, and settled on his knees by the hanshi's central table, laying out his art supplies. Xichen sat on the other end, facing him, and, after watching him a moment longer, closed his eyes and assumed his meditation pose.
The two remained like this for the next several hours: Huaisang painting, silent as a spider, and Xichen meditating, still as stone.
As the sun sank lower on the horizon and dusk settled in, the weight of all that was unsaid bore heavy on Huaisang's shoulders. Even like this, pale and drawn and despising Huaisang with every fibre of his being, Xichen was beautiful. Skin as smooth as jade, pouring over the noble concaves of his cheekbones, his jaw. His hair, draped over his shoulders, was like sheets of silk, black as night. For just a moment, Huaisang's soul was gripped by a jolt of feeling, of life, like he hadn't felt in a long time. Lan Xichen was truly ethereal.
As quick as it came, the ember of feeling flickered out, and the familiar numbness ebbed back in. Huaisang had painted that bird. It was time to go.
As Huaisang gathered his materials and headed towards the exit, he paused. "Thank you. I would like to do this again, if you would have me."
Lan Xichen, deep in meditation, offered no acknowledgement of Huaisang's words. That wasn't a "no". Huaisang left.
Over the following seasons, Huaisang made his quiet visits with Lan Xichen a frequent fixture in his schedule. All the visits were the same, and few words were exchanged between them. Xichen never outright told Huaisang to leave, and Huaisang was selfish, so he kept on coming.
One day, in early Autumn, Huaisang encountered Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji on the road into Gusu. Huaisang had been distracted by a bird - a leaf warbler, again. They seemed to be everywhere these days.
So focused was he that he didn't notice his old friends' approach until Wei Wuxian tapped him on the shoulder with Chenqing. Huaisang startled and turned around.
"Wei Wuxian!" he greeted, before kowtowing more formally to Lan Wangji: "Your excellency."
The two greeted him in return, though Wei Wuxian's bow was more of a sloppy bounce. "Back to visit Lan Xichen?"
Nie Huaisang laughed nervously, scratching his head. "You know me. The headshaker can't go five minutes without the assistance of the First Jade of Lan."
"Aw, but Huaisang," Wei Wuxian whined, though his eyes were glinting. "How come you never visit me?"
"Um," Huaisang risked a glance at Lan Wangji, who was standing severely behind Wei Wuxian's shoulder. Huaisang wasn't sure where he stood with him. Huaisang had lied and deceived, placed his son in danger and broken his brother. But, then again, Huaisang had returned Wei Wuxian, and for that reason Huaisang knew that Lan Wangji could never truly become his enemy. To be honest, Huaisang wasn't even entirely certain where he stood with Wei Wuxian. He was friendly enough, but these days Huaisang felt a glint of shrewd appraisal behind his gaze, like one predator sizing up another. "I wasn't sure if you'd want me to."
"Hm," said Wei Wuxian, twirling Chenqing with his fingers. "I hear Lan Xichen might be leaving seclusion soon."
"Really?" Huaisang turned to Lan Wangji in surprise, who confirmed Wei Wuxian's statement with a short hum.
"He's doing better," said Lan Zhan.
Relief settled in deep - yet, shamefully, Huaisang also felt a small pang of regret. Perhaps this meant that his quiet visits with Xichen were also coming to an end.
"And how are you doing?" asked Wei Wuxian. He had that canny look in his eyes again, the one that made Huaisang feel like a bird in a cage.
"Haha, well. I was never really built for sect leadership. That was Da-ge, through and through, but you know me. I've always been lazy." An old voice told him he should stop there, conserve his secrets - but a larger part, the numb, nihilistic force that told him there was nothing left to lose, kept him talking. "I haven't exactly been… present, over the last decade, so not everyone is happy with my leadership. A lot of people are quite angry with the headshaker, actually. Can't really blame them. But I'm trying to do better these days. I get by."
"How?" asked Wei Wuxian. "Must be difficult. I really can't imagine you sitting behind a desk, filling out paperwork."
