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Chapter Text

A-Cheng is eight.

Eight is an auspicious number; his mother told him so on the eve of his most recent birthday, the closest she’s come to giving him praise. A-Niang is warm and wise, even if she speaks to A-Cheng in tones rivaled only by the chilliest winters. Lotus Pier never gets too cold anyways.

His father had briefly picked him up before setting him down once more, but for a moment A-Cheng was up in the air and in his arms, and so it was the fourth time he had been held by his father. Four wasn’t auspicious, not in the slightest, but A-Cheng is sure the number will go up.

A-Cheng has three dogs: Jasmine, Princess, and Love. All honorable names, even if his father refuses to address them by such and his mother turns her head whenever they’re in her view. At least his sister likes them.

A-Cheng’s sister was the best; Jiejie was kind, and pretty, and good at everything she needed to be good at. She likes to make A-Cheng soup, although she isn’t allowed to be in the kitchen too often. It’s improper, they say. A-Cheng doesn’t care. Jiejie likes it, and A-Cheng likes Jiejie. When he’s sect leader, Jiejie will be able to make as much soup as she wants.

For now, though, he is only eight, and sitting by the pier as he plays with his dogs. Jasmine is by his side, licking his face as he strokes the fur down her back. Princess and Love are playing together, tugging a stray disciple’s robe between their mouths.

A-Cheng lays down on the wooden pier, rolling about in the sun. It is a lazy day; no one has come to see him yet, save for his sister, who dropped by with a smile before disappearing elsewhere. He wishes to accompany her, but is told he is still too young. Peh! Don’t they know he is already eight?

Suddenly, a shadow and breeze flow past him. A-Cheng lifts his head, finding deep purple robes swarming his vision. He makes a grab for them, scrambling up to chase the quickly disappearing sight.

“A-Die!”

“Not now,” his father says. His pushes A-Cheng away, looking around for an empty spot. Finding a suitable location, he pulls out his sword, the silver gleam of the blade dancing under the sun. There is an odd expression on his face. A-Cheng can best classify it as ‘happy’, although he has never quite seen his father so joyous before. It is an odd sight.

“Yiling, you said?” his father asks one of the men accompanying him. They nod, and the grin on his father’s face grows even wider. With a kick, he is in the air, standing upon his sword as it flies off, leaving A-Cheng behind, his feet jumping up and down as he tries to catch his father.

“Bye bye!” he waves to the empty air, wiggling his fingers. Jasmine barks, running laps around him as A-Cheng falls to the ground, a small huff escaping his lungs. He wonders where his father went off too, and why he is in such a rush. Perhaps he’s brought back more dogs for A-Cheng? Or snacks? Snacks are also suitable.

What A-Cheng doesn’t expect to see him return with is a child, a boy, wrapped in his father’s outerrobes and bundled in his arms. He is shivering, and his father presses him closer to his chest as a result, a response brought out by the need to warm or comfort.

A-Cheng has never been held by his father in such a way. He wonders if he will if A-Cheng cleans up his room and asks nicely.

“What is that?” his mother asks, eying the bundle in his father’s arms. She is standing besides his sister, who is trying to get a better look at the new child. “You bought a street rat?”

“This is her child,” his father says. His mother’s face goes stiff. A-Cheng doesn’t know what’s wrong, but he is farther away from his family than they are to each other, so he creeps up to his father, who seems much more approachable than his mother at the current moment.

“Who’s child?” he asks, stretching himself up on his toes. His father sets the child down, and A-Cheng is pleased to find he is a little taller than this stranger.

“A friend of mine,” his father says. “This is your new brother, Wei Ying.”

“Brother—” his mother starts, but A-Cheng has already stopped listening, long since used to tuning out the sound of parents yelling.

“Hello,” he says to his brother. His brother is shy, but he blinks a smile at A-Cheng and waves.

“I’m A-Cheng,” he says, except his mother is dragging him by the ear, and tugging his head down and hissing in his ear, and suddenly he is not A-Cheng, he is Jiang Cheng, and he and Wei Ying are not of the same family.

His father laughs, but it is starkly different from the hearty laughs he hears from shop owners, or the floaty giggles of the aunties who like to pinch his cheeks. His father’s laugh holds no emotion, and as he brings his mother outside, Jiang Cheng thinks that must be the reason why she is always so expressive: she must hold his father’s emotions as well.

His sister introduces herself to his brother, and says it’s no matter, to ignore their mother, and that they are all siblings in the end. His brother grins and says that she is pretty, and his sister flushes, but of course Jiejie is pretty, and if they are to be brothers his Gege must know this fact as well as he knows himself.

This is nice, Jiang Cheng thinks. Having a brother is quite different than having a sister, and he doesn’t think he can make soup, but perhaps Gege will tousle with him like his sister cannot, and they will swim in the lakes and play with his dogs.

Except his brother pales when Jiang Cheng tries to introduce his dogs to him, and screams when they get closer. Their father comes rushing in, scooping up his brother and shooing his dogs away.

“You will have to get rid of those mutts,” he says, patting his brother on the back, rubbing soft circles to soothe away the pain. He does not care that Jiang Cheng is hurt. He cares even less that Jiang Cheng is mad.

His sister tries to comfort him, saying that it is for the good of their brother, but Jiang Cheng finds he does not care much for their brother right now. He just arrived, and with a scream is able to drag away Jiang Cheng’s precious dogs.

Jiang Cheng runs off to his room, where he finds attendants coming in and out, swarming it like a group of ants. His mother stands at the doorway, arms crossed, like a pillar of resentment placed at the front of his door. She stares at Jiang Cheng as he approaches, cocking an eyebrow.

“You’re to share your room with him,” she says. Jiang Cheng does not understand until she points inside, where a new bed is being placed down, the attendants carrying out the make shift beds he had spent a week crafting for his dogs.

“Stop!” he cries, running after the attendants, circling around them, much like Jasmine had did earlier that day. He reaches up to grab the materials in their hands, but they raise their arms up into the sky, and he can only helplessly stretch his arms up in an attempt to follow them.

Jiang Cheng is eight. He is big, but not that big, and right now he feels very, very small.

“I don’t want them to go,” he wails. He runs to find his dogs, but they are not at the pier where he left them, and so he runs around the rest of the sect, calling out desperately to his three companions.

Disciples notice his cries, but simply turn their heads. Jiang Cheng knows they know, but are not telling him. His father had told them to be quiet, then. Jiang Chang would try to pry it out of them, but he knows his father is not to be disobeyed. He understands; he is often told to be quiet as well.

Still, that does not stop him from trying to find them regardless. If no one can help him, he will help himself. But night falls, and Jiang Cheng is tired, and he has not eaten much since the sun was up.

Dejected, he drags himself back into his room, where he comes across his brother, knocking on his door. He startles when he sees Jiang Cheng outside.

“They said you were inside and didn’t want to speak to me,” he says. “Can I go in? Sect Leader Jiang said I could sleep here.”

Jiang Cheng nearly considers it before remembering just who caused the disappearance of his dogs. “No! Go away!”

“But--”

“Or I’ll get my dogs to come after you!”

His brother startles, eyes darting around as if they would appear at any moment. Jiang Cheng smirks, feeling the rush of triumph for the first time that day. Serves him right!

“Then can I be let in?”

Jiang Cheng’s face falls, morphing into a scowl once more. “No! This is my room!”

“But--but Sect Leader Jiang said that--”

“I don’t care what he said! I don’t want you here, street rat!”

His brother’s face falls, and before Jiang Cheng can react, he runs away, leaving Jiang Cheng to stand alone. Good, Jiang Cheng didnit want to deal with him anyways. He opens the door, shutting it behind him with as much force as he can muster. Dropping onto his bed, Jiang Cheng doesn’t bother getting undressed before falling asleep.

He is awoken by gentle knocking on the door. Jiang Cheng is tired, but the only person who knocks that way is his sister, and so he opens the door for Jiejie.

She cranes her neck inside, looking around the room, eyes settling on the empty bed next to him.

“Where’s A-Ying?” she asks. Jiang Cheng shrugs, turning around to go back to bed. His brother’s whereabouts is none of his business.

“A-Cheng,” she calls. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know!” he says. “He ran off someone. Maybe he’s dead.”

“A-Cheng!” Her tone is scolding, and though it’s gentle it’s much harsher than she’s ever spoken to him before and Jiang Cheng is scared.

“I’m going to go look for him,” she says. “You come too.”

“I want to sleep,” he whines. He’s eight, and eight year olds need to sleep alot so they grow up to be strong Sect Leaders. His sister was the one to tell him this, so why was she making him stay up to look for their brother?

“You’re going to look for him,” she says, grabbing his arm. She leads him outside, and they search around the sect grounds, finding no trace of their brother.

“We’re going outside,” she declares, and she has never, never been this daring for Jiang Cheng, so he assumes this is very important, and doesn’t say anything, simply nods.

They split up, but before they can part ways his sister grabs him by his robes, forcing him to look her in the eye.

“If you go home before he find him,” she says. “I’ll tell A-Die and A-Niang this was your fault.”

“Okay!” he grumbles, wiggling around. What was so good about their brother anyways?

He doesn’t want to get in trouble with their father; the only time he receives any attention from him is when Jiang Cheng is being scolded, so he knows all too well the sting of his father’s wrath. He searches high and low for his brother, but still can’t find him. Where could he be hiding?

In the dark, Jiang Cheng’s vision is lacking, and he ends up tripping over a rock and a bush. The branches cut at his skin, and his legs ache from collapsing, but he picks himself up, patting the sides of his legs in hopes that it will make them feel better. It doesn’t.

They ache, and as the sheltered son of the sect leader, Jiang Cheng has grown up not knowing of pain. It is a foreign feeling, and his first vivid memory of it will be of him sitting on the ground in the middle of the night, alone, the cuts on his legs bleeding.

He wants to go home, to run into his mother’s arms, but his sister would be so upset if he did, and he doesn’t want to make her mad. Plus, his brother is still out there, and as mad as Jiang Cheng is at him, he thinks he wouldn’t really like it if he were dead.

Jiang Cheng stands up, continuing his search. He calls out to his brother, the name echoing out into the open air. It feels like no one is listening, but that’s okay. No one usually has time to listen to Jiang Cheng anyways.

His brother sure is a hassle, Jiang Cheng thinks. He lays down on the ground, staring up at the sky. He wonders where his dogs are now. They’re so spoiled, they must be given to a rich owner who will spend all their wealth showering them in goods. They deserve nothing less.

Jiang Cheng sniffs. He could spoil them, if only they could stay. He knows they can’t, but that doesn’t mean he likes that they left. If he knew, he would have spent some more time with them playing on the pier.

Jiang Cheng is eight, he is tired, he has cuts on his legs, and he misses his dogs. These facts seem to sum up his identity in the moment, a speck of his life frozen in time by four simple facts.

He closes his eyes; his sister said not to return home until his brother was found, but she never said anything about sleeping outside.

When he comes back into consciousness, the sun is back, waving at him cheerfully as he blinks himself awake. Jiang Cheng pulls himself up, brushing off the grass clinging to his robes.

It’s morning now; surely his brother has been found by now. If not, he must have wandered back home; even if he was upset, the need to sleep and eat would have lured him back to the safety of Lotus Pier. It is what is drawing Jiang Cheng back now, his stomach grumbling as he recalls he never did have dinner last night.

As he wanders back in, he’s immediately noticed by a wandering disciple, who ushers him towards his father’s office. His sister is waiting for him at the front, holding their brother’s hand. Jiang Cheng brightens when he sees this; it means he came back after he was found.

“Where have you been?” their sister asks. It seems she is still cross with him, but Jiang Cheng has listened to her words, and so she can’t stay upset for too long.

“I just woke up,” he replies. “I was waiting for Jiejie and Gege outside, and I fell asleep.”

“Me?” their brother says, pointing to himself. Jiang Cheng nods, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He only has one brother, who else but him?

“You can stay in my room,” Jiang Cheng says. He’s decided it’s not worth fighting the issue anymore. Sharing a room with his brother is still much better than sleeping on the grass outside. His neck still feels sore. “But you can’t put your stuff on my side of the room.”

Their brother lights up, grinning at Jiang Cheng. “Thank you, A-Cheng!”

“I have to clean up first,” Jiang Cheng says. Their sister frowns, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“It’s already been cleaned,” she says. “It’s not of good character to lie, A-Cheng.”

“How was I supposed to know?” Jiang Cheng protests. “I haven’t been back since last night!”

She stills, tilting her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“You said I wasn’t allowed to go back until Gege was found,” Jiang Cheng reminds her. Their sister’s face freezes, and Jiang Cheng has the feeling that something is very, very wrong.

“You didn’t go back?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Her face falls, lips pursing together as her eyes fill with tears. “Oh A-Cheng, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“What’s wrong?” their brother asks, tugging on their sister’s sleeve. Jiang Cheng shrugs.

She doesn’t get the change to respond, because it’s then that the door to their father’s study opens, and they’re greeted by the sight of him.

“A-Cheng,” he says. His volume is quiet, but his tone is dangerous, and Jiang Cheng is only eight, but past experience has told him to never anger his father.

And right now, he sounds furious.

“Good morning, A-Die.”

“Come with me,” he says, nodding to Jiang Cheng’s siblings. “Good morning, you two.”

“Hello Sect Leader!” his brother says.

“I told you to call me Uncle, A-Ying,” their father laughs. Jiang Cheng has never heard his father laugh before. It leaves a funny feeling in his stomach, like overhearing a secret not meant for him. “I’ll sort this issue out for you, okay?”

“What?” Jiang Cheng asks. It’s all he’s able to do before being dragging inside. He stands before their father as he sits down, looking at Jiang Cheng from above, like a monarch staring at his disobedient servant.

“Your sister told me what happened last night,” he starts, the quiet fury filling the room with a sense of dread. Suddenly, Jiang Cheng understands why his sister seemed so apologetic.

He receives ten lashes, the cuts on his legs further stimulated. His siblings accompany him as he goes to receive his punishment, faces drained of blood as his spills out on the floor. Despite the pleas of his sister and the cries of his brother to “stop, what are you doing to him!?”, Jiang Cheng’s punishment is delivered efficiently, each strike digging into him.

He receives his punishment silently; the voices of his siblings were enough for all three of them. They aren’t there when it’s over, having run off to go find their father. His mother reaches him first, wrapping him up in her arms and taking him back to her room, the one she doesn’t share with his father.

She tends to his injuries, scowling when she finds bruises a whip can’t form. “You will not get injured for his sake in the future.”

“But you said that one should protect their family,” Jiang Cheng says. It seems as if he’s the only one who remembers what anyone around here says.

“He is not family.” His mother’s expression is ugly, and there is a glint in her eye that is wild and particularly vicious.

“Because he’s not a Jiang?”

“I am not a Jiang,” she snaps. “He is not family because he’s a street rat, and we don’t associate with vermin.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t think his brother is all that bad, but he knows his mother is not in the mood to hear his thoughts. She usually isn’t, so he doesn’t let it bother him. “A-Niang, why are you not a Jiang?”

“Jiang’s are soft,” she sneers. “Impossible to deal with. Your father and your sister, the two of them, prime examples of people who let their emotions claw down their logic, if they even had some in the first place.”

“Then what am I?” Jiang Cheng asks.

His mother looks at Jiang Cheng, sitting on her bed, his bandaged legs swinging back and forth. Her eyes soften for a moment before going sharp, and she turns her head, looking away from him. “You are his mistake.”

Jiang Cheng is eight, and unwanted.

- - - -

“Da-ge.”

“Da-ge.”

“Da-ge!”

“What,” he groans, looking down at his little brother, who giggles before scampering up onto his bed. “You think it’s funny to disturb your brother’s rest?”

“Yes!” his brother chirps. Nie Mingjue scowls, picking up his brother and dropping him onto the space next to him. His brother lands with a squeal, flopping onto the soft fabric.

“Da-ge, I want a didi,” he says, banging on Nie Mingjue’s chest. Nie Mingjue swats his hands away, but that only leads to his ears getting pulled.

“Go ask your dad.”

“He said to ask you!”

“Well I’m not the one who can give you a didi,” Nie Mingjue grumbles. “What brought this on?”

“A-Sang doesn’t want to be the littlest anymore.”

“Too bad.”

“Da-ge!”

“Shut up, I’m trying to sleep.” He turns over, ignoring the fac that his brother was now climbing onto his back, bringing his hands down to violently shake his shoulders.

How was he supposed to find a new brother anyways? Unless one came barreling into their arms, there’s no way it was going to happen. Huaisang would just have to put up with being the youngest.

