Chapter Text
It had been a year since Guanyin temple and the new normal seemed to have finally set in; with Jin Ling as the new sect leader of Lanling Jin, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji in marital bliss, Jiang Cheng adjusted to having his brother back and having said brother’s core with his main focus on helping Jin Ling adjust. Lan Xichen was still in seclusion, but he had recently taken to accepting the occasional visitor and many have taken it as a sign that he will eventually leave. Everyone had more or less moved on, Nie Huaisang included, or at least, that’s what he had been telling himself and others.
It started only a month after Guanyin temple. The first time had him flying out of bed and searching his entire room, calling guards and having the entire sect search the Unclean Realm at 3 am for any sign of an intruder. He required every disciple that had been on guard duty that night to make a full report of where they were, who they were with and anything that seemed even mildly out of the ordinary.
It all came up perfectly normal, not a thing out of place or anyone who shouldn’t be there. So things settled back down once more. Until it happened again a month later, and again two weeks after that. Repeating over and over, it became almost routine to the point that all he could do was wait it out until he could go back to sleep, but still...
There's a hand in his hair.
He can feel it, lightly petting the back of his head, nails slightly scratching his scalp, it was impossible to tell if it was large or small, rough or soft. He could feel the shift of weight on the bed, the slight divet in the mattress that meant someone sat on the side behind his back. But he knew that if he were to sit up and look, were to roll over. There would be no one there, there never is. Only darkness and the feeling that he isn’t alone in the room.
It normally lasted between 5 to 10 minutes once he was awake before disappearing, the presence of whatever or whoever it was deciding to leave. He didn't know what it wanted or if it wanted anything. The only thing it was accomplishing was leaving him occasionally sleep deprived.
"Why are you doing this?" Huaisang whispered, voice rough with sleep as he stared into the darkness of his room. Even though he had been dealing with this presence for months, this was the first time he has attempted to speak to it.
The hand stills and it's nails begin to dig into the back of his head, he shouldn't have said anything.
The nails dig so deeply he involuntarily let out a gasp at the flare of pain. His hand swinging up to grasp the back on his head as he turned to make whatever it was disappear like usual. The back of his head felt wet but when he pulled his hand away to look, its perfectly dry, not a speck of blood on it.
He wasn't sure what it meant, that it responded to him or at least reacted to what he said. At one point Huaisang had convinced himself that it was just his imagination; some kind of guilt or regret from the past lingering unwanted. But now he wasn't too sure.
He wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, at least not right away. Instead he pulled himself up and sat on the edge of his bed, breathing deeply and calming his still racing heart. It felt like blood was running down the back of his head but every time he checked his hand was clean. The many months that he's been dealing with this phantom visitor it had never hurt him, simply petted the back of his head and sat by his side. Apparently it hadn't wanted him to talk to it though and he now had the suspicious feeling that things were going to change now that he'd done it.
Staring into the darkness of his room, his eyes kept trying to fill in the blanks of what he couldn't make out. Objects shifting in the blackness to look like something they're not, imaginary snarling faces with fangs and twisted features, before he would blink and the object would be back to being a robe tossed on a chair or stack of scrolls that fell over. The only light was from the moon shining in through his window, barely a sliver, but enough to catch his attention to the gleam of an item that sat on the table against the wall opposite his bed among various books and knickknacks. Walking over to it, his bare feet making no sound on the cool floor yet feeling like he was stomping he picked up the item.
It was a fan, which was not odd in itself, he had many and sometimes he would leave one in a random place on occasion if he got sidetracked or busy. But not this one, this one should have been with several others all stuffed in a box and shelved in a completely different room. All of them being gifts from Jin Guangyao, which Huaisang had personally boxed up after his death. The one in his hand was made more for decoration than use, being made of gold and studded with tiny gems. It depicted several ducks floating on a lake with lotus blossoms. Guangyao had given it to him not even a week before his brother died.
Dropping it back on the table like it burned him, Huaisang stepped back, once, twice. Breathing harshly, he couldn't take his eyes off it.
It shouldn't be here. It should be in a storage room on the other side of the whole sect. How is it here? Even with his mind racing to try and understand, he had the creeping feeling of being watched come over him. An owl screeches outside his window.
There's a hand in his hair.