Chapter Text
It’s as if Meng Yao is afraid that people won’t know the rumors about his mother, Wen Ruohan thought to himself as he swirled some wine in his bowl and wondered if it was possible for the closest thing the cultivation world had to a god on earth to die of sheer boredom. For the son of a Great Sect, you’d think he’d be a better host.
Wen Ruohan had done this to himself, of course.
Strictly speaking, as the emperor of the cultivation world, he didn’t have to be here. No one could force him to go attend tedious banquets thrown in his honor, and they certainly couldn’t force him to stay at them – he’d endured countless of these sorts of events when he was still only Sect Leader Wen, but that had been for a reason. But by now he’d conquered all of the cultivation world that there was to conquer, all of the other so-called ‘Great Sects’ having either bowed down their proud heads to become his vassals or else been destroyed, and, with the use of all their treasures, he’d strengthened himself to such a degree that no one on earth could even think of challenging him, not even with an army. There was nothing that could make him do anything.
And yet, here he was, still playing politics. He could lie to himself and pretend to justify it – an emperor that failed to maintain his power regularly would not have it long, just as a swordsman who allowed his sword to rust would soon not deserve the title – but in reality it was little more than a bad habit. It wasn’t as if he were especially worried about needing to preserve the position for his useless sons…
“More wine, your majesty?” Meng Yao said, appearing at his side just as Wen Ruohan finished the bowl he had. He was irritatingly good at predicting when he’d be needed. It was somewhere between unnerving, annoying, and just plain funny – he must have been a servant in a prior life.
Wen Ruohan waved his hand in permission, and even did Meng Yao the honor of waiting until he was gone to roll his eyes.
Everyone knew that the current Sect Leader Meng was almost certainly Jin Guangshan’s bastard, no matter how faithfully his mother wore her hair up like a married woman or insisted that she’d lost her heart to some rogue cultivator, married him secretly, and then immediately thereafter become widowed. It was equally well known that this perfumed flower of the cultivation world had, in her youth, been greatly admired, the blossoming center of attention surrounded by a thronging array of would-be swains, and the rumors suggested that she had been very popular indeed.
If she hadn’t been the daughter of the leader of a Great Sect, everyone would have called her a whore.
Well, they still all thought she was a whore. They were just more careful in saying as much.
As far as Wen Ruohan was concerned, if he’d been in that situation, he would’ve done whatever he could to shake off the rumors and stand on his own two feet – to shut people up through his strength. But perhaps because Meng Yao was not an especially powerful cultivator, no matter how talented he was at mimicking techniques, he didn’t do that.
Rather the opposite.
He was obsequious to the extreme, the humble smile on his face in no way interfering with the way that he dug out vices out of other men like a pig hunting for truffles. His sect had always had a reputation as a purveyor of luxuries, but he took it to new extremes: if it wasn’t wine for the drunkard, it was art for the aesthete, rarities for the connoisseur, countless intoxications for those bold or foolish enough to dare – and for the rest of them, well…
Who didn’t like beauty?
There were women of every shape and description, each tempting and appealing in their own way, and alongside them there were men, too, each more gorgeous than the next. Lithe or fat, muscular or soft, handsome or beautiful, distinctive or changeable – all blessed with talents of every description, singers and musicians and dancers and painters and poets.
And each and every one of them available for the asking.
Meng Yao’s mother might have been a whore, but her son had turned himself into procureur in his bid for power. It had worked – Meng Yao was one of the most influential vassals in Wen Ruohan’s domain, especially ever since his erstwhile father Jin Guangshan had so tragically died in an orgy his bastard son had undoubtedly arranged just for him – and Wen Ruohan could usually respect someone who was willing to go to any length and plumb every depth for power, but he found the whole thing to be more than a little shabby. Meng Yao simply had no integrity, no matter how cultured or refined he pretended to be; he was a soulless, power-grubbing little worm, and it was almost funny to see him try time and time again to find some weakness he could use to hook Wen Ruohan.
Wen Ruohan wasn’t stupid enough to allow himself to actually fall for Meng Yao’s little ploys, of course. Who could say how many of Meng Yao’s whores were also spies and assassins? Who knew how many heads they’d claimed for him, how many secrets they’d stolen? Who knew how many seemingly innocent brothels throughout Wen Ruohan’s empire actually belonged to him and his Nameless?