Sensing that the soft punches to his back had stopped, Nie Mingjue lifts his head, craning his neck to find his brother had started to drift off, hands now clasping bunched up handfuls of his robes instead. Nie Mingjue snorts, shifting his back to his brother slides off to the side. As he settles back into his bed, his brother leans his head into chest, hand grasping his pinky.

“Another didi, Da-ge, imagine it…” he mumbles half consciously, snuggling into the pillow below them.

Nie Mingjue hums, pulling his brother closer. He can hear the soft breaths even out, turning into light puffs of air as his brother slowly falls asleep.

Another one of these wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks before drifting off himself. They would have to be better behaved than Huaisang, though, because there way no way he could raise two of those without balding prematurely.

Yes, the idea didn’t seem so bad.

Chapter Text

These days, Lotus Pier is quiet.

Of course, that’s not exactly true; the atmosphere was as lively as ever, perhaps even more so now that the Jiang clan had a new ward. Peals of childish laughter could be heard throughout the streets, carrying down long, winding roads and lighting up even the darkest of alleyways.

No, perhaps a more accurate statement would be to say that Jiang Cheng is quiet, had gone quiet. For all his mother likes to scold him for his incompetence, Jiang Cheng is smart enough to know when to make himself disappear. It’s easy: all it takes is for his brother to step ahead of him, and it’s like Jiang Cheng was never there.

Recently, he hasn’t even had the need to do that; the Jiang son is able to slip away at a moment’s notice, everyone around him none the wiser. Consciously, he attributes it to his increase in cultivation, but remember, Jiang Cheng is smart.

He knows he is simply a ghost, haunting the corners of a place he once called home, waiting for the day he inevitably gets too bothersome to keep ignoring, and will thus be exorcised.

Except, this is still his home, isn’t it? It has been such since the day he was brought into this world screaming, since the day his brother came home to them, quiet, but eager to adapt. After all, his family is here: Fuqin, Muqin, Jiejie, Gege. They are his, and he is theirs.

Only, they aren’t really, not in name, nor in blood, nor in heart. They are his family because Jiang Cheng wishes they would be, but the whispers of a child are often ignored for louder forces. It’s alright; Jiang Cheng is used to being ignored.

He wishes he were still ignored, rather than the current situation he’s found himself in. Jiang Cheng was right: his brother cannot make soup, but he can tumble around in the docks with Jiang Cheng. It’s all in good fun, except sometimes he pushes Gege a bit too hard, or his words bite a bit too deep, and that’s when their father steps in.

Sometimes, Jiang Cheng doesn’t want to think of their father as family. It would make the process less painful.

“I didn’t mean to do it!” Jiang Cheng protests. Behind him, his brother clutches his arm, the bruises on his arm a deep purple. Some days, his brother wears more purple than him; of course, if they included bruises, then Jiang Cheng definitely won.

“This behavior is unacceptable!” their father barks, tightening his grip on Jiang Cheng’s wrist. It’s already thinner than normal— Jiang Cheng has been skipping dinner as punishment— and he always grabs it in the same way, leaving his handprint to stain Jiang Cheng’s skin, like a shackle wrapped around his wrist, preventing his escape.

By now, his brother is long gone, rushed away by attendants on the behalf of his father. These are not things a child should see. There is irony, perhaps, in the fact that the hand that shields is also the claw it is blocking from view, but the poetry of circumstances never seemed to click with Jiang Cheng.

“A-Die—”

“You will refer to me properly!” Their father yanks Jiang Cheng onto the middle of a wooden platform he has long since grown familiar with. Jiang Cheng kneels automatically, knowing that if he doesn’t comply, things will be that much worse. “I am tired of you not knowing how to respect your elders.”

“I really didn’t mean to hurt Wei-gege!” Jiang Cheng says. Truly, he doesn’t. It’s just that his brother is kinder than him, and the brightest person he knows, and so, so loved, and Jiang Cheng is there trying to compete with him and maybe he uses more of his strength than he should sometimes but if anything, that only benefits his brother and harms him, so why would Jiang Cheng do that on purpose?

“It doesn’t matter what your intent want,” their father says. His body looms over Jiang Cheng’s; it’s as if it has stretched up and around, caging him in. “You must now face the consequences of your action. Take this time to reflect upon yourself, and on what it is that has made you so disobedient.”

He leaves without giving the elders the signal to start, but at this point, there is no need. It is an old routine for them, one in which Jiang Cheng knows his role very well.

As the cracks of the whip start to rain down on his back, Jiang Cheng grits his teeth, honing on the wood grains on the floor in front of him. Splotches of it are darker than the rest, his blood having soaked into it from previous experiences.

Jiang Cheng follows the grain across each panel, pretending it is a long road he is traveling through. Perhaps he is a wandering cultivator, visiting each sect.

He starts his journey in Lotus Pier, but quickly moves past time, traveling along a fairly straight grain to the Yu sect. He stops by to say hi to his mother’s relatives, except his mother isn’t his mother, because Jiang Cheng is a wandering cultivator with no ties to the Jiang clan.

No matter, the Yu sect is friendly enough to him anyway, and send him off the path of another to the Cloud Recesses. The Lans are boring, but upright, and they would surely never whip a child. Jiang Cheng stays for a while at the Cloud Recesses.

He makes his way to Lanling Jin, and Qinghe Nie, and Qishan Wen and—

Jiang Cheng passes out.

This too, is part of the routine.

- - - -

He wakes up to his mother’s frowning face, which deepens once she’s aware that he is conscious. She stands up, giving Jiang Cheng ample space to lift himself up. His arms tremble; they are sore, and the bandages wrapped around them signal to him that the whips had strayed farther than just his back this time.

“Pathetic brat,” his mother sneers. “When will you learn not to bother him?”

“But he was the one who wanted to play!” Jiang Cheng protests. His mother scowls, her painted lips dark and pursed. Jiang Cheng’s never seen her without her face painted; she is always neat and presentable, seemingly separated from the rest of the residents of Lotus Pier. Or perhaps that was just her nature; different, in a place she was supposed to call home.

Recently, Jiang Cheng feels like his mother is the one he’s closest to.

“Anytime you two interact will inevitably lead to your doom,” she says. “Since the sect leader refuses to throw that street rat out, you will have to be the one to avoid him.”

“But I like Wei-gege.”

“He is not your brother,” she hisses, reaching out a hand to pinch his ear. Her nails dig into his skin, but it does not break. Unlike Jiang Cheng, his mother knows how to reign in her strength when necessary. “That rat will never be a Jiang, so long as I control this household.”

His mother has long since lost control over his brother— all that is handled by their father, who spoils him rotten— but Jiang Cheng will agree with her, if only to make peace.

There is a delicate knock at the door, and a servant walks in, bowing down her head. “Madame Jiang.”

“Madame Yu,” his mother corrects. She narrows her eyes, raking them over the newcomer’s frame before scoffing. The attendant flinches, trembling hands gripping onto the sides of her robes. “You will refer to me as Madame Yu, or you will you return home this instant.”

“Mad— Madame Yu!” she stutters. Jiang Cheng’s mother nods, flicking a sleeve out to point at the door.

“Leave a basin of warm water at the entrance,” she says. “And do not disturb me again.”

“Ye— yes, Madame!”

“Now,” she snaps, watching as the servant scurries away. Jiang Cheng tilts his head, wrinkling his nose when he feels the scab on his neck shift slightly.

“Muqin,” he says. “Why are you not Madame Jiang?”

“I’ve already told you, stupid boy,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Jiang’s are weak, and soft, a bunch of fools who do not know their place. I am a Yu. The only Jiang part of me is that ignorant father of yours I married.”

Jiang Cheng is silent for a while. His mother does not seem to mind; he usually goes a bit quiet every time he wakes up, and she has been the first person his eyes open to for quite some time now.

“Muqin,” he calls again. “I don’t think I want to be a Jiang.”

Instantly, her hand is on his cheek, slapping it, causing whiplash against Jiang Cheng’s face. The blow stings, but it is all but a soft caress compared to his other wounds. “Do not say such words!”

“But Muq—”

“You think you have a choice?” she asks. Her volume is low, so as not to alert anyone nearby, but the words seemed to be screamed into his ears, drilling themselves into his head. “You think you are able to choose? You were born a Jiang, and you will die a Jiang, do you understand?”

Jiang Cheng takes in a breath, the air cooling his mouth. “I understand, Muqin.”

He doesn’t.

What he does know, however, is that harsh as she is, it is now his mother who loves him the most. Not his father, not his brother, not even his sister could compare.

So he shuts his mouth, and he obeys.

- - - -

His stomach grumbles; Jiang Cheng is always hungry after being punished, but right now he doesn’t feel like he can digest much. Perhaps a light broth or soup, but the only one who knows how to make soup the way he likes it currently wants nothing to do with him.

It’s Jiang Cheng’s fault; he’s been nothing but mean to their new brother, who their sister has adored since the very first day. Jiang Cheng knows this, each step their timid sister took into the night to find their brother solidifying their relationship as loving siblings, a bond Jiang Cheng finds himself growing farther and farther apart from every day.

He still loves his sister; Jiejie is kind, and even though she hasn’t spoken to him for weeks she sometimes brings him water to drink, and bread to eat. Jiang Cheng will apologize for his mistakes one day, and beg for her forgiveness.

Just once he feels strong enough to do so.

Jiang Cheng hasn’t crossed paths with his sister in a while; the last time he saw her was about a week ago, when they bumped into each other in the hallway. She hasn’t visited him recently either, though it might be because she’s been busy with the preparations.

Throughout the past few months, Jiang Cheng has been waiting for one day. He’s been holding onto hope that soon, things will change. Each whip, each bruise, each scar left on his body won’t matter, because he’ll reunite his family, and everyone can be happy again.

This day will be when he gains enough courage to own up to his mistakes and apologize, and make amends with their brother. This day will give him strength, because it is his alone, and there is nothing that can be changed about that, no matter how much their father would like him to share.

It’s only natural that their sister was busy, then; after all, his birthday was coming up very soon.

- - - -

Jiang Cheng is nine.

It is his ninth birthday.

Jiang Cheng is nine, and it is his birthday, and today was supposed to be the day everything got fixed, except it hasn’t. It hasn’t, and Jiang Cheng is hiding away in his room, ear pressed to the door as he listens to the cheer and celebration coming from the other side.

Festivities, not for him, but for his brother, whose birthday was nearly a week ago.

Their father had insisted on a big celebration for his brother’s first birthday at Lotus Pier; his mother had protested, of course, but was quickly rejected. She has been away, visiting her home sect ever since the celebrations started.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what to do anymore. Today was supposed to be his day, but nothing was going right, and he hasn’t even seen anyone all day, save for the attendants that came to wake him and his brother up.

He was supposed to feel strong today, but right now all he feels is tired, and so very helpless. It’s as if nothing he does is good enough, like his entire existence was a sin upon the world.

All Jiang Cheng wanted was his family back, to make them happy again.

Now, listening in on the cries of joy and laughter echoing through the halls, he finally understands that they already were happy. He was the outlier.

Perhaps he was as incompetent as his mother said.

He might feel strong again next year, but who’s to say they won’t be celebrating his brother on his birthday again? And Jiang Cheng doesn’t want to go through another year of being a ghost in his own home.

…This wasn’t home anymore, was it? No, not since he had forgotten the sound of his sister's voice, replaced instead by the snap of leather against wood.

Jiang Cheng stands up. He takes a step forward, pushing open the door. It’s dark out, but the night sky is lit up by numerous lanterns shining throughout Lotus Pier. He follows them to the gate, stepping away from the sect and into the town.

He’s played this game numerous times before; a wandering cultivator, starting off from the Jiang sect and making his way across the lands. Jiang Cheng follows the long, winding roads, all the way to the edge of town.

Before him lays vast open land, filled with dangerous beings, and countless unknowns. Behind him, a house he can no longer return to.

Jiang Cheng knows what he has to do.

He wants to look back, but what is there to reflect upon? A lifetime of being unwanted? The house in which he was born a mistake? A collection of people he so desperately wished would love, if not at the very least, like him?

He runs, and runs, and runs. There is a star in the sky, a single piece of light not lit for his brother. He chases after it, recalling its name from one of his lessons.

Beijixing. The star of the North Pole. Jiang Cheng follows, heading north, up and away from Yunmeng Jiang. He doesn’t know what awaits him, but he won’t stop until his legs won’t let him run and his arms won’t let him crawl, until he gets as far away as he can.

Happy birthday to him.

Chapter Text

The North Star waves goodbye, replaced by the morning sun that, while illuminating, provides him no direction. That’s alright; Jiang Cheng marks the direction he travels in by dragging sticks through the dirt, the shallow valley it leaves behind pointing him the right way.

It allows him to continue running throughout the day, sticking close to the roads but never fully relying on them. He wants to go north, and the twists and turns on the dirt paths will throw him off. Following just close enough, though, allows him to pass by towns and villages, not that he can do much.

Jiang Cheng still wears the purple robes of a Yunmeng Jiang sect member. It is the only piece of clothing he owns, and what has been keeping him warm throughout the night, so he doesn’t dare shed it, no matter how torn and dirty it gets. The bandages his mother had wrapped on him, though, had been shredded as soon as they were infested with dirt; his wounds are open and sting, but it is better than an infection.

With his messy appearance and ripped clothes, it is easy to blend in with the other kids on the street, running around the stalls and legs of passersby. He doesn’t stop to speak with them, too busy running, and too scared of being found out. By now, he must have left the Jiang territory, but his robes are still purple, and Jiang Cheng can’t go back, won’t go back.

He stuffs his mouth with grass from the fields and rotting fruits dropped into the corners of stalls, and wonders if this is what Wei Ying had to go through while on the streets. He’s glad, then, that he found a home in Lotus Pier, with Jiang Yanli and Jiang Fengmian.

His mother will be a challenge, but Wei Ying was smart; he’d find some way to either charm or avoid her.

Jiang Cheng ducks his head, his hair blowing around his amidst the violent breeze. While his hair has always been long, it’s never been loose like it is now, but he’s glad it is; the long strands help block the cold from his neck, and his ribbon has been repurposed into a belt, keeping his robes from falling off him.

His clarity bell, the one that marked him as a Jiang disciple, had never been with him; it had been confiscated months ago by Jiang Fengmian after an incident where Wei Ying had fallen into the lakes by the pier. Jiang Cheng misses it in the way one misses a distant relative; he grieves out of respect, but has long since forgotten the twinkling chimes it made.

His mother never had one on her either, much preferring her silver and violet ring. It was yet another similarity that brought them together; Jiang Cheng took solace in the fact that he wasn’t alone.

Perhaps if she hadn’t left, he wouldn’t have either.

”Muqin, where are you going?”

“To visit family. I’ll come back when this ridiculous mess is over.”

“Can I come?”

“What do you think, insolent brat? Have you lost your mind?”

“Will you be back soon?”

“Tell that father of yours to stop acting so ridiculous and we’ll see.”

It is no matter now; Jiang Cheng is farther away than he’s ever been, and he continues to trudge on, dragging his aching body forward with one small step after another. His bones scream at him to stop, ripping at his skin from the inside, but Jiang Cheng won’t, not until he’s fully unconscious, till even his mind can’t hold on any longer.

That day seems to be coming at any moment now. One way Jiang Cheng knows that he’s made it out is with the change of weather; the air in Lotus Pier was never this dry. Winter was nearly here, or perhaps it had already arrived; the days seemed to pass by with no real semblance, and even the darkening and illumination of the sky couldn’t help him keep track.

Jiang Cheng has no real set goal, but the North Star is his constant companion, returning to him ever so loyally, watching over him like a guard dog. He, in turn, chases after it like a devoted follower worshipping his god, basking in the glow it reflects. It is comforting, knowing the sky won’t change, that the stars above him are the ones that have been above him, and will be above him until he takes his final glance up.

It is not so bad, to be alone up north; his hair is tangled and matted, his clothes are all but loose threads, and every day his legs threaten to give out under him and his stomach to gnaw at itself till it finally feels full, but Jiang Cheng is free, and could almost forget the sting of leather against his back.

Almost.

One night, he stumbles upon something new. The air, whose dry and windy breath Jiang Cheng could identify at a moment’s touch, had shifted. It felt heavier, and when he breathed in, he almost seemed to choke on it.

Jiang Cheng coughs, pressing a fist to his chest as he continues to make wet hacking noises. He stumbles, falling onto the ground, the small rocks pressing into his skin, leaving indents on his cheeks and temples.

The air continues to suffocate him, and Jiang Cheng, whose lungs did not currently have the energy to adapt to the new environment, began to struggle.

“Hey! Are you okay?”

The voice is rough, and deep, like an avalanche sliding down into a dark valley. Jiang Cheng cannot muster the strength to lift his head, but he tries his best to pull his eyes to the side in order to get a glimpse of the person who called out.

