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Nie Mingjue wasn’t exactly sure where he was.
His previously intricate memory of the cultivation world had become a bit “fuzzy”, for lack of a better word, ever since he’d been brought back to life. While he knew he was quite far away from Qinghe, he couldn’t exactly discern which village he was on the outskirts of.
In fact, all he knew for certain at the moment was that if he didn’t return home in at least three days time, Huaisang would have his head--or rather, he’d hover around Nie Mingjue even more, as soon as he returned. And while Nie Mingjue truly loved his little brother, it’s that same hovering and excessive worry that had prompted him to go on a week-long solo hunting trip in the first place.
Nie Mingjue wasn’t as dense as he used to be, he understood Huaisang’s feelings, and he knew that if the roles had been reversed, he would’ve been at least ten times more invasive and over-protective. But Nie Mingjue had been a fairly independent man in his first life. His temporary death hadn’t changed that.
This desire for independence combined with a need to prove to himself that he was just as capable a cultivator as before, had brought Nie Mingjue to this forest, on the hunt for any creature he could find. The energy he sensed as soon as he stepped upon the dirt-ridden path had been so potent that even without a golden core, Nie Mingjue could easily sense the darkness lurking within.
As Nie Mingjue trekked through the forest with a pair of non-spiritual daggers—courtesy of Wei Wuxian--at the ready, he was prepared to encounter many things; perhaps he’d run into a vengeful spirit, maybe a fierce corpse, an angry beast--
Suddenly, Nie Mingjue froze in his tracks.
He hadn’t been expecting to run into the jarring sight of a man slumped against a tree hunched over and clutching his stomach with shaky hands.
Nie Mingjue gripped onto his weapons even tighter as the man, somehow sensing his presence, jerked his head up to stare at Nie Mingjue with impossibly dark eyes. He was paler than a ghost and despite his apparent injury, the look on his face didn’t exactly say “agony”.
It rather screamed, “Go away.”
Nie Mingjue cleared his throat a couple of times, but the pale man’s stare only hardened. Even for someone as infamously oblivious as Nie Mingjue, he could sense he was very unwanted here.
And yet, “Do you...do you want any help?” The words rolled hesitantly off his tongue.
The man shook his head, rather aggressively, causing locks of dark hair to fall out of his otherwise pristine hairstyle.
“Are you sure?” Another head shake.
“But, you’re injured!” The man offered him a deadpan stare as if to congratulate Nie Mingjue on such an astute observation.
Nie Mingjue couldn’t help but feel offended, and then annoyed.
“What, so you just want to die out here instead?” Nie Mingjue gruffed, finally sheathing his daggers away. “Look at how pale you are. You're like a walking corpse.”
Very soon, Nie Mingjue would look back on this moment and contemplate the sheer irony of his words.
In the present, Nie Mingjue had already made up his mind. He couldn’t just let this obviously injured cultivator suffer out here all alone in a forest filled to the brim with creatures who wouldn’t hesitate to take his life in a split second.
A savior complex, that’s what Nie Huaisang had called it with a tone saturated with irritation and exasperation. Apparently, Nie Mingjue had a savior complex.
He hadn’t denied it.
And so, without asking for permission, the Nie shirked his traveling satchel from his shoulder, and knelt in front of the stranger whose eyes had remained trained on him the entire time—he was almost impressed by the man’s ability to hold a glare for so long.
Nie Mingjue tried in a vain effort to move the man’s hands away from his wounds, but they wouldn’t budge. In fact, the first time Nie Mingjue tried to move them, both he and the stranger flinched away, Nie Mingjue because of how unnaturally cold they were, and the other due to his apparent aversion towards touch-- and likely an aversion towards people as well.
However, Nie Mingjue was nothing if not persistent.
“Just let me help you!”
All he got in return was an answering scowl, and a deep guttural sound coming from the stranger’s throat that suddenly made Nie Mingjue feel warm, despite cold hands and an even colder forest.