Wen Ruohan might be nearly a god, all those beneath him merely ants, but even a god didn’t want to be bitten on the toe. He was here to play politics, that old bad habit he’d formed so long ago, and he could play it far better than Meng Yao could – it was fairly obvious from the way Meng Yao all but doted upon him that he desperately wanted to find his emperor’s weakness, wanted him to have a weakness, and it was equally clear that he would keep probing and checking until he’d found one. If Wen Ruohan wanted a moment’s peace, it would be better to simply create one and let Meng Yao think that he’d won, lulling him into a false sense of security.
That was why he was really here tonight, he supposed. Meng Yao was simply too useful to be gotten rid of as an annoying pest, or he usually was; it was only that his usefulness had been impaired by his single-minded focus on his need to have (or believe that he had) control over everyone. Once Meng Yao thought he had something on Wen Ruohan, he might stop focusing all his efforts on that and turn instead to doing what he was supposed to be doing, which was to help Wen Ruohan manage the affairs of his empire. Meng Yao was despite it all a very good minister, however annoying his habits; he was worth preserving if it were possible. And it wasn’t as if bedding some pretty thing were really that much of a chore, even though Wen Ruohan had more or less given it up as a hobby around the time he’d set aside his last few wives…
“We have some special entertainment for you tonight, your majesty,” Meng Yao said in his ear, popping up again. He was incredibly persistent, and probably thought he was a lot more subtle than he actually was. “I think you’ll find something that will appeal to you.”
Wen Ruohan took another sip of wine and smiled noncommittally. “Perhaps,” he said, not bothering to hide his skepticism. It’d be all the more satisfying for Meng Yao if he thought he’d gotten under Wen Ruohan’s skin despite all best efforts to resist him – it would appeal to his vanity. “You’ll have to show me something truly extraordinary for that to happen.”
He’d pick one of the musicians tonight, he thought to himself, whichever was the most aggressive player. One of his former friends had been a musician, especially sharp and forceful despite his otherwise conservative orthodoxy; Wen Ruohan would enjoy the reminder of that, even if the only other thing he got out of the entire event was likely to be some garden variety physical pleasure and a cultivation boost so miniscule as to be scarcely worth mentioning.
With that decided, he settled back to watch the show.
It started about the way he expected, a bevy of musicians and veiled dancers, captivating and opulent, pouring out of the doors to a thrilling swell of music. Meng Yao had outdone himself this time in arranging it, at least – it was a feast for the eyes and the ears, impossible to say whether the swirls of the nearly translucent yet vividly colored veils and scarves were more beautiful than the delicate tinkling of the bells they wore upon their ankles. Naturally they were all talented, and beautiful, and there were even greater a diversity than normal; no doubt Meng Yao wanted to cover all his bases to make sure he ensnared his target.
Bored, Wen Ruohan started looking through the musicians to find the least insipid of the lot, only before he could find one, there was a sudden change: the music abruptly dropped to almost nothing and the dancers split like a field of wheat in the face of a falling scythe, leaving only a single dancer standing in the middle of the room, alone.
Wen Ruohan’s gaze, like everyone else’s, was irresistibly drawn to that final figure.
It was a man, interestingly enough – normally the role of the Queen of the Flowers went to a woman – and an unusually tall one, too. At first Wen Ruohan’s eyes refused to admit it, insisting that those broad shoulders and narrow waist and long legs were merely proportional, the seeming height merely a trick exaggerated by clever choices in clothing or the glittering gold and emeralds that were draped upon him, but a second glance revealed that that was a lie: the man was actually just that tall, a statute of a god carved out of single piece of perfect jade – he was standing perfectly still, unmoving, with his eyes closed. His body was held in the exquisite first pose of a dance, that moment of breathless anticipation, knowing that something would happen very soon, in the next moment, in the next heartbeat…
The music started up once more.
The dancer began to move.
His hands went to his chest and twisted in…a hand seal?
Something that had been on the table behind him rose into the air. It was a saber, not a sword, that potent and powerful weapon, the symbol of inexorable might and strength, and it was an exceptionally large one. One would say too large, even, only that was in comparison to a mere normal man, not to the god descended to the earth that wielded it now – wielded it not in battle but in dance, the saber spinning around him, the array and spiritual energy that guided its movements a shining gold that perfectly echoed the golden chains that spun as the man did, perfectly controlled, a partner and equal and yet wholly under his mastery.
Mastery…
Wen Ruohan fancied himself a master of men, and that meant he’d long ago refined his ability to judge a man’s talent by a simple demonstration of his skills. He could see at a glance that this dancer was not merely following a practiced routine, pulling the strings of the saber as if that of a puppet; the dance was free and unrestrained, growing ever wilder even as the dancer’s stern face remained unmoved, eyes still closed, lips slightly apart as he breathed, and the strength of his cultivation talent was…
Breathtaking.