He does not have to wonder for very long; they approach him, hands much larger than his own gripping his shoulders. Jiang Cheng wearily blinks at them, his eyes stinging from a lack of moisture.

There is no recollection of this man in his memories, but the robes he wears are enough for Jiang Cheng to start struggling in his hold: they are grey and gold, but more importantly, the symbol he has around his waist is familiar to Jiang Cheng.

“No, no!” he cries, trying to break free of the cultivator’s grip. He had to have known, one look at Jiang Cheng’s robes was all it would take, and then he would send him back, and Jiang Cheng won’t, he won’t--

“Let go of me!”

“What’s wrong?” the cultivator asks. Jiang Cheng squeezes his eyes shut; it feels as if his head is evaporating, and all the sudden movement has made him lightheaded, but he doesn’t stop.

“You can’t take me back!” Jiang Cheng screams. His throat is sore, and his voice hoarse, but he raises his voice as loud as it’ll go. “I won’t return! No, no--”

He feels even airier now, and despite his eyes being shut, it's as if he can see the world around him spinning, around and around, filling him with nausea. His arms won’t cooperate, and his legs feel too heavy to lift, but Jiang Cheng tries anyways, resulting in his body weakly squirming about, like a fish that’s been out of water for a bit too long.

“I’m not trying to hurt you!” the cultivator says, and one of his hands moves up to press against Jiang Cheng’s forehead, the palm cool to the touch. It does mean that only one hand is supporting him, and Jiang Cheng tilts to that side, unable to hold himself up any longer.

“I think you have a fever,” the cultivator murmurs, and in one single motion, Jiang Cheng is off the ground and in the other man’s arms. The shift in height is too much, and Jiang Cheng can feel bile trying to make its way up his throat, gagging on the liquid.

“Woa-- woah!” The cultivator shifts his hold to place a hand behind Jiang Cheng’s head as it drops, his skull throbbing with pain. “Easy there, don’t injure yourself further!”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t fully hear what he says, because he was quickly losing consciousness, but he wouldn’t have been able to follow the advice anyways; he has a feeling that passing out wasn’t too beneficial for his health.

Up in the sky, the winking North Star is the last thing he sees before everything goes dark.

Chapter Text

When Jiang Cheng wakes up, he is laying on a bed he does not recognize, in a room he has never seen before. His robes are the same as they were before, so the splotches of blood and dirt staining the sheets no doubt must be from him.

For a moment, Jiang Cheng has visions of his mother, standing by his bed, her lips pursed and eyes displeased. But he blinks, and he is alone, in unfamiliar territory.

He knows where he is, vaguely; the cultivator who picked him up no doubt brought him back to his own sect, which means he was in Impure Realm, in the Qinghe Nie sect. Jiang Cheng tries to remember where that is in relation to Lotus Pier, but all he can come up with is far away, and the thought makes him giddy, so he doesn’t focus on specifics.

The room is nice but bare; there is no life in its wall, no details to suggest that anyone has been inside. Jiang Cheng presses a hand into the mattress; it scrunches up the sheets, leaving a shallow indent behind.

“You’re awake?”

Jiang Cheng lifts his head, blinking up at the cultivator standing at the door. The man-- no, the teenager, because he couldn’t have possibly been any older than Jiang Yanli-- stares back at him, sharp eyes seemingly piercing through Jiang Cheng.

Immediately, Jiang Cheng grabs the covers, pulling them up over his body as he backs into the headboard of the bed, the wood pressing against the back of his head, digging into his skull.

Only the mind of a child would believe in the thought that their inability to see meant others also couldn’t see them, but there was nothing else he could do. He pulls the covers over his head, surrounding himself with fur and wool.

“...Okay.” Jiang Cheng hears the shuffling of footsteps get closer, heavy footsteps resonating through the wood. He feels the blanket start to lift, and in a desperate attempt to remain hidden, Jiang Cheng tightens his grip, trying to yank it back down. All it results in is him being lifted up with the blankets as well.

He comes face to face with the cultivator, their noses mere centimeters away. Jiang Cheng tries to lean back but is stuck swinging his body through the air. Noticing his discomfort, the cultivator sets him back down, placing the blanket over his lap.

“Hello,” the stranger greets. “Are you lost? You’re from Yunmeng Jiang, correct?”

Jiang Cheng shakes his head, hair flying over his face. The cultivator frowns, hand gesturing to the purple fabric still draped over him.

“Well, you must be from somewhere nearby,” he says. “Do you remember what town you live in? I’m to go on a night hunt with some Jiang disciples anyways, so I can drop you off.”

“No!” Jiang Cheng cries, panic seizing his body. It shocks him, freezing each nerve in his body so that he is unable to move. If the cultivator wanted to, he could easily pick Jiang Cheng up and do as he said he would.

Jiang Cheng has never wished for anything less in his life.

“You can’t make me go back,” he says, chest rising up and down more rapidly. “I’m not going, I’m not going!”

There was nothing but a bitter life of resentment and jealously at the end of that road, he just knows it. He was going to grow up alone, inheriting a sect that would have belonged more to Wei Ying than it would him; growing into the role of his mother, false power and false position and false love, a lifetime of lies meant to guarantee happiness that was never going to come.

“Please,” Jiang Cheng pleads, desperation ringing through his voice. “I can-- I can do work for you! Don’t send me back, I promise I can be useful, I’m literate and I can almost harness spiritual energy, you could make me a servant, I can handle physical hardship--”

“I’m not going to do that,” the cultivator frowns, placing a hand on Jiang Cheng’s arm. Jiang Cheng is unable to do anything, simply watching as the cultivator lifts up his arm, examining it as one would examine a carcass. “Besides, you’re much too frail to be doing any physical labor.”

“I can do something else,” Jiang Cheng offers. He’d do anything, anything, to not be returned, dropped off at the front of Lotus Pier like a runaway pet. “I can organize scrolls, or grind ink, or work in the kitchen. I can be helpful!”

“What’s wrong with you?” the cultivator asks. “Don’t you want to see your parents again?”

Jiang Cheng shrinks into himself, back curling as he draws his shoulders in. He knew that normal children loved their family, would cry if they were this far from home, away from their mother and father, sister and brother.

But Jiang Cheng was himself, and no one else, and the thought of facing Lotus Pier once more made his stomach turn over and his throat clog up.

“No,” he mumbles.

“Are your parents dead?” the cultivator presses, his tone stark. “Do you live with relatives? Any guardians?”

“I-- I don’t,” Jiang Cheng stutters. He doesn’t know how to explain, how to tell the cultivator that everyone was alive, he just chose not to return. That he had a good family, that it was him who was dissatisfied. “They don’t-- there’s no--”

“Da-ge?”

At the doorway, a small head peaks through, hands clutching the arch as he looks into the room, eyes flickering to Jiang Cheng for a moment before settling on the cultivator. “Who’s that?”

“I told you to stay in your room, A-Sang,” the cultivator says. The boy ignores him, stepping into the room and standing at the end of Jiang Cheng’s bed, lifting himself up on his feet to lift his head over the frame.

“Hello,” the boy says, much like the cultivator, his brother, has said. Jiang Cheng stares at him, the hands in his lap finding the sheets to hold onto them once more.

“Hello,” he returns. The boy smiles, dashing over to his brother’s side, and therefore to Jiang Cheng’s side.

“My name is A-Sang!” he says. “This is my da-ge! I bet he didn’t tell you his name, did he? Da-ge’s not good at meeting new people.”

“I don’t see the point in telling him,” the cultivator grumbles, no doubt ashamed at being scolded by his younger brother. “He’s going to be leaving soon; my name isn’t necessary for completing that goal.”

“No!” Jiang Cheng straightens up as best he can, trying to make his face as stern as possible, He presses his lips tightly together, pulling them into a straight line. “I-- I won’t go!”

“You’re scaring him, Da-ge,” the boy observes. “It’s because your voice is so frightening.”

“I’m not frightening,” the cultivator protests, knuckles rubbing into the hair of his brother. “We need to send him back home.”

“Well he obviously doesn’t want to go,” the boy argues. “Isn’t that right?”

He looks up at Jiang Cheng, who frantically nods, head bobbing up and down. The cultivator sighs and is about to respond when someone else appears at the door, head bowed down.

“Nie-gongzi,” the servant says. “Your presence has been requested by your father.”

“Doesn’t he know I’m busy?” the cultivator grumbles. Nevertheless, he makes his way to the door, turning back only once to glare at his brother. “Don’t cause trouble.”

“I never do that!” the boy chirps. As soon as the two are gone, he turns to Jiang Cheng, a wide grin on his face. “Can I sit next to you?”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t understand why, but he scoots over nonetheless, allowing the boy to scramble up the bed, plopping down next to Jiang Cheng, their arms brushing against each other. Jiang Cheng glances at the boy from the corner of his eyes and decides to shift over his blanket so that half is draped over the other’s legs.

“Thank you!” the boy grins. “So what’s your name?”

“I--” It seems that today has not blessed Jiang Cheng with the gift of eloquence, or even simple speech.

He has a name, of course, but he’s been using it more out of the sheer need to have an identity, rather than any particular attachment to it. Lotus Pier is not his home, and the Yunmeng Jiang sect did not have any disciples who did not own clarity bells. But who was he, if not Jiang Cheng, the unwanted son of Jiang Fengmian?

“It’s okay,” the boy says, patting his shoulder. Jiang Cheng looks at his hand; the fingers were small and thin, like they were meant for holding a paintbrush rather than a sword. “I’ll just call you Didi for now!”

“...Huh?” Surely there was no way this boy was older than him. Not only was he physically smaller than Jiang Cheng, but he also seemed more naive as well, like a newly birthed songbird.

“You can just call me Gege,” the boy says. He leans in, as if conspiring with Jiang Cheng, whispering to him words that must be kept secret from others. “I asked Da-ge for another brother, but he told me to ask our dad, who told me to ask Da-ge. I know what they trying to do!”

“You…do?”

“They think that if they make me go in circles nothing will happen,” the boy huffs. “Do I look incompetent to you?”

“No?”

“Exactly!” The boy grumbles a few more words under his breath, pounding his fist into the blankets. Jiang Cheng watches on in morbid fascination, unable to draw his eyes away. The boy eventually moves to that his hand is on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, still rapidly moving up and down, now in patting motions.

“It didn’t even work,” he sniffs. “Now that you’re here, and you don’t want to go, and I don’t want you to go, they can’t stop me!”

“Really?” Jiang Cheng asks, nearly stumbling over his own tongue in his haste to get the words out. “I can stay?”

“Of course you can stay.”

“But… but Nie-gongzi said that…”

“Didi, let me tell you something,” the boy says. “Da-ge has some silly ideas that he likes to follow. He thinks that taking you back would make you feel happy, but I know better.”

“He’s not very smart,” the boy continues, shaking his head. His tone is grave, as if coming to terms with an unpleasant statement. “You and I are going to have to make up for his lack of intelligence.”

“I’m not that smart either,” Jiang Cheng admits. Wei Ying was always better than him in class; he was a genius in the making, while Jiang Cheng was always lagging behind, trying to make sense of the flurry of ideas and knowledge Wei Ying left in his wake.

“It’s okay, I’ll teach you,” The boy comforts him, rubbing his shoulder. Jiang Cheng nods, collarbone relaxing as he accepts the touch. “Da-ge is a hopeless case, but since I’m your older brother, you don’t need to worry about anything.”

This boy was definitely strange. Jiang Cheng quietly listens as he prattles on about all the classes he was made to take by his brother, the saber training and cultivation drills he kept avoiding, how he much preferred to wield the fans decorating his bedroom walls rather than any silly sword.

Yes, he was strange, but comforting, as much as a child could be to another child, anyway. He kept patting Jiang Cheng, starting from his shoulder but eventually moving to his head, a gentler motion that still paralleled the way his brother scruffed up his hair with his knuckles. Jiang Cheng learns not to be scared of it, even leaning into the touch on some occasions.

He finds himself drifting off, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head to the side, dropping it down. A hand reaches up and guides it the opposite way, pulling it onto the boy’s shoulder. All the while, he continues talking, leaving no indication that he had even moved his arm at all.

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, falling asleep to the sound of ceaseless talking. It was a new experience, but he likes it: a life so vastly different from the one he used to have.

It would be nice if they were actually brothers, Jiang Cheng thinks, him and this strange boy. He’s never particularly wanted a brother, especially not after everything that’s happened, but perhaps it’s not always so bad.

- - - -

“Didi, Didi,” a voice calls out to him, gently shaking him awake. “Didi, Da-ge is back.”

Jiang Cheng scrunches up his nose, blinking open his eyes. The boy is still by his side, standing up on his knees as he wakes Jiang Cheng up. The cultivator is leaning against the wall across from them, arms crossed.

“Didn’t I tell you to not cause trouble, A-Sang?” he says, frowning. “Why are you disturbing him? No-- did you just call him Didi?”

“What did Baba say?” the boy asks, ignoring his brother’s questions. The cultivator scowls, eyes darkening like the clouds on a stormy day.

“The night hunt's been canceled,” he says. “Jiang-zongzhu’s son has disappeared. It was discovered by his wife last night.”

“Oh,” the boy says, frowning. He settles in next to Jiang Cheng, who is staring up at the cultivator with wide eyes, unable to move. “Are they going to look for him?”

“According to Jiang-furen, it’s possible he went missing weeks ago,” the cultivator says, shaking his head. “Jiang-zongzhu has declared him dead.”

Dead. Jiang Cheng was dead. Except he wasn’t, he was in the Impure Realm, hands trembling under the blanket as he wills himself not to react.

He hopes they grieve him. He hopes they burn him lots of paper money, that they dress themselves in white, that every year they’ll come and sweep his tomb. He hopes that he is missed, and remembered fondly, and thought of whenever a stray dog barks in the street.

He knows better.

“If he went missing weeks ago, wouldn’t someone have found out earlier?” the boy asks. He places a hand over Jiang Cheng’s, hidden from his brother’s view. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” the cultivator says. His eyes drift over to Jiang Cheng, roaming over his face and torso. They pierce through him, as if peeling back his skin to pull out his soul, examining it with careful glances.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what to do. He finds himself unable to meet the cultivator’s gaze, turning instead to the boy, who was frowning to himself. “I’m hungry.”

“Hungry?” The boy nods, a grin appearing as he looks at Jiang Cheng. “A-Sang will go find some snacks for Didi!”

“Before you do,” the cultivator interrupts, holding a hand up. “Do you want to explain yourself?”

“Nope!” the boy says, hopping off the bed. It is suddenly colder, and Jiang Cheng wraps the blanket tighter around himself, the covers entirely his now that the boy was standing in front of the cultivator, tugging on his robes.

“Let me out!” he whines, grabbing fistfuls of fabric and yanking down. The cultivator looks unimpressed, turning the boy around to face Jiang Cheng.

“What’s going on?”

“That’s my brother, obviously,” the boy says, rolling his eyes. “Da-ge, you’re so stupid sometimes.”

The cultivator taps him on his head, causing the boy to let out a whine of protest. “You don’t have a younger brother.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually,” the cultivator scowls. He opens the door with the back of his heel, shoving his brother outside. “Whatever. Go get him some congee. No sweets.”

“But Da-ge! Da-ge, Da-ge, don’t shut the door on me--”

The cultivator shuts the door.

“Sorry about A-Sang,” he apologizes, scratching the back of his head. “He’s been talking nonstop about wanting a younger brother.”

“It’s okay…” Jiang Cheng mumbles, perhaps the first thing he’s said to the cultivator that was a plea or protest. He looks down at his lap, hair blocking his face from view. “He’s nice.”

“Sometimes,” the cultivator agrees. He steps forward, kneeling down at the side of Jiang Cheng’s bed. “So, Didi, what’s your name?”

Jiang Cheng shakes his head. The cultivator hums, raising his hand to lift up Jiang Cheng’s hair. He uses his free hand to feel for Jiang Cheng’s temperature, the palm warm against his forehead, rough callouses on the fingers rubbing against his skin.

“At least you don’t have a fever anymore,” he sighs in relief. “My name is Nie Mingjue. Now, what should we call you?”

Jiang Cheng looks out the window behind Nie Mingjue. It is bright out, the North Star hidden until night returns once more.

“The bright moon clears the shadow,” he says.

“And the constellations are mixed,” Nie Mingjue finishes for him. Jiang Cheng huffs. He had been lied to, then; Nie Mingjue was nowhere near as stupid as his brother made him out to be. “A-Cheng--”

Jiang Cheng flinches, shaking his head. He doesn’t like that, not at all. It reminds him of something haunted, an old taboo that’s been passed down from elder to youth. There was an edge of happiness, like the excitement that comes from breaking the rules, but it was vastly overshadowed by fear stemming from the same source. It was complicated, and Jiang Cheng didn’t want it.