He also noted that this was the first time he was hearing any sort of sound from the stranger.
Nie Mingjue decided to switch tactics and took a page out of his little brother’s book...
He suddenly shot his arm out, pointing to a non-existent creature behind the stranger with a wild look in his eyes. The stranger, presumably chivalrous and gullible, whipped his head around, and in those brief seconds that he was distracted, Nie Mingjue was able to channel all of his strength to wrench those hands away…
...Only to find them covered in black blood…
“Oh.”
Suddenly his pale pallor and freezing skin made sense.
The stranger’s face didn’t change much--and Nie Mingjue had to wonder if that was because he was a fierce corpse who was physically incapable of expressing much emotion or if he was just bad at it himself--but his eyes told a different story. They widened in a mix of anger and fear, darkening in a way that made it difficult for Nie Mingjue to think straight. Which is why his next words, after such a shocking reveal, were--
“You’re not gonna kill me, right?”
Silence.
“Because I’ve already died once.” Nie Mingjue found himself grumbling, nervously. “I’m not looking to die again. It’s awful, you would know- Shit...I shouldn’t have said that...I- uh…”
Nie Mingjue’s pitiful nervous blabbering eventually evened out into random sputtering because he suddenly noticed the stranger had the faintest smile on his face. The fear and anger had evidently simmered away.
“What’s your name?” Of all the things he could’ve done--like brandishing his daggers once more in case the corpse really did want to kill him or go on his merry way because while the man was obviously wounded, it wouldn’t last long and the undead don’t die twice --why he’d decided to ask that, made absolutely no sense to him.
This forest was messing with his brain.
The fierce corpse’s eyes widened marginally as if he were just as taken aback as Nie Mingjue was. But then, he craned his head to the side, scanning the ground until he found what he was looking for: a stick.
Nie Mingjue squinted at him.
... Is he going to try to kill me with a tiny branch?...
But then he was using the stick to write out a response on the dirt forest floor.
Song Zichen.
The name registered as familiar in Nie Mingjue’s mind, but just like his sense of direction, many things he’d known during his first life weren’t quite as clear the second time around.
“ Oh.” Nie Mingjue replied eloquently. Then, he pointed to himself. “I’m Nie Mingjue.”
There wasn’t much to show for it, but Nie Mingjue could sense faint amusement as Song Zichen wrote out his response in the dirt.
I’m aware. And then, I’m honored to meet you this life.
Nie Mingjue blinked, completely thrown off guard by the change of tone.“Uh-” Where did this...politeness come from…? Wasn’t he just silently telling me to “Piss off” a few moments ago-?
I once had a dream of starting my own Sect.
Maybe Song Zichen’s aversion towards him earlier might’ve been because he’d feared Nie Mingjue’s reaction towards his status as a fierce corpse. Now, with that out of the way, he was writing faster than ever, and Nie Mingjue got the sense that Song Zichen hadn’t talked to anyone in a very long time.
So Nie Mingjue shifted into a more comfortable position upon a pile of fallen leaves, and pushed his initial plans of returning to his inn towards the back of his mind.
My oldest friend and I took inspiration from you and your Sect in particular when planning our own. You were one of the few Sect Leaders back then who led with bravery and honesty. It was admirable.
Nie Mingjue had been praised-- and ridiculed --for his leading methods before. Though he wasn’t currently leading the Nie Sect, he was used to comments from those he’d somehow managed to inspire.
However, the earnestness behind Song Zichen’s words, the way his stick trembled in his hand as he wrote ‘My oldest friend’, the haunting look in his eyes...it truly felt like this was far more than just empty praise.
I apologize for my behavior earlier. He wrote, his pace a bit slower now. I also apologize for oversharing-
“Don’t apologize, I want to-!” Nie Mingjue bit his tongue. “ I want to know everything about you” was hardly an appropriate thing to say to a lone, injured fierce corpse upon first meeting...
...No matter how oddly true it was...
Nie Mingjue cleared his throat, “Er. So what’s your dream now?” He quickly changed the subject.