That saber was powerful enough to practically be a guai in its own right, and yet it followed the dancer as slavishly as a dog, singing in the air as it reshaped the traditional forms of saber, that deadly whirlwind that had been the last sight of so many men, into something meant only for its beauty. It competed with the dancer’s veil, now fallen away from his face and turned into a scarf for the dance, and the dancer let the ebb and flow of the saber’s spiritual energy to flow through him to become the next steps in his dance.
It was beautiful. It was powerful. It was –
His.
Wen Ruohan was suddenly seized by an overwhelming sense of familiarity as he watched. He knew those steps, could guess the next one before the dancer’s limbs moved to form that shape – it was the ideal complement to his own cultivation, the burning yang fire like the midday sun in the sky above; it was the sun-warmed ground, stable in foundation, reflecting the flame back up to him. Wen Ruohan didn’t know why or even how, but this dancer’s natural movements were perfectly in tune with his own. He shaped spiritual energy the same way, he let it flow into his meridians in the same way, and turned it into something beautiful and offered it back, laying it before Wen Ruohan as a gift meant just for him.
The dancer spun in place, the translucent green veil wrapping around him, the saber lingering beside him, and behind him was the great Wen seal of the sun, hung up in celebration of the hall’s honored guest.
Wen Ruohan had never seen anything so beautiful.
Or, at least – not until the very next moment, when the music that had been accompanying the dance slowly faded away, the dance coming to its natural conclusion, and the dancer opened his eyes.
The sheer power contained in that gaze was scorching.
“Is this more to your majesty’s liking?” Meng Yao murmured, suddenly there by Wen Ruohan’s side once more. His voice was smug and satisfied as a well-fed cat, convinced of its innate superiority. “If your majesty wants to do more than just look, you need only say…”
Wen Ruohan held up his hand, shutting Meng Yao up for the moment as he watched: the dancer was saluting the audience, his back straight as a mountain, unyielding and proud, and then he strode away with his head held high, a chi or even two taller than all those mere mortals that flocked around him as the other dancers swept back onto the floor of the main hall, resuming the interrupted dance sequence that had once before seemed exciting and wonderous to the eye, before it had been so utterly eclipsed.
“…your majesty?”
Wen Ruohan had promised himself that he wouldn’t fall for Meng Yao’s wiles. He’d promised himself that he’d look only for a musician that reminded him of a friend that was long ago lost, a way to pass the time without committing himself; he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t give in, that he would risk nothing of himself – not his attention, and certainly not his heart – for some politician’s ploy.
He was the emperor of the cultivation world.
He was a god.
He deserved everything good under the sun.
“You may send him to me,” he said, giving in to his own desires. “Tonight.”
He didn’t even care when Meng Yao smiled in triumph.
-
He would have thought that he’d find the man kneeling, but he wasn’t.
Wen Ruohan returned to the quarters that had been provided to him later that night, later than he would have liked but still early enough that the banquet was still going strong as the guests of the Meng sect turned their attention, and appetites, to self-gratification. Meng Yao accompanied him, unsurprisingly, and twittered in his ear the entire time about how delighted and gratified he was to finally find something to suit his emperor’s rarefied tastes. His self-congratulatory crowing was almost enough to make Wen Ruohan want to forget the whole thing.
Almost.
Every time he opened his mouth to tell Meng Yao that maybe his services weren’t required after all, he remembered that extraordinary dancer, the unyielding steel in his gaze and the cultivation so perfectly matched to his own, and the words turned to ash on his tongue. Wen Ruohan was emperor, that much was true; his power was virtually unrestrained. But virtually did not mean wholly – it would be one thing once he had met that nameless dancer and officially inducted him into his harem, but until then, Meng Yao could make the dancer disappear as easily as flipping over his hand and there would be nothing Wen Ruohan could do about it.
It wouldn’t be long now, he reminded himself. And nothing said that he couldn’t turn on Meng Yao later, after he’d obtained what he desired.
That dancer…
Wen Ruohan felt as if he were going crazy. More than that, he felt almost as if he were outside his own body, calmly observing as he descended into irrationality – he wanted the man, wanted him desperately. He wanted him, wanted that gaze upon him; his entire body was alight with reckless desire, maddening him, as if he had never wanted anything or anyone before. It was ridiculous. He was over a century old, had married five wives, had taken dozens if not hundreds of lovers…
The thought of not having that dancer made him want to commit acts of violence. Personally.
He hadn’t bothered to personally take up battle since probably before that dancer was even born. What was wrong with him?