“Xiao Cheng,” Nie Mingjue corrects. “Can I call you that?”

He nods, letting out a quiet puff of air as Nie Mingjue rubs the top of his head. The force is strong, but not violent; weighted, but not crushing.

“Xiao Cheng,” Nie Mingjue says, smiling. “Let’s get you out of those robes. Tell me: have you ever worn grey before? You’re going to love it.”

Chapter Text

Nie Mingjue is tall.

Even as a teen, he looms over Xiao Cheng, towering over him like a large pillar, sturdy and unshakable. Xiao Cheng, though he knows Nie Mingjue wishes him no harm, cannot help but be reminded of the way Jiang Fengmian would stand over him, their height difference further exaggerated through Xiao Cheng being forced onto his knees.

“Here,” Nie Mingjue says, handing him a bundle of clothes. The fabric is soft but stiff: high quality, but unused. Xiao Cheng runs his hand over the top, marveling at the way his skin looks pressed against the warm greys.

A privacy screen gets brought into the room, and Xiao Cheng ducks behind it, tugging off his tattered robes. They get dropped onto the floor beside him, and the cool air hits his back, leaving Xiao Cheng to let out a quiet sneeze.

By now, his injuries have all scarred over; they have not healed in the most suitable conditions, but at the very least, there were no infections. Xiao Cheng puts on his clothes with haste, not wanting to further expose his skin to the chill.

He looks past the screen, hands gripping the edge as his eyes meet Nie Mingjue’s, who beckons him out with the flick of a hand.

“Let’s see how they look,” he says. Xiao Cheng steps out from the barrier separating them, tugging on the large sleeves. The length of the robes is correct, but they hang off his frame, extra fabric dangling at the ends. It feels too big, though meant to fit a child his height.

Nie Mingjue frowns, and Xiao Cheng has the sudden flash of fear that he has done something wrong again, that his robes were going to be taken away, that he was going to be sent back—

But Nie Mingjue simply kneels down and places a hand atop Xiao Cheng’s head. They are the same height now, and Xiao Cheng no longer needs to crane his neck to look. If anything, his head is turned down, blinking at Nie Mingjue, who is smoothing down his hair.

“We’ll get those properly tailored soon,” Nie Mingjue says, voice low and gentle. Xiao Cheng nods, unsure of what to say. He gets picked up, arms clinging around Nie Mingjue’s broad shoulders. This way, their eyes are still level with each other.

“Too light,” Nie Mingjue frowns. Xiao Cheng gets shifted around in his hold, moved into a more secure position. “Let’s go see if A-Sang has got your food yet.”

Together, they exit the room, turning the corner into a long hallway filled with roaming servants. They eye Xiao Cheng with curiosity, but never ask questions, opening their mouths only to direct other servants or greet Nie Mingjue, who nods in acknowledgment.

“You’re currently in our personal residence,” he explains to Xiao Cheng. “These are my personal servants; they’re all good people.”

Though not overtly expressed, Xiao Cheng can see the pride that fills the servants; subtle changes like the straightening of shoulders or the twitch of a pair of lips. His developing cultivation helped, of course, but Xiao Cheng had also learned to listen to the silence of body language; being able to pick up on the ever-changing moods of others was useful, and let him know to escape from the situation before things got too severe.

“My room is near,” Nie Mingjue continues. “A-Sang sleeps in the room beside it. Our father has his own hall. You’ll be meeting him soon.”

“Nie-zongzhu,” Xiao Cheng mumbles, recalling how the man had sent for Nie Mingjue, and the information he passed on to his son.

“You will like him,” Nie Mingjue promises. “But you need to eat first. A-Sang should be in here.”

He pushes open the door in front of them, revealing a small kitchen and a single chef, who Nie Huaisang was currently bothering.

“Just one custard bun,” he pleas, jumping up and down to peek over the countertops. The chef clicks her tongue, shooing Nie Huaisang away.

“If the boy is as malnourished as you say, he needs proper food first,” she scolds, batting away his hands. “Now go!”

“But A-yi,” Nie Huaisang whines, much to the displeasure of the chef. She is about to lecture him once more, but the creak of the door alerts her to Nie Mingjue and Xiao Cheng’s entrance, and she is quick to greet them.

“Nie-gongzi,” she says, bowing. Her gaze flickers to Xiao Cheng for a brief moment before turning away. “This servant has prepared the meal you requested.”

“Thank you, A-yi,” Nie Mingjue nods. Nie Huaisang rushes to his side, quick as a hummingbird, bringing over a bowl of steaming congee.

“I did it!” he says, beaming up at them. Nie Mingjue raises an eyebrow, shuffling Nie Huaisang out of the kitchen with the nudge of his foot.

“Don’t cause so much trouble,” he scolds. Nie Huaisang puffs his cheeks out, carefully leading the way with slow steps forward, making sure the congee doesn’t spill.

“I was trying to get Didi something nice to eat,” he sulks. Directing his words to Xiao Cheng, he says: “Didi, that was Lu-ayi. She cooks for me and Da-ge!”

“The kitchens are a bit far,” Nie Mingjue says. “Usually, the kitchen you saw is in use by our family; our father insists we learn to cook a little so as not to fully rely on others. Lu-ayi was brought in today as we were both busy, and A-Sang doesn’t know how to cook.”

“I can cut fruit!” Nie Huaisang protests. Nie Mingjue scoffs, brushing past his brother to hold the door open, allowing Nie Huaisang to enter and place the bowl on the dining table. He pulls out a spoon as well, the porcelain clicking against each other as he places it into the congee.

“Come eat,” he says to Xiao Cheng, tugging on Nie Mingjue’s robes. Xiao Cheng gets set down on a chair, his legs dangling in the air as the bowl gets pushed in front of him.

It’s century egg and pork congee; the smell is enticing, and the steam warms his face in the way a gentle caress would. Xiao Cheng, who hasn’t eaten properly in weeks, does not bother with manners as he shovels the congee down his throat.

It was still hot; the food burns his mouth, and when Xiao Cheng presses his tongue to the top of his mouth, the flesh is sore and peeling. But it’s nothing compared to the hunger he remembers feeling, all-consuming, tugging and screaming at his brain until he could think of nothing else.

When he is about halfway finished, he remembers the other two in the room; Nie Mingjue looks satisfied with his performance, while Nie Huaisang is leaning towards him, eyes bright as he watches. They remind Xiao Cheng of stars, glimmering dots of light shining from above.

Xiao Cheng dips his spoon into the congee, handing it out to Nie Huaisang, who swallows the spoonful before wrinkling his nose, handing the spoon back to Xiao Cheng.

“I want custard buns,” he sulks. Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes, leaning back in his own seat.

“Don’t give him any more, Xiao Cheng,” he says. “It seems that A-Sang would rather eat sugar.”

“Is that your name?” Nie Huaisang asks, ignoring his brother’s teasing. “Xiao Cheng-didi?”

They never really were properly introduced, Xiao Cheng muses. Nie Huaisang gave his name, but Xiao Cheng didn’t have one to send back in return. It was strange, how fraternal bonds could be formed here when Xiao Cheng had struggled to do the same previously despite the best of circumstances.

He nods, continuing to eat as Nie Huaisang smiles. The food is warm, and the atmosphere just as inviting; Nie Huaisang hums a cheerful tune, and his throat no longer burns with each bite, allowing him to truly savor its flavor rather than swallow it down in rapid succession. The congee is finished off quickly, the bowl and spoon taken away by a servant.

Xiao Cheng yawns; his full stomach has made him drowsy, but his body no longer feels like heavy weights he has to drag around. It is the most energy he has had in the past few weeks, and he is eager to explore the rest of the building he has found himself in.

“Let’s go visit Fuqin first,” Nie Mingjue says. He doesn’t pick up Xiao Cheng this time; rather, Nie Huaisang takes his hand, dragging him forward. Their footsteps pitter-patter against the wooden floorboards, and though they are not in sync, one can tell they were a group, one pair following another, never too far apart.

“You need to tell him to give you the room next to mine,” Nie Huisang says to him, who nods, taking in every word he says. They run far ahead of Nie Mingjue, who simply calls for them to watch their step.

They stop in front of an ornate door at the end of the hall, the surrounding walls decorated with gilded gold. Nie Huaisang puts a finger up to his lips, and Xiao Cheng copies his movements, his index finger raised and keeping his mouth closed.

“This is Baba’s personal study,” Nie Huaisang says. “We’re not supposed to be here, but it’s okay; this is important.”

He knocks on the door but doesn’t wait for a response before barging in. “Baba, Baba, look who I found!”

“Who did you find, A-Sang?” a voice asks, amusement clearly laced between each word. The man, Nie Huaisang’s father, sits at his desk, papers stacked in front of him. On the walls, a collection of sabers and monster heads are mounted; the blades shine in the light, and each head is posed with a fearsome expression, as if in the midst of an attack.

“This is Xiao Cheng!” Nie Huaisang answers. “He’s my younger brother!”

“Is he?” Nie-zongzhu stands up, and Xiao Cheng cannot help himself; his body locks up, eyes wide as he takes in the figure of the man.

Nie-zongzhu is broad, and towering; he makes Nie Mingjue look small in comparison. His shadow, which moves ever closer as he comes near to examine Xiao Cheng, seems to be a beast of its own accord, swallowing Xiao Cheng whole.

Xiao Cheng isn’t afraid of much. When he was younger, he would chase away bugs for Jiang Yanli, and yell at the other boys in town who liked to make fun of her. He’s listened in as the head disciple scolds the others with a harsh tongue and an even harsher punishment, and accompanied his mother as she snaps at anyone in her way with a vehemence that could only come from years of displeasure.

He is not afraid of people. But Nie-zongzhu, with his large frame, stern expression, and hands, hands that were rough and scarred, that looked like they knew how to handle a sword, or a knife, or a whip, struck unprecedented fear in Xiao Cheng, clinging to a phobia he did not know existed.

Nie-zongzhu scrutinizes him, locking in on him like a predator observing his prey, and Xiao Cheng knows, he just knows, that he has been found out. He may have worn their robes, slept in their rooms, eaten their food, but he was not their kin, no matter how much Nie Huaisang insisted.

Nie Mingjue had promised Xiao Cheng would like him; Xiao Cheng hopes that it is true and that Nie-zongzhu will grant him mercy and send him away to somewhere that is not Lotus Pier. Perhaps if he begs; such behavior is disrespectful, especially towards the leader of a major sect, but propriety is far too expensive for the needy, and Xiao Cheng is desperate.

Nie-zongzhu does not pay heed to his worries, if they have even been noticed in the first place. He has made his conclusion, thus sealing Xiao Cheng’s fate. “He is—”

“Our brother.”

Nie Mingjue has finally caught up with them. Although Xiao Cheng does not move, he can hear the heavy footsteps on the teen, and feel the hand that is placed on his shoulder: its grip is tight, similar to how Nie Huaisang was clutching Xiao Cheng’s hand.

“A-Jue?” Nie-zongzhu questions, arms crossed. His tone shifts through a variety of emotion: surprise, disappointment, anger. “That boy is—”

Again, he is interrupted by his son. “Xiao Cheng. I’m sure A-Sang has introduced him already. He was found injured near the border. I took him home and saw to his recovery.”

Of course, Xiao Cheng is not yet fully recovered, but that would take time, time he does not know if he will have for much longer. Nie-zongzhu looks over him once more, and Xiao Cheng tries his best to retract his own gaze, to no avail; his body will not listen to him.

“The canceled night hunt,” he says to Nie Mingjue, who scowls. The hand on Xiao Cheng’s shoulder flexes, and for a moment it is too tight, and Xiao Cheng twitches. The force leaves as quick as it came, and Nie Mingjue rubs the part his fingers dug into, a soothing, repetitive motion.

“They will want to know he is well,” Nie-zongzhu reasons.

“They were the ones to leave him unwell,” Nie Mingjue argues.

“Travel will leave anyone like that,” Nie-zongzhu says. He is unwilling to let go of his stance, and Xiao Cheng is fully able to see the resemblance between father and son, both so stubborn and set on their own paths of righteousness.

He looks at Nie Huaisang, who is following the conversation, though he seems to be more focused on swinging their joint hands back and forth. Nie Huaisang must have also inherited his father’s willfulness— it seems to be in the blood of every Nie clan member— though Xiao Cheng had yet to see it.

“Travel does not leave deep scars down a child’s back,” Nie Mingjue says. He sounds just as angry as his father, and just as unwilling to give up. The two men stand off on one another, fury crackling through the air.

“Try to send him back,” Nie Mingjue says. In his voice holds a threat, a predator with its legs tensed and ready to pounce. The Nie clan, Xiao Cheng is quickly realizing, though they may have the heads of monsters mounted upon their walls, symbols of their success as hunters, were beasts in their own right.

Beasts that, right now, were guarding Xiao Cheng, their tails wrapped around his body as sharp teeth flashed towards their opponents.

“Send him back,” Nie Mingjue says, eyes narrowed. “And I will storm into Lotus Pier myself and fetch him back.”

“You’re sending him away!?” Nie Huaisang cries. “Why!? A-Sang wants him to stay!”

Both father and brother startle, too wrapped up in their argument to acknowledge the two children in the room. Nie Huaisang stomps his foot on the ground, though it is not as effective as the trembling lip and damp eyes that have found themselves appearing on his face.

“Why are you taking him away!?” he wails, words exiting his mouth between hiccups and tears. “He’s going to get injured again! A-Sang saw him when Da-ge brought Xiao Cheng back and it looked like he was dead! You’re going to kill my didi!”

There was no way Nie Huaisang had actually seen Xiao Cheng at the time; Nie Mingjue would have never allowed for it to occur. But the force of his sobs left everyone unable to focus on anything but consoling Nie Huaisang; even Xiao Cheng, whose very fate was on the line, could not help but use their conjoined hands to wipe at the tears trailing down Nie Huaisang’s cheeks.

“He’s not going to die,” Nie-zongzhu reassures his son. “We’re just reunifying him with his parents, see?”

“But he’s my brother,” Nie Huaisang protests, sniffling. “Why does he have to leave us?”

“Nie-zongzhu,” Nie Mingjue says. He kneels down in front of his father, bowing his head towards the ground. “Give me two weeks.”

“For what?” Nie-zongzhu asks. Nie Huaisang, upon hearing his brother speak, silenced his cries, though quiet tears continued to stream down. A bit helpless, Xiao Cheng pats his shoulder, urging him not to weep. Xiao Cheng was strong, he could manage; there was no need to waste tears on him.

“I will perform an investigation,” Nie Mingjue declares. “Let Xiao Cheng stay here for the time being.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Nie-zongzhu is relentless in his challenging, and though it is not in his favor, Xiao Cheng marvels at his strength.

Nie Mingjue, however, is even stronger. He raises his head, looking his father straight in the eyes. There is no hesitance in his tone, no doubt in what he says; he is tall, and stubborn, and strong, and he is on Xiao Cheng’s side. “I won’t be.”

- - - -

Nie Mingjue is quickly proven right.

Within a week, the Nie clan had been invited to attend the funeral proceedings. Xiao Cheng is left at home; it wouldn’t do for the subject of interest to show up to his own ceremony of death. Thought Nie Huaisang, in particular, is reluctant to go, clinging onto Xiao Cheng the day they are set to depart.

“Why can’t I stay?” he whines, burying his face in Xiao Cheng’s neck. “I’m scared of funerals!”

“You’ll be fine,” Nie Mingjue replies, rolling his eyes. Nie-zongzhu is less cold; over the last few days, Xiao Cheng has come to the realization that the sect leader did not have the same resistance to Nie Huaisang as his oldest son.

“A-Sang, we’ll be back soon,” he says, holding out an arm in offering. Nie Huaisang glances at him for a moment before drawing his gaze back, disinterested.

“Xiao Cheng, let’s go play,” he says instead, wrapping his arms around Xiao Cheng’s. “I want to go watch the birds!”

“Behave,” Xiao Cheng says, nudging Nie Huaisang away. “You have to listen to Nie-zongzhu.”

“Xiao Cheng!” Nie Huaisang whines, but he flutters over to his father’s side anyways, unceremoniously dropping into his arms.

“Let’s go,” he sulks.

Nie-zongzhu laughs, a familiar sound to Xiao Cheng; the man was often amused by the actions of his heirs. Perhaps it was his way of dealing with them; the Nie clan was eccentric, and wild, moving through the world with their own senses of justice and strengths.

Xiao Cheng lets out a puff of breath as Nie-zongzhu pats his head, lips curling back to reveal a smile that was filled with teeth, but not dangerous. “Be good, Xiao Cheng. You like spicy food, right? I’ll bring you back some delicious snacks.”