He wrote even slower this time. I don’t know. The “anymore” was omitted, but the ex-Sect Leader knew better.
Nie Mingjue felt his heart twist at that. “Me either.” He admitted.
At Song Zichen’s inquiring stare, he went on to elaborate. “I’m not a Sect Leader anymore. I lost my golden core. I...lost an old friend too. I guess what I’m trying to say is--”
I know how you feel. Song Zichen finished for him.
They locked eyes, and held each other’s gaze for too long to be considered an accident. Nie Mingjue was once again stunned by how much emotion, how much life, they held.
Song Zichen looked away first.
I believe we have much in common.
And finally, Nie Mingjue recalled a late-night conversation he’d had with Huaisang. His little brother had brought him up-to-date with a cacophony of events he’d been unable to attend and important people he’d yet to meet due to his untimely death.
And so, Nie Mingjue could now vaguely recall the tragedy of Song Zichen and his time in Yi City.
“Xue Yang did this to you…” Nie Mingjue mumbled, out loud because he’d never been famous for his tact. He could feel his eyebrows furrowing as he slowly recalled bits and pieces of Song Zichen’s story.
Now the ex-cultivator sported a dark look on his face at the mention of his greatest enemy. Unconsciously, Song Zichen lifted a hand to his mouth and Nie Mingjue felt his own fingers rise to trail across the stitches that had been used to sew his head back to his body.
He hurt you as well. Song Zichen eventually wrote, though the stick was shaking in hands again and it wasn’t phrased as a question.
Nie Mingjue grunted in affirmation. “Bastard. I almost wish he was alive so we could tear him a new one.”
Song Zichen’s dark expression seemed to brighten at the “we”.
Forgiveness is overrated.
That startled a loud snort out of Nie Mingjue. “ Exactly. Look where taking the moral high ground got us the first time around-”
Dead.
Nie Mingjue snorted again at Song Zichen’s--intentional or unintentional--deadpan, but he missed the way the fierce corpse’s eyes seemed to soften, something they hadn’t done since he’d lost everything dearest to him.
“But look at us now!” Nie Mingjue’s booming voice echoed throughout the forest. Surely, some of the creatures must have heard him. Song Zichen had never been a “people-person”, not in the slightest. He’d never felt drawn towards those whose mere presence could easily fill a room...and yet...
Everything suddenly felt a bit lighter.
“We’re topside, and he’s six feet under.” Nie Mingjue made a rather rude hand gesture to the ground, cursing out an imaginary Xue Yang, along with an ex-Jin Sect Leader. He made use of a colorful vocabulary that would’ve made Song Zichen wince as a human. Now, however, it was impossible not to be amused, and he wondered, if he still had his tongue, if he would’ve been so brazen as to join Nie Mingjue.
He had it coming.
Song Zichen came to the startling conclusion that Nie Mingjue’s booming laugh was one of his new favorite sounds.
For someone so tacit even when he could physically speak, Song Zichen found himself reluctant to stop talking to the Nie. So rarely had he ever come across people who were easy to talk to as him.
In fact, there was only one other person he’d ever experienced something like this with, and he was carrying said person’s sword on his back with pieces of his fragmented soul in his pockets.
But for the first time in a very long time, the crushing guilt and anger and sadness he’d been carrying with himself for almost a year now...none of it was gone, but, he’d finally found someone who could actually begin to understand what he’d gone through…was still going through.
That seemed to make all the difference.
Throughout their conversation, Nie Mingjue routinely checked on the status of Song Zichen’s wound from earlier despite the fact that:
It cannot kill me.
“...Just let me help you, alright?” It was said softer this time. Less chivalrous and more genuinely concerned.
His persistence eventually wore the fierce corpse down so he humored Nie Mingjue with updates every time the ex-Sect Leader asked.
Song Zichen, on the other hand, had at first kept suggesting that Nie Mingjue return to his inn for the night because:
You’re human now.
“So?”
You have no golden core.