Huaisang laughed again. "To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. Sometimes I don't even really notice myself doing it. I really mustn't be cut out for this kind of stuff if I hate it so much that I block it all out." Huaisang felt his eyes drift to the leaf warbler, sitting still on a Yunnan tree. "It's weird. Things just seem to happen. I blink, and my meeting is over, or my reports are filed, or a week has passed, and I barely even remember it. I'm lucky, aren't I? It's like I'm…"
"Dreaming." Finished Wei Wuxian.
Nie Huaisang's gaze snapped over in surprise. "Exactly."
Wei Wuxian continued: "Like you're drifting between moments, and it's hard to hang on to reality because time feels slippery, and you don't always feel like you're a part of it. Like you're a ghost, or something."
Well. This was unexpected.
"That happens to other people?" said Nie Huaisang. "Haha. Well, that's a relief. I like to think I'm not quite as stupid as everyone believes."
Wei Wuxian regarded him for a long moment, something unreadable on his face. "I used to be like that a lot, back when things were… anyway. But these days," Wei Wuxian turned to send a small, genuine smile to Lan Wangji. "These days it doesn't happen very often."
Lan Zhan stared back at Wei Wuxian, a small crease between his brows. He placed a hand over Wei Wuxian's. Nie Huaisang imagined the two of them would be having a long talk about this later. They stared at each other for a few more seconds, the absolute saps, before Wei Wuxian jumped to attention.
"Well! We should probably get going! Night hunts to join, monsters to kill, Jin Lings to pester, you know."
"Yes," agreed Nie Huaisang, "and I should hurry up and get my visit over with. Can't have my sect falling to ruin in my absence!" The joke was empty; his sect had handled themselves just fine during the decade when Huaisang's 'headshaker' persona had left them effectively leaderless. They didn't need him.
They gathered their belongings, silence only broken by the chirping of birds. "It was nice to see you, Wei Wuxian, your excellency." Nie Huaisang offered them cordial bows.
Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian returned them. "You too," said Wei Wuxian. "I mean it."
Nie Huaisang smiled and turned to leave, only getting a few steps before, "Huaisang."
Nie Huaisang turned, a question in his eyes.
Wei Wuxian had that strange look back on his face. He continued, "Next time you visit the Cloud Recesses, you should spend some time with us. We can go into Gusu, get up to our old shenanigans. For old time's sake, you know."
"Hm," Lan Zhan agreed.
Nie Huaisang paused in surprise. Did they mean that? After everything he'd done?
"That's… thank you. I'd like that."
With that, they parted ways.
As the first frost of the year came upon the Cloud Recesses, Nie Huaisang was back in the hanshi. He was painting fans again, while Lan Xichen meditated.
Xichen really was looking better. Where before he'd been a statue of jade, a beautiful and tragic artifact one would find in a graveyard or aghost town, he was now a statue of marble - still pale, still cool, but smoothly cherubic. He belonged on a palace floor.
Watching him, Huaisang felt like a bird on a branch. It was nice, in a way, that when Xichen was meditating, Huaisang could really look at him. Unnoticed, invisible. But that was unfair. Huaisang didn't deserve to drink him up so selfishly. He bristled and looked away.
"What are you doing."
For a moment, Huaisang thought he had imagined the quiet question. When he glanced up, he realized that Lan Xichen's eyes were open and trained on him. This had never happened before.
"Zewu-jun?" Huaisang stared, dumbfounded. Xichen was silent. "Um. Well, I'm painting? Was I, did I disturb you?"
Xichen's stare was cold, as usual, but there was something else behind it now, something desperate. "That's not what I meant. What are you doing here."
"I. I wanted to see you. I like to paint. With you."
Xichen's eyes flashed. "Why? Why do you keep visiting me, if not to apologize, if not to speak, if not to argue. What is it that you want from me?" His voice was crisp, cutting, but there was a simmering heat behind his words. This had been a long time coming.
Huaisang could only stare in return, dumbfounded. He felt something within him slip.