“Be safe,” Xiao Cheng says. Particularly to Nie Mingjue, who had his own plans in play. With that, the three are gone, and for the first time, Xiao Cheng is alone in a place he doesn’t quite belong to, yet which holds him close to its chest.

He wanders the halls, ducking into the kitchen to see if there was anything to eat; the mention of snacks had made him hungry. There was a plate of custard buns; the kitchens had finally made them, at Nie Huaisang’s insistence. Xiao Cheng takes one, peeling off the paper on the bottom before making his way back into his room, where his assignment lay unfinished on a small table; Nie Mingjue had insisted he take classes, and Nie-zongzhu agreed.

It’s quiet, without the chatter of Nie Huaisang, the support of Nie Mingjue, or the guidance of Nie-zongzhu. Xiao Chengs finds himself missing them despite the short time they’ve spent together and the even shorter time they’ve spent apart.

He finishes his work by candlelight; the sky is once again dark, and Xiao Cheng looks out the door to see a round, full moon, its light allowing him to peer out into the landscape. There are still some servants walking about, and they are quick to usher him back inside and put him to bed.

“It is too late for Gongzi to be awake,” they say, unable to assign him a name. His identity is not yet set in stone; all they are aware of is that he is precious to the Nie clan, and is to be treated with the utmost respect.

Xiao Cheng lays his head down but finds he cannot sleep just yet. He peers out the window, noting with pleasure that the North Star is particularly bright tonight.

“Thank you,” he says. It blinks in response, and mollified, Xiao Cheng settles back into his mattress, pulling the warm covers over his neck. Under the careful watch of the North Star, he drifts off.

The next day, as Xiao Cheng is eating lunch in the dining room, he is interrupted by Nie Huaisang bursting through the door and grabbing his arm, dragging him in the direction of Nie-zongzhu’s office.

“How was it?” Xiao Cheng asks. Nie Huaisang frowns, shaking his head.

“Boring.” He sticks out his tongue, blowing a quiet raspberry. “Too many old people.”

They stop in front of the study door, which has already been pushed open. Xiao Cheng and Nie Huaisang stick their heads just past the doorway, enough to barely see inside the room.

Both Nie Mingjue and Nie-zongzhu stand in front of the ornate desk; Nie-zongzhu is reading from a sheet of paper, and Nie Mingjue stands stoically in front of him, eyes trained on his father’s expression.

“Da-ge went around asking servants for their testimonies,” Nie Huaisang whispers to Xiao Cheng, who nods. “Not many people spoke to him, but Madame Jiang’s personal handmaidens gave him some information.”

What they told him could be easily read from Nie-zongzhu’s face.

“Ridiculous!” he roars, slamming down the paper onto the table. The sound echos through the room, and as if to further cement his fury, Nie-zongzhu punches down onto it as well, ripping the paper and denting the table. “How dare he; to project his regrets onto his own children, does he have no shame? What a vile, immature, unreasonable man!”

“Does this mean Xiao Cheng can stay?” Nie Mingjue asks. Xiao Cheng awaits the answer with bated breath, though it is not long of an anticipation.

“Of course he can stay!” Nie-zongzhu barks out. “Do you think I would let Xiao Cheng go back to them?”

“Really?” Nie Huaisang pops out of his hiding place, running up to his father and throwing his arms around his leg. “Thank you, Baba!”

“Don’t thank me,” Nie-zongzhu grumbles. “If I didn’t have you brats to take care of I would barge in there and arrest that man myself.”

He spots Xiao Cheng still waiting at the door and beckons him inside, kneeling down to place a hand on his shoulder. “Xiao Cheng, you’re going to stay here from now on, is that okay?”

“Mn.”

“We’ll have to come up with a story,” Nie Mingjue says. He kneels down as well, and the four of them settle near the floor, planning out their explanation to the rest of the cultivation world.

“Xiao Cheng’s our brother,” Nie Huaisang huffs, crossing his arms. “His mother was a wandering cultivator who died during childbirth, and Xiao Cheng’s been ill ever since. Baba kept his existence a secret to protect him while he recovers, and it’s only now that he’s well enough to interact with outsiders.”

Both Nie Mingjue and Nie-zongzhu look at him in shock, to which Nie Huaisang startles, hiding behind Xiao Cheng and peeking over his shoulder. “They’re being scary.”

“How did you come up with that?” Nie Mingjue asks.

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang shrugs. He yelps and ducks his head down when Nie Mingjue tries to swipe at him.

“Not bad,” Nie-zongzhu muses. “Though perhaps we should start out slow; the Jiangs have just lost a son, after all; it wouldn’t do us any good to announce that we have another.”

“Just tell the inner disciples,” Nie Huaisang shrugs. “They’ll spread it around; you can come out and clarify the rumor after it gets to the other sects.”

Then he jumps up, pulling on Xiao Cheng’s arm and helping him up. “Let’s go play!”

“Stop.” Nie Mingjue holds up a hand, turning his wrist to beckon Xiao Cheng forward. “He needs a courtesy name. Unless you have one of those prepared as well, A-Sang.”

“Baba, Da-ge is bullying me,” Nie Huaisang whines. Nie-zongzhu consoles him by stroking the top of his head, though Nie Huaisang is still sulky.

“Do you have a name planned?” Nie-zongzhu asks his younger son.

“A-Sang doesn’t know anything!” Nie Huaisang cries. “How could I think of an honorable courtesy name!?”

“Then the responsibility is given to you, A-Jue,” Nie-zongzhu says. “I’m no good with names; you two were both named by your grandfather.”

Nie Mingjue hums, smoothing down the sleeves of Xiao Cheng’s robes. “Then Xiao Cheng will be Wanyin. The wan from ‘night’, and the yin from ‘chant’.”

“Chant?” Xiao Cheng asks. The first part makes sense: Xiao Cheng was found in the middle of the night by Nie Mingjue. The name is an acknowledgment of their initial meeting, a permanent memory branded into the creation Xiao Cheng’s identity.

“My hopes for you,” Nie Mingjue answers. “You’re part of the Nie clan; speak up, and have pride in yourself.”

“Wanyin.” The name doesn’t sound as foreign on his tongue as it should be. There is something comforting in the characters, like a piece of him finally settling down after having been on edge for so long. “Nie Wanyin.”

“That’s you,” Nie-zongzhu smiles. For such a brash man, his smile seems to be as gentle as the softest of goose feathers, and as sweet as the custard buns the kitchen would make. “Our sickly, formerly isolated third heir who is about to be introduced to the cultivation world.”

Nie Huaisang, long since grown impatient, stomps up to Xiao Cheng and grabs his hand. “We’re leaving now!”

“Alright, alright,” Nie-zongzhu laughs, waving them off. “Go play.”

By the time he’s given his permission, however, Nie Huaisang had already dragged them away, off to a small, quiet corner of the nearby gardens. A variety of flowers and herbs surround them, and despite the heavy air surrounding Qinghe, they are growing well, large, open petals and thick shrubbery, deep green stalks standing tall and budding life sprouting the soil.

“Watch out!” Nie Huaisang tackles Xiao Cheng onto the ground, and they tousle, though it ends quickly with Xiao Cheng dropping onto the soft grass next to Nie Huaisang, panting.

“You cheated!” he complains, flexing his hands. He pushed hard, but so did Nie Huaisang, and yet neither was harmed. “I didn’t get a warning!”

“I told you to watch out,” Nie Huaisang retorts, sticking out his tongue. He shoots up, eyes wide as he points an accusing finger at Xiao Cheng.

“You still haven’t called me yet!” he says. “Xiao Cheng, where are your manners?”

“My manners?” Xiao Cheng asks, affronted. He was very polite.

The issue laid, once again, in his tentative identity. Nie Huaisang’s insistence had no influence if Nie-zongzhu didn’t agree and if Xiao Cheng was to be sent back south. Xiao Cheng, who couldn’t bear to bring himself harm by laying down false hope, choose to remain silent.

But he hadn’t been returned. Instead, Xiao Cheng had found himself in a garden in the middle of the Impure Realm, laying next to his brother, who was awaiting his response with bright eyes.

“Ge,” Nie Wanyin calls. Nie Huaisang answers with a grin; Nies smile with their teeth, and Nie Huaisang was no exception, joy and triumph stretching the corners of his lips towards the sky.

“Mn,” he says. “I’m here, Xiao Cheng.”

Chapter Text

It is easy to be a Nie. It is not as easy to be Nie Cheng.

There was something more solid, more definite in the name. It gave him status he was familiar with— the servants had taken to calling him San-gongzi once news broke out of Nie-zongzhu’s third son— and security he hasn’t known in a long time.

He fits in well with the rest of his family, Nie Cheng thinks, in his now-tailored grey robes. He has never felt unwelcome; if anything, they were the ones who reached out first when Nie Cheng was still too scared, conditioned to learn his hand would only be met with the sting of rejection. Affection is not something he lacks, even without seeking it out. His brothers are always around, and his father makes time for them all at least once a week, busy as he was. The only thing missing was a maternal influence, but Nie Cheng remembers his mother, and perhaps it is simply a family tradition to mourn the loss of her.

Sometimes, he wonders what she thought, returning to Lotus Pier only to find him dead. Because he was dead, in her eyes. You were born a Jiang, and you will die a Jiang, she had hissed. Nie Cheng thinks about those words often, thinks about how the boy who had heard those words hadn’t quite obeyed them— he was still here, still inside of Nie Cheng, just… smaller, perhaps. More subdued. Fear and anguish had broken him, and now he was no more than a fragment of the past, locked away in Nie Cheng’s mind and holding all his insecurities in his thin arms; they overflowed, spilling onto his robes and on the floor, surrounding him in a pile of hatred and hopelessness and regret.

Nie Cheng knows he isn’t supposed to be here. He should’ve died that day, passed out in the bitter cold, should’ve left his body and taken away his burden of existence from the world. It was by Nie Mingjue’s grace and Nie Huaisang’s insistence that he was alive. He was their burden now, and Nie Cheng didn’t want that.

He likes it here, likes being able to wake up and sit with them for breakfast, to go to class with Nie Huaisang and play around in the gardens, to swing around a stick and declare he was going to be a great cultivator. He likes thinking of his future, of what he could accomplish with the support and resources he now has. But he never, never wants to trouble the Nies.

Nie Cheng has been selfish before. He remembers trying to keep his dogs, his room, his sect all to himself. He remembers trying to keep Wei Ying out, to isolate and kick him out of the life he had created for himself.

It seems, now, that Nie Cheng has become Wei Ying, picked up off the streets and taken in by a sect leader and his two children. Wei Ying, whose very existence he had resented, was now his reflection in the mirror.

“You’re a thief!” the reflection seemed to mock. “No better than the rest of us, are you? You stole everything you have today!”

The reflection laughs, and it’s skin melts from its bones, dripping down onto the purple robes and burning the fabric with a sizzle. The face shifts, flashing through a variety of faces. It seemed to have a million eyes and then none, painted lips and a gaping black hole for a mouth, too dark to see anything but a lack of space. The reflection has melded itself into a monster, a disgusting amalgamation of limbs and teeth and eyes that keep their gazes on Nie Cheng, chaining him to the ground.

“You!” It roars at Nie Cheng, snapping its yellowing teeth at him, the saliva spewing out onto him. “Look what you’ve done!”

It is a hideous beast, a disgusting creature that was staring Nie Cheng down like he was its accursed creator. Its sharp claws reach out, the tips of the long nails pressing against his cheek. There is the sting of a prick, and the subsequent feeling of liquid dripping down the side of his face.

Then monster laughs, and it shrinks down into a boy, his blue-grey eyes still watching. Nie Cheng recoils, jumping back, but it is pointless; the boy, no longer a reflection but a corpse, follows him forward.

“Hello,” Jiang Cheng says, tilting his head to the side. “You must be me.”

I’m not, Nie Cheng wants to protest, but he cannot speak. He doesn’t how to face this boy, how to look him in the eyes and know he has become so like the person who damaged Jiang Cheng.

“You remember what it was like when he came,” Jiang Cheng whispers. “Everything got messed up. Nothing was the same as before.”

He steps forward, coming closer until his hands can wrap around Nie Cheng’s neck. Jiang Cheng squeezes, and as if setting off a chain reaction, cuts crawl up his back and Nie Cheng chokes, feeling his airways constrict.

“You will ruin them,” Jiang Cheng hisses, his fingers digging into Nie Cheng’s neck. They squeeze tight, as if trying to wring out every last drop of life from him. “Do not be their downfall, thief.”

Nie Cheng wakes up gasping for air, hand coming up to clutch his neck. Gently, he feels around the perimeter; there are no bruises.

It is still dark out, and terribly so. The moon is away, and Nie Cheng cannot make out anything from his window. Even the North Star cannot be found, and it is the absence of his watchful guardian that causes Nie Cheng to slip out of his bed, pushing the door open to sneak into the room next door.

He gets partially inside before knocking his toe against a stray wooden toy; Nie Huaisang was never particularly good at cleaning up after himself. Nie Cheng hisses, shaking his foot to try and get to pain to go away after.

“Xiao Cheng?” a drowsy voice mumbles, and Nie Cheng whips his head forward, watching in horror as Nie Huaisang’s figure shifts around in bed. “Is that you?”

“No,” Nie Cheng whispers back. This was stupid; it was the middle of the night, of course Nie Huaisang had been asleep. Not everyone was so pathetic as to be scared awake like he was. And now he had woken him up.

“What’s wrong?” Nie Huaisang mumbles, struggling to sit up. “Did something happen?”

“It’s nothing,” Nie Cheng assured him, quietly backing out of the room. Each step leaves the floorboards creaking and Nie Cheng winces. “Go back to sleep.”

It’s just a nightmare. Nie Cheng can deal with it by himself. There was no need to bother someone else with his problems.

He’s out before Nie Huaisang can respond, gently closing the door.

Nie Cheng slips into his own room, sitting down on the floor besides his bed. He draws his knees close to his chest, rocking back and forth as he tries to settle his nerves.

None of that— none of that was true. Nie Cheng wasn’t doing anything bad, wasn’t hurting anyone.

Right?

Nie Cheng was good. He didn’t cause any trouble, didn’t ask for anything but the bare necessities, didn’t take up too much space. He wasn’t a bother, he wasn’t.

But he was sitting in his own room, with heavy blankets and soft pillows. He was another mouth that needed to fed, try as he might to eat as little as possible. Teachers cost money, and they required paper and inks and brushes that also needed to be paid for. His robes— his robes were tailored, they couldn’t fit anyone but him, so their only purpose was for him to wear them.

Arithmetic wasn’t his strongest subject, but Nie Cheng could add, and with each additional coin his shoulders felt heavier, as if the debt he owed was being stacked upon them.

He took up so many resources, and for what? It wasn’t likely Nie Cheng would be sect leader, as the third in line. He wasn’t smart enough for strategizing, nor strong enough to protect the sect. He was just dead weight, a parasite stealing their time and energy and money and giving nothing in return.

His eyes sting with the realization, and tears slide down his cheek and onto the back of his hands, wetting the skin. Nie Cheng quietly sobs, clasping a hand over mouth so as not to make any noise.

He tried, he really did. Not that it mattered much; as long as he was alive, as long as he continued staying here, he would be a thief. Even without staying, he had still stolen their name, added it to his own so that they were forever intertwined.

Unless… unless he—

You were born a Jiang, and you will die a Jiang, do you understand?

He could just— if he were to pass— to cease exist in the realm of the living, he could help them, could ease their burdens. If he left before they got sick of him, perhaps they would recall him with a fond smile rather than scorn.

He could do it. He could… he could…

Nie Cheng couldn’t do it.

He was selfish; he wanted to live, to be here, to be a Nie and grow up with his brothers, to live a full life with joy.

He wants, and with each desire his guilt grows. He didn’t deserve, nothing he had was deserved.

In the end, he was just a thief.

- - - -

A-Cheng is eight.

Eight is an auspicious number; his mother told him so on the eve of his most recent birthday, the closest she’s come to giving him praise. Except, his mother wasn’t looking at him; her eyes were hollowed out, empty black spaces where her pupils should’ve been.

“Foolish boy,” she scoffs, and morphs into Jiang Fengmian. On A-Cheng’s eighth birthday, his father had briefly picked him up before setting him down once more.

Now, he holds an ever familiar disciple’s whip, his arm raised above his head in preparation.

“Reflect on your actions,” he says, voice as detached as Nie Cheng remembers. He brings down his arm, and A-Cheng screams, the bloodcurdling shrill of someone who had never experienced pain.