Wen Ruohan arrived at his rooms, expecting to find Meng Yao’s nameless dancer kneeling in anticipation of serving his emperor, but he was standing, instead, right in the middle of the room. Wen Ruohan had half a moment to think to himself that it suited the dancer better – that the sort of personality that had such strength of will, such character, would not bend so easily as that, that his submission would be won by those who deserved it and none other – before Meng Yao’s lips were flattening in displeasure and he was stepping forward, barking, “On your knees!”
The dancer stared at him, pressing his own lips tightly together.
After a moment, he slowly, painfully slowly, began to bend his knees.
Wen Ruohan waved his hand to dismiss the order.
“As you were,” he said, secretly delighted by this show of steel. “What’s your name?”
He realized a moment later that this was a stupid question. Meng Yao’s whores (and spies) had a reputation in the cultivation world: they were called ‘the Nameless’ because of the way that they would answer to any name their client wanted. Perhaps the hidden cards in Meng Yao’s sleeves, the spies pretending to be common girls, would say their own names, but there was no doubt about this dancer, who Meng Yao had presented to Wen Ruohan personally. His answer was therefore predetermined, a coquettish ‘whatever you like’ –
“I’m surnamed Nie,” the dancer said. “My courtesy name is Mingjue, characters for ‘bright’ and ‘jade’.”
Wen Ruohan could practically feel the steam coming off of Meng Yao next to him.
“I see,” he said, pretending towards neutrality when in fact he was amused to no end. “That will be all, Meng Yao.”
Meng Yao recovered swiftly, as expected, and his departing words were urbane and polite, perfectly chosen. If he was a little stiff when he retreated, it was nothing that most people would notice.
Wen Ruohan waited for him to leave, then casually sketched out a privacy array on the door with his cultivation alone – he had long ago passed the need to use the physical gestures to guide his spiritual energy, particularly with arrays. If Meng Yao or any of his people tried to look or listen in on them, they would see and hear nothing, and there would be a small backlash besides.
He didn’t use the array often. The head of Wen Ruohan’s personal guard had objected to it, arguing that it would provide the perfect opportunity for an assassination attempt; Wen Ruohan had never paid much mind to him, thinking to himself that he was so very near a god that it would be difficult to succeed in such an attempt even if someone did get in while he was sleeping, but he also had never minded being watched, so he assented and by and large had abandoned use of the array. But now, foolishly, now that he had invited someone into the room with him – and not just someone, but one of Meng Yao’s Nameless, known as much for their fondness for spying and even assassinations as for their sexual skills – to use that array now…it was utter foolishness.
It didn’t matter. This Nie Mingjue, whoever he was, could try to kill him if he liked. It wouldn’t phase Wen Ruohan for a moment; Nie Mingjue was powerful, but he was nowhere near a match for Wen Ruohan. It wouldn’t even change his mind about wanting to take Nie Mingjue into his harem…
Truly, Wen Ruohan reflected wryly, he must have lost his mind. A lesser man than he would have started to wonder if Meng Yao had put some sort of aphrodisiac into his wine, but Wen Ruohan had long ago immunized himself to such tricks, and anyway he’d already checked – there was nothing like that.
The problem was clearly all in his head.
Once they were alone, Nie Mingjue relaxed minutely. If his dispute with Meng Yao was a façade meant to make Wen Ruohan lower his defenses, his acting skills were absolutely top notch.
He brought his hands together in a salute, his every motion flawless and perfectly controlled.
“Greetings to his majesty,” he said, his voice clear and ringing. “May you live forever!”
Wen Ruohan smiled.
Normally, he preferred people to kneel before him – a salute was a greeting for equals, and he had no equals – but he was magnanimous, willing to overlook it in this instance.
There would be time for kneeling later.
“Nie Mingjue,” he said slowly, savoring the taste of the name on his tongue. “I am surprised that I haven’t heard of you before. You’re clearly a cultivation talent to be reckoned with.”
That was the one oddity, he supposed, about the whole thing. Even if Meng Yao had realized that sending someone with actual power to Wen Ruohan’s bed was the way to go, it wasn’t as if there were that many truly skilled cultivators out there that hadn’t already been snatched up by some sect or another. He should have already seen Nie Mingjue out on some night-hunt, making a name for himself, and yet – nothing.
He supposed that it was distantly possible that Nie Mingjue was Meng Yao’s treasured pearl, a secret card he’d left himself for times of dire need, but that seemed unlike what he knew of the man’s personality. Meng Yao longed to be respected, even as his own actions brought him only shame; if he had a truly powerful cultivator in his hand, he wouldn’t be wasting him as an assassin.