Lan Xichen continued. "What right do you have, to come here, time after time, and to pretend as if you did not do what you have done? You have deceived, and you have killed, and you have- you have betrayed." Xichen's breaths shook. "You have made it clear where I stand to you. What I'm worth to you. So I ask you again: What are you doing here?"
He was right. Oh gods, he was right.
He was not a bird, and Lan Xichen was not a statue. He was Nie Huaisang, and this was Lan Xichen, and Da-ge was dead, and he had used Xichen to murder Meng Yao.
For the first time in a long time, the world around Huaisang seemed to sharpen, snapping into focus. Sharpest of all was the furious grief on Xichen's face. It hit Huaisang suddenly, and he was snapped back into his body. Something wet slipped over his cheeks.
"Huaisang?" Xichen tried, his accusation slipping into something more lost.
Huaisang tried to summon a response, but found his breath had stuttered in his lungs. He felt every inch of his body, every sensation in a way that buzzed and burned at him. With a clarity he hadn't felt in years, Nie Huaisang understood where he was, who he was, and what he'd done. Oh gods, what had he done. It was too much. With an ugly sob, Nie Huaisang fell to his knees before Lan Xichen, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. And wasn't that just ironic? Nie Huaisang had played the role of the puppet master for so long, but it seemed he'd been his own favourite puppet.
"I'm sorry- I, I'm so sorry." Huaisang choked out, shuddering with grief he hadn't allowed himself to feel for so long. More hot tears spilled from his eyes. "I can't, I don't know, I, I didn't mean- I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
Numbly, Huaisang recognized that Xichen had kneeled to his level, and placed two hands carefully on Huaisang's shoulders. If he said something, Huaisang didn't hear it over the roaring in his ears. Xichen stayed still a moment longer before pulling Huaisang into a tight embrace.
In these strong, familiar arms, Huaisang's last defenses crumbled and his sobs poured out unrestrained. When he was able to draw a full, ragged, breath, he said: "I love you, Lan Xichen," and the weight of it, the truth of it, was nearly unbearable. "You must know that. I've loved you since I was 7 and you first came to visit, and you're the last person I wanted to hurt, but I did it anyway. And I don't even think I regret it. And that shows how selfish I am, doesn't it? That as much as I loved you, as much as I love you, I hated him more."
Huaisang felt Lan Xichen's breath still. After a moment, Xichen pulled back slightly and cupped a smooth hand to Nie Huaisang's cheek. His eyes were dark with sorrow. "You have been in much pain."
Huaisang only hiccupped in response, leaning into Xichen's touch.
"I am sorry I was not there to support you. I am sorry for the role I played in Da-ge's death. I am sorry you did not feel as if you could trust me with your plans."
"It's n-not your fault-"
"Yes it is." Xichen cut, voice sharp. "I made an oath to Da-ge that I would watch over you. I failed in that regard. I do not excuse some of the actions that you have taken in pursuit of vengeance, but you should never have been in that position in the first place. And for that, I am sorry."
Some small corner of Huaisang felt vindicated at Xichen's admission of guilt, but it was hollow. Xichen's only crime was of being too trusting. Perhaps that made him naïve, but Huaisang wouldn't change him, not for anything.
"What are we supposed to do now?" Huaisang whispered, voice broken.
"I think," sound out Xichen carefully, as if tasting the words, "that we should go outside."
Three winters had passed since the night at Guanyin Temple. It was now Spring. Da-ge was still dead. Xichen was the new Lan sect leader. Huaisang had been thinking about handing his own leadership to Nie Li Mei, his distant cousin and head disciple whose brutal determination and blunt approach to politics reminded him of his brother. Da-ge would've loved her.
Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were to be wed today. That's why Nie Huaisang was here, in the Cloud Recesses. But before he joined in the festivities, he had something to do.
"A-Sang."
And there he was, a vision in the golden evening light. He was so bright, so real, that it burned.
Nie Huaisang returned his smile. "Lan Xichen."
Somewhere, in the background, birds were chirping, but Huaisang paid them no attention.