A-Cheng blinks, and he is Jiang Cheng, and the whip continues to rain down on him, but it is not so bad anymore; his body has grown numb. A copper taste fills his mouth, and blood pools out of its corners, dripping onto the already stained wood beneath him.

“I hate you,” someone above him says, and that is Jiang Yanli’s voice, her usually soft tone as bitter and cold as the winter in Qinghe. “You’re the worst, A-Cheng, how could you treat him like that?”

“Yes,” Wei Ying says, and he is in front of Jiang Cheng, kneeling down so they are face to face. His eyes are wide with tears, and they fall onto Jiang Cheng’s wound, causing the open cuts to sting. “How could you be so cruel to me, A-Cheng? Why did you push me away? Did I deserve that?”

“I’m sorry!” Jiang Cheng cries. “I didn’t mean to!”

“You’re a monster,” Wei Ying continues, frowning. Jiang Cheng sobs, bowing his head down. “The Nie clan hunts monsters, don’t they? They should chase you down and rip your throat apart till you die. That way, you could pay back your debt.”

“No!” Jiang Cheng shakes his head. “They wouldn’t do that!”

“But they should.” Wei Ying leans in, and he is Jiang Fengmian, and Jiang Yanli, and Jiang Cheng’s mother all in one. “They should get rid of you, who is nothing but a parasitic thief.”

“I’m not!” Jiang Cheng says. “I’m not, I’m not—“

“Xiao Cheng!”

Nie Cheng shoots up, a cry on the tip of his tongue. His cheeks feel damp, and there are wet stains on his pillow. His father stands over him, hands clasping his shoulders.

He is dressed in nothing but a single layer of cotton robes, hair loose and undone. Nie Cheng looks up at him, as if to confirm he was real, before collapsing into his arms and sobbing.

His father pulls him closer, rubbing gentle circles on his back. “It’s okay, you’re okay. It was just a nightmare.”

Despite the assuring tone, Nie Cheng can’t settle himself. His shoulders tremble, and his father’s robes are quickly soaking through with tears.

“What happened?” his father asks, stroking his hair. “Was it monsters? Baba can defeat any monster that’s bothering you.”

“I’m sorry,” Nie Cheng cries. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re never a bother,” his father says, frowning. “Who told you that?”

“But I take up your resources,” Nie Cheng protests, shaking his head. “And I can’t do anything for you in return.”

“This isn’t a trade,” his father replies. He continues running his hand through Nie Cheng’s hair, moving his head to rest the cotton fabric covering his shoulder. Nie Cheng hiccups, burying his face in the crook of his father’s neck.

“My only desire from you is that you grow up happy and healthy, Xiao Cheng,” his father continues. “Besides, I have enough to raise fifty children if I wanted to.”

“But you shouldn’t have to waste that on me,” Nie Cheng says. He was worthless; fifty other children could provide much more than he could.

“It’s not a waste,” his father says. He lifts Nie Cheng’s head up, hand cradling his cheek as their eyes meet. “Xiao Cheng, you are my son. There is nothing I would not do for you. It is never a waste.”

“But I can’t give you anything in return,” Nie Cheng replies, helpless. Can’t his father see that? Nie Cheng only knew how to take, and take, and take.

“And you shouldn’t have to,” his father says. He is stubborn, firm in his tone and unrelenting in his push for Nie Cheng to understand. “That is the role of a parent, to love and support their child with everything they have for the sole reason that it is their child, their responsibility to care for without any expectation of a reward. Besides, it is already enough of a reward, Xiao Cheng, to be able to call you my son.”

Nie Cheng listens, and he doesn’t quite understand, but he knows his father loves him, loves him like a son even if their relationship was nothing more than a web of lies strung together to keep Nie Cheng from having to return.

Still, his father loves him, and so Nie Cheng obeys.

“Mn,” he mumbles. His father looks at him, piercing gaze seeing through his walls, but he simply sighs, patting Nie Cheng’s head.

“Good boy,” he says. “It’s still dark; let’s go back to sleep, hmm? I have to check up on Huaisang as well.”

“Ge is awake?” Nie Cheng asks.

“He’s the one who came and got me,” his father replies.

“Oh.” Nie Cheng feels the familiar guilt of waking his brother settle inside him. He always managed to do so when he had a nightmare; every time, he goes to Nie Huaisang’s rooms, and every time he backs out before he can actually talk to his brother. “Can I go with you?”

His father nods. “I’m sure he’s worried about you.”

He picks Nie Cheng up, carrying him out of his bedroom and to the room next door. Nie Huaisang is sitting on his bed; when the door creaks open, he lights up, holding out his arms to wrap them around Nie Cheng once he gets set down.

“Are you okay?” he asks, blinking you at him with big eyes. Not for the first time, Nie Cheng wonders who the actual oldest between the two of them was. “I was so scared!”

“It’s okay,” Nie Cheng reassured him, patting his back. “I’m fine.”

“Did you have a nightmare?” Nie Huaisang guesses. He shudders, laying his head on Nie Cheng’s shoulder. “Sometimes I have nightmares of Huo-shifu chasing me down and making me practice sword drills.”

Nie Cheng nods, continuing to comfort his brother. “Shifu is too busy with the disciples to chase after you.”

“But what if he does?” Nie Huaisang whines. “I don’t know anything about swords!”

“That’s because you keep skipping class,” their father says, scoffing. He opens his arms, kneeling down to get closer to the two children. “Come on, back to bed.”

“Can’t Xiao Cheng stay here tonight?” Nie Huaisang asks, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “Please, Baba?”

“Well…” It doesn’t take much for their father to fold. “Do you want to stay, Xiao Cheng?”

Nie Cheng nods, and with that the decision is final. Their father tucks them in, smoothing down their covers and making sure Nie Huaisang and Nie Cheng are settled in.

“Goodnight,” he says to them. “Sleep well.”

“Goodnight!” Nie Huaisang says, far too chipper for the middle of the night.

“Goodnight, Baba,” Nie Cheng whispers, pulling the covers up to hide his face. Nie Huaisang turns over, bumping their foreheads together.

“This is fun!” he says, and though Nie Cheng can’t see his face, Nie Huaisang is no doubt smiling. “The next time you have a nightmare, you can come to me!”

“But you’re always asleep,” Nie Cheng says, frowning. “I don’t want to wake you up.”

“I’m not actually,” Nie Huaisang replies, leaning in as if to tell him a secret. “I just pretend to be asleep, so I can come up with more poems in peace.”

“But—“

“So you’re not disturbing me!” Nie Huaisang concludes. His hand finds Nie Cheng’s, holding it between them. “Come find me next time, okay? And don’t run away.”

“I don’t run away,” Nie Cheng huffs. “I sneak away. I’m very sneaky.”

“I can hear you sneaking away,” Nie Huaisang teases. Nie Cheng frowns, about to apologize before his gets bopped on the nose with their linked hands.

“I’m awake, remember?” Nie Huaisang says. “I have to be on guard so Da-ge doesn’t catch me.”

Nie Cheng nods. That’s right, he was awake. Nie Cheng wasn’t disturbing him. He could go to his brother for comfort as much as he wanted.

“This is why your Da-ge’s favorite,” Nie Huaisang sighs. “I’m much too disobedient.”

“I’m… what?”

“Yeah,” Nie Huaisang sulks. “It’s not my fault he’s so fun to mess with.”

Nie Cheng can’t think. He feels frozen, trapped against the mattress and bed sheets as Nie Huaisang continues to mumble to himself.

Favorite… favorite… he was the favorite, just as Jiang Fengmian always preferred Jiang Yanli over him, just as he seemed to be happily replaced once Wei Ying arrived. Jiang Cheng, who had once been as carefree as Nie Huaisang, tossed aside for someone better than him, left to rot by himself, unloved and unwanted by his family any longer.

Oh god, what had he done?

“See?” Jiang Cheng tells him, smug in the back of his mind. “You ruined them.”

“Xiao Cheng?”

“Hm?” Nie Cheng looks up, and Nie Huaisang is peering back at him

“Since you’re here, I’ll sleep now.” Nie Huaisang clears his throat, leaning back, though they were still face to face. “Want to hear my poem?”

“Mhm.” It was the least he could do, after cutting into Nie Huaisang’s time.

Nie Huaisang murmurs line after line to him in a quiet voice; the whisper is familiar and soothing, lulling Nie Cheng into a peaceful sleep despite his thoughts tormenting him with every breath.

- - - -

When he wakes up, it is not Nie Huaisang he sees, but Nie Mingjue, sitting around Nie Huaisang’s desk. Nie Cheng shoots up out of bed, Nie Huaisang’s words unable to leave his mind, even in the morning.

He had to fix this. He wouldn’t let this get ruined because of his selfishness. This was his fault, and he was going to make it right.

“Good morning,” Nie Mingjue says, smiling. “A-Sang is eating breakfast; he told me to let you sleep, but if you woke up any later he would’ve eaten it all— woah!”

Nie Cheng goes barreling into Nie Mingjue’s, clutching his robes as his chest heaves up and down.

“Da-ge,” he says. “Da-ge, I’m really bad. I don’t know a lot of words, and I don’t eat my vegetables, and I like to play in the dirt and not clean up afterwards.”

“Okay,” Nie Mingjue says, eyebrows raised. He seems more amused than disappointed, so Nie Cheng decides to be more direct.

“I’m a bad brother,” he insists. “So you can’t like Ge less than me, okay? You have to like him more.”

“I have to what?” Nie Mingjue asks. “Did A-Sang put you up to this?”

Nie Cheng shakes his head, tugging on his brother’s robes, insistent on getting his point across. “You can’t favor me over him. That will make him sad, and I can’t help him because I'm the problem. So you have to treat him better.”

“So I should like you less, then?” Nie Mingjue teases, though Nie Cheng takes his question seriously, nodding eagerly in response.

“Yes!”

“No.” Nie Mingjue frowns, placing a hand on top of Nie Cheng’s head. “I like you two brats equally, okay?”

“But Ge said I was your favorite,” Nie Cheng says. “I can’t be your favorite, that has to be Ge.”

“A-Sang was just joking around,” Nie Mingjue reassures him. “Just tease him back. You know, most people would boast that they're my favorite.”

“I’m being serious!” Nie Cheng huffs, stomping his foot on the ground. They don’t understand, don’t know that playing favorites could lead to broken families and broken hearts. Nie Cheng won’t let that happen, not if he has the power to speak up and correct them.

Nie Mingjue hums, patting his head. “I know, I know. No favorites, okay?”

“Mn!” Nie Cheng nods, satisfied he got his way. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Nie Mingjue swears, placing a hand over his chest. Mollified, Nie Cheng grins, lips pulling back to reveal his bright teeth.

“Okay!” It wouldn’t happen again, it would never happen with them. Nie Cheng’s chest has never felt so light. “Then, I’m going to go get ready!”

He scurries off, leaving Nie Mingjue alone in Nie Huaisang’s room, pondering. Eventually, he gets up, heading into the dining hall where Nie Huaisang was, absentmindedly chewing on a piece of mantou.

“A-Sang,” he says. “We need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Nie Huaisang complains, dropping his head onto the table as he groans. “I don’t know anything!”

“It’s about Xiao Cheng.”

“Oh.” Slowly, Nie Huaisang raises his head, taking a bite of his food. “What of him?”

“His previous family, they—“

“He has no previous family,” Nie Huaisang interrupts. “We’re his only family.”

“A-Sang,” Nie Mingjue sighs. Nie Huaisang scowls, shoving a piece of mantou into his mouth. “You can’t deny this.”

“I’m not denying anything,” Nie Huaisang replies, eyebrows furrowed. “A-Sang doesn’t understand anything; I only speak what I know.”

“You know he used to live somewhere else,” Nie Mingjue says.

“So?” Nie Huaisang shrugs. “I’ve been to the Lan Recesses before; that doesn’t mean Xichen-xiong and his didi are my family.”

“You know that’s not what I meant!” Nie Mingjue says, throwing his arms up.

“I don’t know what you mean!” Nie Huaisang argues back. He spots Nie Cheng through the open door, quickly jumping down from his seat and pulling him inside. “Xiao Cheng, Da-ge’s bullying me!”

“You are all the mantou!” Nie Cheng says, ignoring Nie Huaisang’s whines. “You said you would save me one!”

“I have a naihuang bao for you!” Nie Huaisang compromises. “That’s just a mantou with custard!”

“You’re a cheater,” Nie Cheng grumbles, though he grabs the custard bun and eats it anyway. Grinning, Nie Huaisang drops into the seat next to him, mouth moving nonstop as he talks and eats at the same time. Nie Mingjue watches on in quiet fondness, taking in the harmonious atmosphere of the morning.

Perhaps Nie Huaisang was right; Nie Cheng was their brother, and there wasn’t much need to think past that. They were his family now, and that’s what mattered.

Chapter Text

Time passes with both haste and delay. The days are long, short, and everything in between, twisted into the paper cranes Nie Huaisang so loved to fold. Just as the cranes filled Nie Cheng’s room, flying above from twine attached to the ceiling, so did the days as they fill his heart, patching over the cracks and holes with a stronger material, rebinding and promising to never break so bad again.

Nie Cheng notes the passage of time with his height: he is still taller than Nie Huaisang, but can still never seem to catch up with Nie Mingjue or their father. They continue to loom over him, though it now feels more like the sturdy trunk of a shading tree rather than a cold, stone pillar.

He does his best to make sure he is always on his best behavior, but fury runs through his veins as much as blood does, and Nie Cheng was never good at controlling himself. The first time he gets mad he yells until his voice goes hoarse, vision blurry from the tears that wouldn’t seem to stop flowing from his eyes. Anger consumes him until he is no more than an empty set of bones, and even those get crushed under the weight of his guilt.

He runs off into town, afraid of being sent back once more. If he was to leave, he would do it on his own terms.

He is found no more than a shichen later, tackled by Nie Huaisang as he starts to wail about how he couldn’t find him and thought he was dead and, “A-Cheng, don’t you know I have a fragile heart? I can’t handle scary things!”. Nie Huaisang is then followed by Nie Mingjue, who is quick to assure him of his permanent status, regardless of his temper.

“You are a Nie,” Nie Mingjue tells his youngest brother. “We are brash, and angry, and stubborn. The world is unjust; scream until the heavens can hear, and take satisfaction in knowing your wrath is deserved.”

“Ge never gets angry,” Nie Cheng murmurs. Nie Huaisang hums, tightening his grip around Nie Cheng’s shoulders.

“A-Sang’s always angry,” Nie Mingjue replies, clasping a hand atop Nie Huaisang’s head. “He’s just better at hiding it.”

Nie Cheng takes comfort in their solidarity, in the way their voices rise and fall, ever-changing in an attempt to comfort him. He can’t describe it: it’s not desperate, nor persuasive, nor urging. Perhaps the best word is coaxing, convincing Nie Cheng to believe their assurances with a slow, gentle tone.

Even when Nie Cheng actually is in trouble, he is punished without the use of pain, made to clean up his mess, or apologize, or run laps around the training field. It’s a far cry from the detached tone and stinging whip he’s used to, and much more preferred.

There are many things he likes more at the Unclean Realm, yet sometimes, Nie Cheng finds himself thinking about Lotus Pier. He doesn’t miss it— there wasn’t much to miss, the cut too fresh on his skin— but the what if, the futures that could’ve once been and were now closed to him.

Perhaps he could’ve reconciled with them, learned to apologize for his actions, and share the spotlight with Wei Wuxian. Perhaps he could’ve met someone there, someone who really, truly liked him, who could bring him solace. He could’ve ruled over Lotus Pier, watched Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian grow up by his side, tended to Jiang Fengmian and his mother as they grew old, and eventually retire himself, surrounded by purple and the twinkling of clarity bells, beautiful lotuses growing out of the muddy waters.

“Xiao Cheng!”

Nie Cheng turns around, staring up at Nie Mingjue as he comes over. Nie Chengs gets lifted up into the air, wrapping his arms around Nie Mingjue’s neck as his older brother smiles at him.

“Did you have fun in class?” Nie Mingjue asks. Nie Cheng nods, placing his chin on Nie Mingjue’s shoulder and looking past him to find Nie Huaisang and their father.

“Laoshi said my handwriting was getting better,” Nie Cheng says.

“Excellent!” Nie Mingjue beams.

“But that my arithmetic needs help,” Nie Cheng continues, sticking his tongue out at Nie Huaisang, who returns the gesture.

“That’s alright.” Nie Mingjue pats him on the back, fingers rubbing soft circles against his robes. “Ba can help you, and we’ll get you to where you need to be.”

Nie Cheng hums, and together they join the rest of their family, making their way back to their personal residence, waking through paths surrounded by the scraggly grass sprouting up from both sides.