“My father was a rogue cultivator,” Nie Mingjue said, simple and straightforward – it was a refreshing change after all the coy whores and even more coy politicians that Wen Ruohan had endured the company of. “He brought me up to follow his way – to fight evil no matter where it lives, and to disclaim credit for it as just another worldly shackle.”
“Few men would follow such a strict way, that gains them no power.”
“The purpose of power is to better the world,” Nie Mingjue said. “Of what use is fame?”
He was meeting Wen Ruohan’s gaze dead on, which very few people dared to do any more – which very few people could do, any longer. Wen Ruohan was simply too powerful, his gaze scorching; the more poetic people had claimed he was anointed by the sun in the sky, chosen to bear and channel its terrible might, but in reality it was simply his high level of cultivation leaking out to pressure all those around him until they shied away instinctively.
But this mysterious Nie Mingjue, who might be here to kill him, seemed completely unmoved.
Wen Ruohan found himself prowling the room, circling Nie Mingjue, who simply turned his head to follow him for as long as he could. A dancer’s balance – or a swordsman’s.
“There are many uses to fame,” Wen Ruohan said idly, running his eyes up and down that glorious body, all on display and all for him. “There are more types of power than merely cultivation – a sect can do what a rogue cultivator cannot.”
And, of course, an emperor could do still more.
“My ancestors decided long ago not to share our cultivation method with others,” Nie Mingjue said calmly. “If I were to join a sect, I would be obligated to either abandon the path of my ancestors, which I am unwilling to do, or else share in what I know, which I also refuse. Sects do not take kindly to such restrictions.”
That was true. “What about starting your own?”
“Who would join a sect where you could not learn the sect leader’s style?” Nie Mingjue shrugged. “I only know what I know. I do not feel the lack of it.”
Wen Ruohan smiled once more, though it was only a curve of his lips and nothing in his eyes, utterly humorless.
“Now, I find that hard to believe,” he said. “People who do not feel a lack seldom become whores.”
Nie Mingjue blushed.
He actually blushed.
Wen Ruohan marveled at the sight of it – he hadn’t met anyone who could blush in years. They’d all had it trained out of them. And this was wholly involuntary as well, he could tell: the blood had pooled in Nie Mingjue’s cheeks and ears, despite his obvious (to Wen Ruohan) attempts to suppress it.
“I did not –” Nie Mingjue started to say, then hesitated. “I am not a – a – that is, I only wanted – forgive me, let me start again.”
Wen Ruohan nodded in permission.
(He wanted to throw Nie Mingjue down on the bed and fuck him until he cried and begged for mercy. Someone as reactive as that, who could blush like that – he thought he’d be able to do it, too.)
“I came here to meet you.”
Wen Ruohan’s eyebrows arched up. “Me?”
Nie Mingjue nodded. “Sect Leader Meng is known to have your ear. I asked him if there was a way that I could be introduced to you, and he said this would be the only path likely to succeed in gaining your attention. You have enough talented cultivators to last you a lifetime; if I simply went to recommend myself to you, I would be waiting for an eternity.”
It was a good story, Wen Ruohan thought. A pity he didn’t believe it.
It was just too convenient. A proud rogue cultivator, so desperate to get Wen Ruohan’s attention that he’d sold himself to Meng Yao just for a chance – and based on that story, and his denial of being a whore, he would presumably also present himself as chaste, maybe even virginal. Wen Ruohan would be able to be the only one who had ever had him…
Wen Ruohan didn’t deny that the thought made his heart tremble with rapacious joy, but things that were too good to be true often were. The likelihood that this Nie Mingjue was in fact a talented assassin was only increasing.
“He taught you that dance?” Wen Ruohan asked, allowing his skepticism into his tone.
Nie Mingjue looked a little puzzled. “No, it’s a saber dance. I picked it up on one of my travels – I enjoy most things involving movement, so I know all sorts of sword styles and dances…it usually involves more clothing.”
Wen Ruohan devoutly hoped it didn’t.
True, the eroticism of Nie Mingjue’s dance had been in large part the precision and elegance of his motions, the total control he had over every last gesture – the way the saber danced back, the way the veil fluttered around him, the twist and turn of every angle…but it certainly wasn’t all from that.
“Does it?” Wen Ruohan asked. “Are you sure?”
“…the way I do it, it does.”
All but an admission that it had originally been an erotic dance in nature, refined into a saber art, then turned back into a dance. No wonder Nie Mingjue was so good at it – he must have invented most of it in its current form himself.
Assuming his story was accurate, of course. Wen Ruohan mentally scolded himself for forgetting, even for a moment – simply because he wanted it to be true, suddenly violently desperately wanted it to be true, didn’t make it so.