“I’m aware.”
You need rest.
“These leaves are actually pretty comfortable-”
It’s dangerous out here alone.
“But I’m not alone.”
Song Zichen’s hand stilled.
“...If you want me to go, I will.” Nie Mingjue mumbled, eyes downcast. But Song Zichen didn’t. He really didn’t.
Eventually, their conversation had lulled as Nie Mingjue’s drowsiness caught up with him. And that’s how Song Zichen found himself with the venerable Chifeng-zun, fast asleep, head resting on his lap-- because despite his aversion to people, he wouldn’t let Nie Mingjue sleep directly on the ground. For some reason, his misanthropy didn’t apply to Nie Mingjue...anymore-- running cool fingers through his hair.
He was slightly comforted by the fact that the ex-Sect Leader wouldn’t actually be able to kill him for doing so--one of the few perks of already being dead.
Nie Mingjue had been nothing like what Song Zichen had expected and yet, everything he’d hoped for at the same time.
There had been moments during that night that Song Zichen had wanted to fling his stick away and practice self-restraint because, for some reason, he had hundreds of questions for the Nie, and cared about every single answer. He wanted to know the man’s preferred sword technique, he wanted to hear about his first encounter with the Wens. And yet he also wondered if the ex-Sect Leader preferred green tea to black? Perhaps he didn’t like tea at all, it was an unsubstantial piece of information, yet Song Zichen was craving an answer.
It perplexed and pleased him all the same.
And then Nie Mingjue woke up.
Song Zichen’s hands froze in his hair.
Light brown eyes rose to lock onto dark, almost black, ones.
Nie Mingjue blinked, very slowly.
Song Zichen’s eyes darted around for a stick, already crafting a profuse apology in his head, when Nie Mingjue’s low morning voice halted his train of thought-
“That felt nice.” Nie Mingjue made a weak gesture towards his head, stifling a yawn.
Ah. Song Zichen thought to himself. Without questioning it, he resumed his ministrations, suddenly very glad he had no pulse to speak of.
Nie Mingjue sighed, sleepily yet evidently content. He made no move to remove himself from Song Zichen’s lap and Song Zichen, amazingly, made no move to push him off.
“I don’t know what my dream is anymore either.” Nie Mingjue whispered, recalling their conversation from earlier. “I just...I…” He trailed off for a moment while Song Zichen continued to calmly detangle his hair marveling at how incredibly soft it was.
“I just want to go on night hunts.”
Song Zichen’s almost invisible smile was back, though unfortunately, Nie Mingjue wasn’t in a position to see it.
Most of his dreams and aspirations had died along with Xiao Xingchen a while ago.
However, for the past year, he’d been carrying around his eldest friend’s spirit, continuing to do what they’d always done, what they’d loved to do: go on night hunts together. Song Zichen didn’t have it within himself anymore to try and form his own Sect, he wouldn’t want to do that with anyone else.
But….
He glanced down at Nie Mingjue.
They were strangers each carrying far more baggage and trauma than was suitable for any normal cultivator. And speaking of cultivators, neither of them were cultivators anymore, not really. They’d each entered this forest alone, because that’s how they believed they should cope with their problems: Alone. And they’d done that for a while, traveled in solitude, grieved in isolation, tried to move forwards alone.
But what if they’d been wrong?
What if they didn’t have to do this alone?
Song Zichen finally found his stick.
Nie Mingjue craned his neck to peer at his response.
I don’t think I want to hunt alone anymore.
Nie Mingjue’s smile this time was different from the ones from before, it was softer, yet somehow brighter. He snatched Song Zichen’s stick out of his hand, and then briefly sat up to write his response next to the other’s in the dirt. Then he went back to resting on top of Song Zichen.
The fierce corpse conceded that nothing about their current lives or situations were easy, but somehow, this was.
He felt a foreign warmth rise inside of him as he read Nie Mingjue’s messy scrawl.
Neither do I.
Maybe neither of them had to be alone anymore.