Perhaps is a tempting word, but it is not as strong as one would imagine at first glance, not when the present and well and alive and good, so very, very good. Perhaps Nie Cheng could’ve blossomed in Lotus Pier, or perhaps he would’ve continued to wilt, curling in on himself until he shrivels up and dies, uncared for amongst a garden of bright lotuses. The only thing he knows for sure is that, were he to have stayed in Lotus Pier, he would not have the life he does now. That is a certainty, rather a hypothetical, and much stronger than a ‘perhaps’ even could be.

- - - -

It starts with a night hunt.

They all stay up late to see off their father. Nie Cheng, now ten, rubs his eyes, still not used to being up at such an odd hour.

“You three will be okay, right?” their father asks, looking over them all as they stand together. “A-Jue, take care of your younger brothers.”

“Yes, Ba.” Nie Mingjue, originally invited alongside their father to attend, had declined in order to stay back and look after Nie Huaisang and Nie Cheng.

“Will you bring back toys for us?” Nie Huaisang asks, clinging onto his robes. Their father laughs, rubbing the top of Nie Huaisang’s head.

“I don’t think the Wens have much to have fun with,” he says, frowning. “I have to have a word with Wen-zongzhu about requesting me so late; we can’t even move that fast during the night.”

Nie Cheng blinks; whenever his father traveled for business, it was usually while the sun was still out, or when the moon was round enough to illuminate the night. “Is the night hunt that important?”

“I’ve gotten no details about it yet.” Their father sighs, no doubt fed up with the other party by now. “I assume I’ll get debriefed when I get there; perhaps the information is confidential.”

He pats Nie Huaisang once more before stepping back and mounting his sword, throwing a leg atop the blade, and climbing on. “Well, the sooner we get there the sooner we’ll finish.”

“Be careful,” Nie Cheng says, watching their father begin to fly up into the air.

“Don’t worry about me; I’m strong!” their father boasts, puffing out his chest. “Be good for A-Jue, and I’ll bring you three back some treats.”

Up in the sky, Nie Cheng can barely see him; from this perspective, their father doesn’t look so big anymore, rather a speck amongst the rest. The glow of his sword faintly shines against the dark of the night, like a star blinking down on them, lighting up a small space.

Nie Cheng waves until he truly cannot see their father anymore, and even then continues to look up. Nie Huaisang clings to his sleeve, following his gaze toward the empty moon.

“Xiao Cheng,” he whispers, too low for Nie Mingjue to hear. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“It’ll be fine,” Nie Cheng assures his brother, who is always quick to fear. “Baba’s been on plenty of night hunts before.”

Nie Huaisang shakes his head, eyes still trained up at the sky, its vast darkness enveloping them in a cold embrace. Nie Cheng shivers, holding his brother tight.

It continues with a letter.

Its contents are sealed with crimson wax in the shape of a swirling sun. They are only a few days into waiting for their father to come home, but are eager to hear any news nonetheless.

Nie Mingjue opens it with a small knife while Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang crowd around him. They are in their father’s office, where the mail still gets delivered, only now being received by Nie Mingjue until the official sect leader gets back.

“What does it say?” Nie Huaisang asks, jumping up and down in an attempt to peek. Nie Mingjue simply holds it up higher, his arm raised far above his head. Nie Cheng tries to look from below, but the paper is too high up for him to make out the words.

Suddenly, Nie Mingjue frowns, pulling the paper close to his face. Nie Huaisang is nudged away, letting Nie Mingjue hunch his shoulders in and duck his head down, shielding the contents of the letter from view. His fingers are gripped around the paper tight, nearly trembling.

“What is it?” Nie Cheng asks. “Did they finish early?”

“When is Baba coming back?” Nie Huaisang stands beside Nie Cheng, both of them startling when Nie Mingjue crumples the letter in his hand, flinging it onto the ground.

“Don’t!” he roars when Nie Cheng kneels down to pick it up. “Don’t open it!”

Nie Cheng picks up a loose corner of the letter, quickly dropping it into Nie Mingjue’s outstretched hand, pulling his own back as if burned by the paper.

“Thank you, Xiao Cheng,” Nie Mingjue sighs, and he sounds exhausted and angry and anguished all at once, staring at the ball of paper in his hand. “Why don’t you and A-Sang go play for a while?”

“Is Baba alright?” Nie Huaisang asks.

“…” Nie Mingjue, who stands for justice in the world, for the good in people, and for strength meant for protection, cannot lie, much less to his own brothers. “He’s dead.”

It ends with a funeral.

It rains that day, in the Unclean Realm. It did not rain on the day of Nie Cheng’s funeral; perhaps the universe knew he wasn’t really dead, and now that they were mourning his father, it weeps alongside him. The thought made Nie Cheng feel worse, as if the raindrops pouring from the sky were a signal that his father was really, truly dead.

They wear white burial robes; Nie-zongzhu never reached eighty, never reached longevity. His oldest son was fifteen, his youngest eleven. Nie Huaisang was freshly twelve, his birthday only a few weeks ago.

Nie Cheng had visited the Stone Castles three times before the actual funeral, but the ancestral hall is still chilling nonetheless, knowing what was about to happen.

Nie Mingjue speaks to the guests; he has not yet been crowned as the new sect leader, though it is scheduled to happen only a few days from now. Nie Cheng grips Nie Huaisang’s hand, as tight as Nie Mingjue had held that letter informing them of their father’s passing.

It is a small ceremony, consisting mostly of Nie disciples and servants. Leaders from each sect come to pay respects; Nie Cheng spots someone from the Lan Sect, not the sect leader but still important based on his robes, speaking to Nie Mingjue.

This is the first time he’s been out in public, Nie Cheng realizes. A funeral wasn’t how he imagined it going, but perhaps it was a good idea; though he gets many curious stares, no one approaches him to speak. If they do, they address his oldest brother, he and Nie Huaisang hidden in his shadow.

Incense is burnt in heavy quantities, lasting throughout the whole ceremony. Nie Cheng is sick of its scent. He can nearly taste it on his tongue, and the flavor of grief never quite agreed with his stomach.

He misses his father. Misses him in the way only a son could, because although Nie Cheng had spent less than two years in his care, he grieves as if it were Nie-zongzhu who held him the day he was born, who watched him learn to walk and read and grow. In a way, his father still did get that chance, watching him change from Jiang Cheng to Nie Cheng, from a stranger to his son.

Still, Nie Cheng wants him back, wants him here with them, smiling down at him, a sturdy tree shading Nie Cheng from harm. He wants to hear him boast about his strength and keep his promise to come back with treats.

He takes the joss paper handed to him, clutching it in his hands. It doesn’t catch the first time, so Nie Cheng sticks it back into the flame, urging for the paper to burn. If he cannot be with his father, the least he can do is send him some goods.

It truly hits him then, that his father is dead, and not coming back. Nie Cheng watches the tendrils of smoke curl into the air and disappear, and a tear slides down his face. He cries, leaning against Nie Mingjue, who wraps a warm arm around him.

His heart aches, and his arms feel numb. There is a hollow inside his chest that Nie Cheng can feel, cold and dark and empty, and it is as if his body is too tired to do anything but mourn, like it has spent all its energy grieving and will continue to do so.

And yet.

There’s a small part of Nie Cheng that marvels at this all, at the fact that he has a father to grieve in the first place. That he can mourn someone who loved him, and cared for him, and responded when Nie Cheng called for “Baba”.

It’s not as if he wouldn’t have mourned Jiang Fengmian, it’s just… Nie Cheng doesn’t know if he would’ve felt more sorrow or relief. It would be an awkward situation, knowing that a certain amount of freedom would come with his death.

There is no such ambiguity with his father; all Nie Cheng feels is overwhelming anguish, like his heart was being torn out of his chest and burned at the stake. If anything, he feels more trapped, unable to receive his father’s guidance and protection any longer. He is grateful to his father’s death for the sole purpose of proving to himself that he had an adult figure whose love had affected him so much, but now that he was gone, Nie Cheng doesn't know what to do.

As the last of the guests retire to their rooms, Nie Cheng stays behind, watching the incense grow shorter with the passing of each moment. Nie Huaisang kneels next to him, scrubbing at his eyes. Nie Cheng tugs one of his hands down, pushing it back onto Nie Huaisang’s lap.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he scolds.

“I miss Baba,” Nie Huaisang sniffles, eyes glossing over with fresh tears. Nie Cheng pats his hand, and Nie Huaisang takes it as permission to lean against him, pressing the side of his head against Nie Cheng’s shoulder.

“Me too,” Nie Cheng says, feeling his own nose sting and his vision blur. He blinks rapidly, trying to disperse his tears. He rests his head atop Nie Huaisang’s, and together they sit in silence, waiting until Nie Mingjue comes over, wrapping his arms around them.

“How are you two?” he asks. Nie Cheng shrugs, raising his head to look up at his oldest brother. Nie Mingjue’s eyes are rimmed red, and there are deep bags under his eyes; he was the one to handle funeral preparations, as well as retrieving their father’s body from the Wens, who didn’t even bother to show up for the funeral.

“What’s wrong, Da-ge?” Nie Huaisang turns his head, lips pursed as he stares at Nie Mingjue. “What happened.”

“I have some bad news,” Nie Mingjue sighs. Jiang Cheng tenses, but there is a lack of dread contained in his chest. His family is all here, so death couldn’t be the news. Other than that, there is nothing Nie Cheng couldn’t deal with.

Nie Mingjue leans in, their heads huddled together tight. “The remaining Nie disciples just returned from the Wen sect. What I’ve been told is that Wen Ruohan tampered with Ba’s blade, and that it broke on him in the middle of the night hunt.”

“Wen Ruohan?” Nie Cheng asks.

“Wen-zongzhu,” Nie Mingjue explains, scowling. “Ba was attacked by a beast and couldn’t defend himself.”

“Doesn’t that mean--”

“Wen-zongzhu murdered him!” Nie Huaisang cries. Nie Mingjue shushes him, holding a finger up to his lips.

“I have to look more into the matter,” he says, volume low. “But be careful. Watch out for yourself, and have each other’s backs. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Da-ge,” both Nie Huaisang and Nie Cheng chorus. Nie Mingjue nods, standing up. Nie Cheng has to crane his neck to look up at him and takes solace in that ache. He hopes he never grows taller than Nie Mingjue.

“I have to go discuss this with the elders,” Nie MIngjue says. “You two head back first. I’ll be back before bed.”

“Promise?” Nie Huaisang asks.

Nie Mingjue nods, smoothing out his robes. “I promise.”

They watch him leave, his back straightened and tense. Nie Huaisang holds his hand out and Nie Cheng takes it, holding on tight.

“C’mon,” he says, tugging on Nie Huaisang’s arm. “Let’s go.”

He’s used to taking care of Nie Huaisang; it provides him some solace, to be able to protect someone else. Of course, Nie Huaisang would insist otherwise, but Nie Cheng doesn’t mind. His brother looks out for him, in a way only he could, his strange mannerisms and words bringing comfort to Nie Cheng.

On the way back, Nie Cheng spots a few sheets of joss paper, unburned and lying on the floor. He picks them up, one hand clutching the paper and the other continuing to hold Nie Huaisang’s hand.

There is a torch, standing on a short pole as it illuminates the wooden pathways. Nie Cheng feeds the joss paper to the fire, watching as the flames swallow the paper whole, taking each sheet with relish. The smoke floats up in the air, giving off a scent Nie Cheng had way smelt way too much today.

Jiang Cheng didn’t have a murdered father. He didn’t have an older brother to take care of, to protect from harm’s way, and to be doted by on back. Jiang Cheng didn’t have multiple brothers, one of which was about to inherit the sect left behind to them by their father.

Jiang Cheng was dead, forever nine years old, drowning in the muddy waters he had so fondly grown up in. Nie Cheng kneels down, paying respects to the boy who got burned away, allowing Nie Cheng to rise from his ashes.

Nie Huaisang kneels beside him, copying his movements. Nie Cheng doesn’t know if Nie Huaisang knows exactly what is going on, but he presses his shoulder against his brother’s anyway, grateful for the company.

“Goodbye,” he says, to both his father and Jiang Cheng.

“Goodbye,” Nie Huaisang echoes. “And thank you.”

There is no response, but for a moment, the empty air feels a bit less cold.

Chapter Text

Grief is one of the strongest binders Nie Cheng knows of: it was his mother he had turned to in their shared rejection of Wei Ying, who knew what it was like to be pushed away for someone better. These days, it seems as if his brothers are attached at his hip, one after another, never too far away from each other.

It’s comforting to know where all his family members were at any given time, that they were all within arms reach and that Nie Cheng didn’t have to worry about anything with them around. For the first few weeks after their father’s funeral, Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang spent all their free time in the main study, now inherited by Nie Mingjue, while their older brother managed the sect paperwork.

Nie Mingjue was always busy, as sect heir, but now that he had officially come upon the title, it seems as if his workload had increased threefold. He was exhausted by the end of the day, tucking in Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang before returning to his office to work into the night. It didn’t help that he also took up the position of primary caretaker for his younger brothers, refusing to hire any more help.

“We don’t need them,” he says, thumping a fist on his chest. “Da-ge can take handle it.”

Personally, Nie Cheng feels that Nie Mingjue is too paranoid to hire a caretaker for him and Nie Huaisang, but he doesn’t mind. He likes spending more time with his brothers, even if that time is characterized by silently being in the same room.

But Nie Mingjue is still a teenager, sect leader or not, and even his strong, unfaltering brother has his limits sometimes. So it isn’t much surprise when Nie Cheng finds himself at the Cloud Recesses, holding Nie Huaisang’s hand as they watch Nie Mingjue speak to someone around his age.

“Thank you for agreeing to this,” Nie Mingjue says, clasping his peer’s arms. “And thank your uncle for me as well.”

“It’s no issue,” the other boy smiles. He looks tranquil, dressed in muted blues and white. There is a ribbon wrapped around his forehead, and the ends flutter down his back amidst the gentle wind. Nie Cheng wants to try to catch it, like a cat chasing after a string of twine. “Nie Huaisang is always pleasant to spend time with.”

“Only you could say that,” Nie Mingjue snorts. The other boy laughs, eyes creasing into crescent moons. He looks over at Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang, gaze lingering on Nie Cheng for just a bit longer. Nie Cheng straightens his back, trying not to flinch.

“And your other… brother?”

“Xiao Cheng,” Nie Mingjue nods. He has the decency to look sheepish, ducking his head down. “I apologize for not informing you earlier, Xichen.”

“It’s alright,” the boy, Xichen, assures him. “Does he have any medications he needs to take? Any restrictions I should know about? He must have been quite sickly, to have been bedridden for all this time.”

Nie Cheng had heard no mention of being bedridden from his brothers, but according to Nie Huaisang, rumors liked to mutate as they spread. When Nie Cheng asked if they should try to clarify the situation, Nie Huaisang had just shaken his head.

“Xiao Cheng is fine now,” Nie Mingjue says, shaking his head. “We’re lucky he recovered as well as he did and can start cultivating.”

“He’s still impaired,” Xichen chastizes. “Surely he doesn’t need to be training already.”

“He insists on it,” Nie Mingjue shrugs. “Says it helps his body feel stronger.”

He looks back, gesturing his two brothers forward. “Xiao Cheng, come meet my friend.”

Nie Cheng looks up at the Lan disciple; up close, he can make out how his eyes shift from light brown to a golden hue underneath the sun. “Hello.”

“Hello,” the other boy greets back, smiling. He seems to always be smiling, lips permanently turned up.

“This is Lan Xichen,” Nie Mingjue introduces, placing a hand on Nie Cheng’s shoulder. “He’s going to be looking after you and A-Sang for the day, okay?”

Nie Cheng nods, looking away from Lan Xichen to shift closer to Nie Huaisang. He wonders if Lan Xichen knows their relationship was all a ruse; as a Lan, he’s surely heard of Jiang Cheng, but perhaps he had been young to attend any events hosted at Lotus Pier.

“Xicheng-xiong!” Nie Huaisang beams, jumping up and down. “Are we going to play together?”

“Of course!” Lan Xichen laughs. “I’ll take good care of you and Wanyin, alright?”

“Okay!” Nie Huaisang leans past Nie Cheng to shove at their brother’s forearm. “Da-ge, you go now.”

“Brat,” Nie Mingjue grumbles, kneeling down to wrap his arms around his younger brothers. “You two take care of each other. I’ll be back in the evening. Stay safe, and listen to Xichen.”

“You’ll be gone all day?” Nie Cheng asks, voice dropping into a whisper. “What if someone notices?”

“A-Sang will protect you,” Nie Mingjue promises. Nie Huaisang nods, tugging on their joint hands. Nie Cheng purses his lips, but nods, stepping back to allow Nie Mingjue to stand up and mount his sword. He can’t help but draw parallels to watching their father fly off, growing smaller and smaller among the overreaching sky.