“I see,” he said, and prowled closer. Nie Mingjue didn’t flinch. He didn’t even tense up, instinctively nervous the way most people were around a predator – not even the subconscious cues were there. He was genuinely not afraid. He was magnificent. “And why is it that you wanted to see me so badly?”
Nie Mingjue hesitated.
“Come now. You’ve come all this way already. Do you now fear to take the final step?”
“I am not afraid,” Nie Mingjue said firmly, and Wen Ruohan believed him. “I only ask your majesty’s indulgence in bringing up a subject that may be unpleasant to him.”
Wen Ruohan would have listened anyway, enraptured by Nie Mingjue as he was, but now he was genuinely curious as well.
“I’m listening,” he said, promising nothing.
Some men might have been deterred from making an inconvenient request without the assurance of their safety afterwards, but as Wen Ruohan had expected, Nie Mingjue was not among them.
“My ancestral bloodline is beset with…a particular illness, of which there is no cure,” Nie Mingjue said. “Before my father passed away from it, he informed me that he had once met someone who had thought of a way to mitigate the effects, allowing those who have it to live longer lives, and reduced suffering.”
Wen Ruohan tilted his head to the side, urging Nie Mingjue to continue. Such a story was interesting and in no way concerning to him, meaning that the ‘unpleasant’ part of it must lie in the inevitable question that it suggessted: if Nie Mingjue’s father had known of such a palliative, why hadn’t he taken it himself?
“The person who knew of the treatment was of the Gusu Lan.”
-
Wen Ruohan’s eyes immediately narrowed, his fists clenching; he even stopped prowling, and his aura became dark and oppressive, his instantly ignited temper making the air around him thick with menace.
Still, Nie Mingjue did not flinch.
Still –
Maybe he really is telling the truth, Wen Ruohan thought, and somehow that thought broke through the brewing storm that was his usual reaction to people poking his sore spot. Surely he wouldn’t bring them up if Meng Yao were coaching him through his lines – I’ve had people executed on the spot for less.
Gusu Lan…
The Gusu Lan sect had been one of the Great Sects. They had been pristine and pure, above the dust of the mortal world; they were among the most conservative and orthodox sects, deeply devoted to their rules, their musical cultivation, and their life of thoughtful contemplation.
Wen Ruohan had always known that he would never be able to make them bend their necks willingly. He had sent his son to teach them a lesson – he had burned their beautiful Cloud Recesses, stolen away their precious books, chased their heirs away into a desperate flight. It had been a brilliant strategic move: the rest of the world had been horrified and yet paralyzed, unable or unwilling to take any action to avenge them, and fear had driven even more sects into his grasp, knowing as they did that there was no one else they would be able to shelter with. Who could they appeal to if such a thing happened to them – the Jin, who only thought of profit and their own benefit? The Meng, who were always scheming? The Jiang, whose sect leader was easygoing to a fault, more inclined to think about his own willful desires than the unpleasant hard work of trying to unite the sects?
There was no unifying voice to rally them, and without that, they had all started to fall.
One by one, and then many, and then the momentum built in on itself, the cultivation world Wen Ruohan’s for the taking.
It had been a brilliant move. Attacking any of the other sects wouldn’t have had anywhere near such a crushing psychological impact – the other sects were more daring, more inclined to take wins and losses, but the Lan were always there, the solid foundation that seemed unassailable.
It had been a brilliant move.
It had been worth it.
Even when, after, the Lan sect had picked themselves back up, dusted themselves off, and sent word to the Nightless City that for the sake of peace they would not seek vengeance for what had been done to them, but neither would they forgive it. They locked themselves up in their valley and abandoned the world, returning to the ways of their monk ancestor.
Wen Ruohan had not expected that.
His former friend had been a Lan, as stern and strict as any of them. Wen Ruohan had thought of a thousand explanations for him, meant to win him back when it was all said and done – he had needed to attack the Cloud Recesses to win his throne and his empire, but he had taken care not to go too far. The sect heirs had been allowed to flee, unharmed, and the casualties of the attack were kept to a minimum. Some buildings were burned, but not the most precious or most sacred ones. The sect books were taken, not destroyed; he had always planned to offer to give them back.
He had been refused.
Not just refused. Ignored.
The Gusu Lan sect were only nominally part of his empire, even if all their former holdings now belonged to him. It had been a matter of some great frustration to Wen Ruohan, and yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to knock down their walls once more, breaching their privacy – he had known, he supposed, that doing so would have been the end of all hope, to the extent any hope still existed.
Instead, he had added the Gusu Lan to his taboos, forbidding all who entered his presence to mention them or else face dire consequences.
Yet – Nie Mingjue spoke of them now.
Meng Yao would never have authorized such a thing.
Did that mean, then, that Nie Mingjue’s story was, just maybe…genuine?
(That he really was there for the taking, available to be Wen Ruohan’s and Wen Ruohan’s alone?)
“What do you want of me, then?” Wen Ruohan asked, putting his hands behind his back. “To tear down their walls and demand the cure for you?”
“I want you to ask for it.” Nie Mingjue was unphased. “Your willingness to respect their terms has been a show of good faith – if you promise them that they will be unharmed and honored as thoroughly as you have respected them thus far, I believe they may open their gates to you.”
Wen Ruohan scoffed. “You want me to humble myself to them? And for what? You?”
“Whatever you like,” Nie Mingjue said.
Wen Ruohan looked at him, but he was serious. Serious and solemn.
“Even if I were to demand your life?” Wen Ruohan asked, and Nie Mingjue nodded. “What’s the use of a cure if you’re dead?”
“It’s not for me,” Nie Mingjue said. “It’s for my younger brother, who never wanted any part of my family’s path, yet finds himself trapped upon it anyway.”
Wen Ruohan’s heart was beating too fast.
It has to be genuine, it has to be, he thought, his mind aswirl, unsteady. No madman would play such a dangerous game, bound to lose – only an honest man, an upright man, a straightforward man, a man who is willing to risk it all simply to say that he tried, no matter the consequences of failing.
He’s not Meng Yao’s whore.
He’s –
He could be mine. If I give him this…he could be mine.
“And if I wanted you for my own?” he asked, and watched Nie Mingjue’s reaction intently: a slight widening of the eyes, surprise. “And not only for tonight. If I took you into my harem, made you my concubine – ”
As if he’d make such a glorious man a mere concubine. He would be consort, at minimum.
Maye even an empress.
“ – would you swear the rest of your life to me? To serving me, to pleasing me, to seeking to aid me in fulfilling all of my ambitions?”
Nie Mingjue thought about it for a very long moment, serious and stern. He blinked as he considered the question; his eyelashes were long, looked soft, and Wen Ruhoan wanted to run his fingers over his fce, feeling them brush against him.
“I would,” Nie Mingjue said finally. “I would swear to be yours, to give you my heart and body and mind all, even if all you wanted of me was to be your cauldron.”
Nie Mingjue would probably be a magnificent cauldron, Wen Ruohan thought. With talent and power such as he had, dual cultivating with him would undoubtedly increase Wen Ruohan’s own cultivation immensely – maybe even enough to push him past the peak and into divinity as he had always wished. But using a person as a cauldron ruined them, breaking their meridians and shattering their golden core, making them unable to cultivate again in this life…it was efficient, but a waste.
If Nie Mingjue would dual cultivate with him as his lover, they could climb the steps of power together. It would take longer, be harder, but in the end, Wen Ruohan would have a partner at his side.
If only Wen Ruohan could trust Nie Mingjue’s word…
“And what if you betray me, after I give you what you want?” Wen Ruohan asked.
“I won’t,” Nie Mingjue said. His voice was steady, calm, unshakable. “I know you have no reason to trust me, and I have no assurances I can give you. But if I swear to you, I won’t ever betray you.”
Wen Ruohan wanted to believe him.
He wanted him.
He wanted…
He was a god. He could get anything he wanted, he should get anything he wanted. If what he wanted was Nie Mingjue, willing, then he deserved to get it. If Nie Mingjue really was secretly one of Meng Yao’s Nameless, just more daring than the rest; if he really did choose to betray him later…well, they could see about that when they came to that.
Wen Ruohan, who trusted no one, could only get what he wanted by trusting this one time –
So trust he would.
(They said the opportunity to achieve divinity was something that could only be encountered and obtained by chance, not effort. Who was to say whether love was not the same?)
“Done,” Wen Ruohan said, and Nie Mingjue stared at him. That surprise again. “Swear you’ll be mine – swear that you’ll give me your heart as well as your body, that you’ll entrust to me your soul and mind, to put all efforts forth on my behalf. And I will swear to you the same: that I will go to the Cloud Recesses and issue your petition, and I will do whatever they require of me to win you your cure.”
Nie Mingjue looked dumbstruck, as if he’d thought he’d need to do more than he had done.
Wen Ruohan laughed and strode forward, putting his hand on Nie Mingue’s cheek – he blushed, again, but kept up the eye contact, good, Wen Ruohan liked that. He didn’t even mind that Nie Mingjue was taller than him, that he would need to pull him down or rise up to meet him.
“You’ll be mine,” he murmured, almost giddy with the joy of it. “All mine.”
He pressed his lips to Nie Mingjue’s.
Something – sparked.
Wen Ruohan shuddered from head to toe from the feeling. It was as if every bit of spiritual energy inside his body had suddenly gone molten hot, his meridians suddenly feeling wider than before, the qi circulating quick and fast and smoother – it was magnificent, his entire body suddenly alight with power; he’d never experienced anything like it before.
“…what was that?” Nie Mingjue asked when they broke apart. He sounded dazed, and Wen Ruohan couldn’t blame him. “Was that – kissing isn’t normally like that!”
Wen Ruohan caught his face and pulled him in for another kiss, just as mind-blowing as the first.
“It’s you,” he said in between kisses he couldn’t seem to stop. “It’s you, and it’s me…our cultivation styles must be incredibly compatible.”
In his youth, Wen Ruohan had heard romantics dream aloud about finding a dao companion gifted from the heavens – a perfect match, suitable in every way; willingly cultivating with such a match would be three times as effective as what could be obtained from even the most ruthlessly extracted cauldron.
He’d always assumed it was an exaggeration. If not an exaggeration, then at minimum it was something that was simply irrelevant to him.
He had underestimated the generosity of the heavens.
No wonder he had nearly lost his mind at the mere sight of Nie Mingjue. No wonder he had broken his own vows, and made new ones, just to obtain him.
Nie Mingjue was meant for him.
Nie Mingjue – who was his.
Kissing Nie Mingjue was a pleasure that Wen Ruohan had never known, the best thing he had ever had, and then a moment later it was already surmounted when Nie Mingjue reached up to grab his shoulders and kissed him back.
“I would have you be mine as well,” Nie Mingjue said, and his eyes were almost glowing with his own power, his own cultivation that strengthened each time they passed spiritual energy between them, as easy as breathing, no effort at all. “I would have sworn to you all one-sided, a vassal and their lord, but something like this – this shouldn’t be one-sided. This should be everything.”
Wen Ruohan couldn’t agree more.
“I’ll be yours,” he said, words he’d refused to say for decades falling from his lips as if it were that easy. “I’ll be yours, and you’ll be mine, and together – ah – together, there will be nothing to stand in our way.”
He tried to kiss Nie Mingjue again, but Nie Mingjue shifted to the side, unexpectedly evading him.
“There’s one thing I need to tell you,” Nie Mingjue said, his breath short and breathless, probably from the way Wen Ruohan was kissing his jaw and throat and anywhere he could reach. “It’s – it’s important – ah, yes, like that…”
“Very important,” Wen Ruohan said in between long sucking kisses. “Very important indeed.”
“No, it’s not – it’s – ah – Meng Yao wants to kill you!”
Wen Ruohan paused, blinking.
“What?” he said, bemused. “Kill me? Surely he only wishes to control me?”
“He’ll settle for that at first,” Nie Mingjue said. “But in the end he wants you to die. He thinks you killed his father.”
“…his father? I thought he killed his father!”
“He did,” Nie Mingjue said, and shrugged when Wen Ruohan looked at him. “I overheard him in a moment he wasn’t anticipating – my hearing is sharper than he thought. He thinks you ruined his father years before by supporting him against his sect, when his sect tried to curtail his indulgences; he thinks you poisoned his character and made him the sort of person who wouldn’t recognize his son, no matter how talented, even informally. He blames you for his rejection, and wants to kill you, and he has several plans for it.”
“Were you one of them?”
“He made me promise to give him an opening at some point of his choosing,” Nie Mingjue explained. “That was the price he put on getting me here, allowing me to meet with you. I intend to keep that vow.”
“You…do?”
“I told him up front that the only thing I’d give him was an opening, and that I wouldn’t promise anything more, not even that I wouldn’t turn on him to try to close that opening a moment later. It seemed like something I could do without being foresworn to either of you.” Nie Mingjue made a face. “I wasn’t planning on telling you, of course, but under the circumstances…you should let him have his opportunity. It won’t work, and maybe the attempt will make him feel better.”
Wen Ruohan wasn’t so sure about that, but he also didn’t care that much right now.
Nie Mingjue didn’t belong to Meng Yao – perhaps he couldn’t fully prove it, but he believed it.
Nie Mingjue was his.
That was all that mattered.
“Let him do as he likes,” Wen Ruohan said, yielding, as he had never yielded before and yet suspected he was about to do quite a lot more in the future. “We have better things to focus on.”