“I’m sure you’re nervous to be apart from your brother for so long,” Lan Xichen says to him. “Is this your first time away from home?”

“Mhm,” Nie Cheng mumbles, not quite used to speaking with others. He had remained quite isolated even at home, playing the role of a gradually recovering son who was still adjusting to the outside. Nie Mingjue must have trusted the Lans immensely to leave them in their care.

“Shall we go inside?” Lan Xichen asks. “My brother is looking forward to meeting you.”

Nie Cheng looks up, eyes wide. “Brother?”

The Lans have two sons: Lan Xichen, who was currently leading them down a path towards a formal building, the plaque hung on the exterior labeling it “Yanshi”, and Lan Wangji, the youngest. Nie Cheng had known, of course, but he hadn’t quite connected Lan Xichen to being the sect leader’s son until now.

“Wanji-xiong is grumpy,” Nie Huaisang whispers to Nie Cheng, cupping a hand over his ear to avoid Lan Xichen overhearing. “He doesn’t talk a lot, so don’t be sad if he doesn’t speak to you.”

“Will he play with us?” Nie Cheng whispers back.

“Do you want him to?” At Nie Cheng’s nod, Nie Huaisang pats his head, careful not to mess up the braids sprouting from his scalp. “Then he will.”

“Wangji doesn’t have a lot of playmates,” Lan Xichen says, pushing open the door to let them inside. “He’s very distant with the other disciples his age. I hope you two will treat him kindly.”

Raising his voice, he calls out to the seemingly empty room. “Uncle, Wangji, our guests are here.”

From another room, Nie Cheng can make out shuffling sounds, and a few moments later, an older man appears in a doorway tucked away in the back wall, holding the hand of someone Nie Cheng assumes is Lan Wangji.

“Has Nie Mingjue already left?” the older man, Lan Qiren, asks. Lan Xichen nods, taking his brother’s hold from his uncle and bringing him forward.

“Greetings, Lan-qianbei!” Nie Huaisang chirps, bowing. Nie Cheng follows suit, echoing his brother’s words.

Lan Qiren nods, eyes trailing across Nie Cheng’s face. He had definitely seen Jiang Cheng before, as acting sect leader for the Lan sect, but as for if he would recognize Nie Cheng as such was unclear. Nie Cheng didn’t look much like he did in the past: his robes were different, for one, and his hair too, no longer fully bound up in a bun but rather half up-half down in a style similar to his brothers’, braids entwined throughout.

He carried himself differently, as well, walked like he knew he was safe, ran like he was confident in himself. Lan Qiren finally looks away to address Lan Xichen, missing Nie Cheng’s quiet sigh of relief.

“Take them out to the fields in the back,” he orders Lan Xichen. “The library is also free for you to use.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Lan Xichen says. “Mingjue sends his gratitude as well.”

“That boy should really consider letting his advisors take over some of his duties,” Lan Qiren scowls. “He’s far too young to be doing so much.”

Nie Cheng sneaks a peak at Lan Wangji, who was silently standing by his brother’s side. Unlike Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji seemed to be in a permanent state of neutrality, catching Nie Cheng’s gaze and staring back at him. Nie Cheng draws himself forward, standing in front of Lan Wangji.

“Hello,” he greets. Lan Wangji doesn’t remind him of anyone he knows, all of them too filled with expressive emotions. Even Lan Xichen, with his gentle smiles, makes him recall Jiang Yanli. “I like your eyes!”

They were like his brother’s but leaned more on the golden side. It was like the gold embroidered on his robes, like the gold that worked together with various shades of gray to represent the Nie clan. Nie Cheng found himself pleasantly surprised when he saw them; Lan Wangji was pretty good-looking even if he resembled a statue more often than not.

Lan Wangji nods, ears stained a light pink. “They’re from my mother.”

“Oh.” Nie Cheng hadn’t heard about Madame Lan, but she must have been in seclusion alongside Sect Leader Lan. “Me too!”

Nie-zongzhu had light gray eyes that he passed down to Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang. Nie Cheng’s eyes were hued with a blue that they attributed to his unknown mother. In fact, most genetic differences were summed up to his mother; it was an easy excuse. Nie Cheng sends a silent apology to his actual mother, who had startling violet eyes that seemed to be able to drill into his brain every time she looked at him.

Lan Wangji nods, lips pursed. Lan Xichen takes notice, letting them go outside first while he finished conversing with Lan Qiren. Nie Cheng pulls Nie Huaisang’s arm, and after brief contemplation, grabs ahold of Lan Wangji’s hand as well, who startles, but doesn’t pull away, letting himself be dragged out.

An attendant leads them to the fields Lan Qiren had mentioned; it’s an open, sloping plain, covered with lush grass. The morning dew clings to each blade, frost lining the sides. Nie Cheng picks a particularly rigid piece, handing it over to Nie Huaisang before picking another two pieces.

“Do you know how to whistle?” he asks Lan Wangji, who blinks, pressing his lips into a tiny ‘o’ shape and trilling out a crisp note.

“Not like that!” Nie Huaisang giggles. Lan Wangji glares at him, but Nie Huaisang doesn’t take notice, holding up the blade of grass Nie Cheng had given to him. “With this!”

Nie Huaisang slots the grass between the sides of his hands, bringing it up to his mouth and blowing out a shrill, high-pitched note alongside a loud puff of air. Lan Wangji frowns, and Nie Cheng gives him one of the grass blades in his hand, feeling as if he must be upset from being left out.

“You have to pull it tight here,” Nie Cheng explains to Lan Wangji, showing him how to do it with slow movements. Lan Wangji copies him, following Nie Cheng as they both blow out notes. Afterward, Lan Wangji looks at the grass in his palm, eyelashes fluttering down.

“Cool, right?” Nie Cheng grins. He had learned it from one of the older disciples and immediately ran to his brothers to show them his new trick.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji hums, a quiet noise of agreement. Nie Huaisang brings his hands up to his mouth again, continuing to let out short bursts of noise. Lan Wangji frowns, grabbing one of Nie Huaisang’s wrists and tugging it down.

“Making noise is prohibited,” he says.

Nie Cheng blinks, not quite understanding what Lan Wangji meant. Didn’t they make noise every time they spoke, or moved? How was it possible to not make noise? Even Nie Cheng, when he’s trying particularly hard to be quiet, cannot stifle the sounds of his breathing. It was proof that he was alive; only the dead have nothing more to say to the world.

“But we’re not from the Lan sect!” Nie Huaisang protests. Lan Wangji shakes his head, bringing a finger up to his shut lips to shush him. Nie Cheng sits down, curious to watch their encounter. Nie Huaisang was usually met with exasperation, usually from Nie Mingjue, but Lan Wangji didn’t seem like the type to do anything more than shake his head in a disapproving manner.

“You are in the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Wangji says. “You must follow its rules. Be respectful and humble.”

“No one can follow your wall of rules!” Nie Huaisang complains, stomping his foot on the ground. “There are too many! Who can even remember all of them in the first place?”

“Do not succumb to rage,” Lan Wangji simply says. “Be careful with your words.”

“You be careful with your words!” Nie Huaisang replies, puffing out his cheeks. He drops down next to Nie Cheng, leaning against his brother. “Xiao Cheng, I’m being bullied!”

“Wangji-xiong is pretty funny,” Nie Cheng notes, picking at the grass around him. He has a select few strands on his lap, each one long and resilient to breaking; his rejected pieces were tossed back to the ground, either torn in two or disfigured in some other way.

“He’s being mean to me!” Nie Huaisang cries.

“Do not tell lies,” Lan Wangji replies, sitting down next to Nie Cheng, opposite of Nie Huaisang. He smooths down his robes, observing the way Nie Cheng was fiddling with the grass in his hands.

“Do not tell lies,” Nie Cheng echoes, patting Nie Huaisang’s head. It rested upon his shoulder, and Nie Cheng can feel the vibrations travel through his robes as Nie Huaisang whined.

“Don’t copy him,” Nie Huaisang grumbles, wrapping his arms around Nie Cheng’s waist. “The Lan sect has to follow a million different rules and can’t do anything fun.”

“There are only three thousand,” Lan Wangji corrects. Nie Cheng nods in agreement, pressing his lips tight against each other so as not to laugh.

“See?” he says to Nie Huaisang, who is all but slumped over against Nie Cheng, defeated. “It’s not that many.”

To Lan Wangji, he holds up his creation, beaming. “Look, Wangji-xiong!”

The pieces of grass he had selected were tied to each other, forming a long string. Nie Cheng wraps it around his forehead, holding it up from behind with his hand. “I’m like you!”

Lan Wangji stares at him, golden eyes sharp. Nie Cheng smiles, scrunching up his nose when the silence had gone on for just a bit too long. Suddenly, a hand reaches out; Lan Wangji picks off a loose piece of grass from the makeshift headband, nodding.

“The forehead headband is a reminder of self-restraint,” he says, pulling his hand back. “Other people should not be permitted to touch it.”

“You just touched it,” Nie Cheng reminds him. Lan Wangji startles, ears flushing red as he bows his head.

“I will go copy the rule in order to discipline myself,” he says.

“What?” Nie Cheng says, dropping his hold on his grass string to grab Lan Wangji’s head. “It’s okay, it’s just pretend! Stay here!”

“Go copy all your stupid rules,” Nie Huaisang says, sticking his tongue out. Nie Cheng flicks him on the forehead, much to Nie Huaisang’s displeasure, which he makes known through various noises of complaint.

“Does that mean no one can touch your headband?” Nie Cheng asks Lan Wangji, who has returned to sitting down. Lan Wangji shakes his head, placing his hands in his lap.

“Family members and loved ones are permitted to touch,” he answers. Nie Cheng lets out an “oh”, picking back up his grass headband and placing it in Lan Wangji’s hands.

“Then, you’ll be my brother!” he smiles. “Help me put it on!”

“Excuse me?”

“What!?” Nie Huaisang cries. “Xiao Cheng!”

“What’s wrong?”

“You-- you can’t just make random people your brother!” Nie Huaisang sputters.

“Why not?” Nie Cheng asks. Jiang Fengmian had made Wei Ying his ward as soon as they had met, and Nie Huaisang didn’t hesitate to name Nie Cheng as his brother either. Pretty hypocritical of Nie Huaisang, but Nie Cheng doesn’t point that out.

“Wangji-xiong already has a brother!” Nie Huaisang argues. “Besides, I’m here! I’ll put it on for you!”

He makes a grab for the grass from Lan Wangji, but is unsuccessful due to Lan Wangji pulling his hand away, scowling at Nie Huaisang.

“Only members of the Lan sect may assist another in adorning their forehead headband.” Lan Wangji says. Nie Cheng turns his head to face his brother, allowing Lan Wangji to tie a knot in the back so that the grass band stays up. He feels around his head for the grass, careful not to put too much pressure on the delicate strands.

“That’s not one of the rules!” Nie Huaisang complains, throwing himself across Nie Cheng’s lap so he can better reach Lan Wangji, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Do not tell lies! You’re lying right now!”

“Am not,” Lan Wangji shoots back, wrinkling his nose. Nie Cheng frowns, grabbing each other their hands and stacking them atop each other, placing his own on the very top.

“Let’s all get along,” he says, trying to be stern like he’s seen Nie Mingjue do. “We’re all good brothers, after all.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji nods, stacking his other hand on top of Nie Cheng’s. “Be a filial child. Do not argue with your family.”

Nie Huaisang pouts, slamming his non-claimed hand atop everyone else’s. It breaks the small tower they had created, hands crumbling away. Nie Cheng looks at his stray hands dangling in front of him and bursts out into peals of laughter, quickly joined by his brother. Even Lan Wangji can’t help but let loose a small smile, affected by the delight rippling through the air.

“What’s all this?” Lan Xichen calls from the paved path, having just arrived. He steps down to join them, standing in front of the children. “What have you three been up to?”

“Wangji-xiong was teaching us about the Lan rules!” Nie Cheng says, beaming.

“Were you?” Lan Xichen asks his brother. At Lan Wangji’s nods, Lan Xichen sighs, placing a gentle hand on his brother’s head. “Wangji, be patient with them. The Nies aren’t used to so many rules.”

“Not scolding,” Lan Wangji frowns. “Xiao Cheng made a headband.”

“You can’t call him Xiao Cheng!” Nie Huaisang protests. Lan Wangji ignores him, gesturing to the grass circling Nie Cheng’s head. Nie Cheng shakes his head, feeling the ends fly around behind him.

“Oh! I was wondering what that was!” Lan Xichen laughs. Nie Cheng nods, watching as Lan Xichen kneels down next to Lan Wangji. Lan Xichen looked terribly similar to his brother, he found. There was no doubt that they were brothers.

Nie Cheng looks at his own brother, whose head was still resting in his lap. Nie Huaisang blinks up at him, reaching up to pinch his cheeks.

“Your thoughts are too loud,” Nie Huaisang says, poking Nie Cheng. “Think a little less.”

“Not everyone can be as emptyheaded as you, Ge,” Nie Cheng shoots back. Nie Huaisang gasps, shooting up to tackle Nie Cheng to the ground, who goes down with a gleeful shriek.

“Take that back!” Nie Huaisang says, shaking Nie Cheng’s shoulders.

Nie Cheng laughs, fighting back by batting against Nie Huaisang's chest. “Never!”

They tousle for a while before it ends with Nie Cheng as the victor, grabbing Nie Huaisang and pulling him down next to him. They laugh together, voices blending together in synchronous harmony.

“You two really are similar,” Lan Xichen muses, sitting on the left of Lan Wangji, who had scooted over to help Nie Cheng sit up, leaving Nie Huaisang alone in his lay.

“Really?” Nie Cheng asks, brushing stray grass off his head. Lan Wangji helps, making sure his headband isn’t destroyed in the process. “We don’t look alike at all, not like you and Wangji-xiong.”

“It’s in your expressions,” Lan Xichen explains, pointing to his own face. “You and Huaisang smile in the same manner. Mingjue too; the three of you must have inherited it from your father.”

“Oh.” There was nothing to inherit, but it was a nice thought nonetheless. Nie Cheng touches the corners of his lips, pushing it up into a mock smile. “I guess so.”

He looks over at Nie Huaisang, whole grins, eyes scrunching up. “See? I told you so!”

“Did not,” Nie Cheng refutes, sticking out his tongue. Still, he can’t help but smile, their faces mirroring each other in matching expressions of joy. Perhaps he was worried over nothing after all; no one seemed to doubt his position as the third Nie son. Nie Mingjue’s reputation for being nothing but honest helped, of course, as did the rumors that spread into every corner of the cultivation world.

But if one were to ask Lan Xichen what cemented the fact that Nie Mingjue had another brother, he would point to how Nie Huaisang and Nie Cheng interacted with each other, how they seemed so comfortable and dependent on each other, how there was nothing but unconditional affection in their matching smiles, matching laughs.

There was no doubt in his mind: Nie Cheng truly was their brother.

Chapter Text

Nie Cheng really does like playing at the Cloud Recesses. Truly, it had been one of most enjoyable trips of his life, and he ended up making a new friend in Lan Wangji, despite Nie Huaisang’s protests. He was appreciative of his time there, and happy that Nie Mingjue got to have some time off from having to take of him and Nie Huaisang.

He was satisfied, he really was. It’s just, well…

“When is Da-ge coming back?” Nie Huaisang whines, rolling around in the fields they ran through in the morning. Nie Cheng also lies within the field, feeling each individual blade of grass tickle and itch at the soft skin of his face.

They ended up eating dinner at the Cloud Recesses, sitting in silence amongst other Lan disciples clothes in bright whites and humble blues. Their darker grey and gold robes contrast the usual color palette of the Lans, but they are surrounded by Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen, who cover their dark spot with their own lighter colors.

Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang eat quick and little, finding their taste in food unaligned with the mild-flavored broth and vegetables they were served. They spent the rest of dinner making increasingly ridiculous faces at each other, trying not to giggle in the middle of the dining hall.

But by now the sun had set, and the Lans were to retire very soon, what with their early bedtimes. It was getting dark, and the atmosphere was slowly settling in for the night, and Nie Mingjue still wasn’t here.

“He said he’d be back today, right?” Nie Cheng asks, breathing out a puff of air when Nie Huaisang nods. There’s no visual cloud that followed-- it was the middle of summer, and the warm air prevented Nie Cheng from pretending to blow smoke in the air like a fire-breathing creature-- but if he held his hand up in front of his face, he could feel cool air brush against the palm.

“He promised he’d be back in the evening,” Nie Huaisang grumbles, settling next to Nie Cheng and throwing a flippant arm around his brother’s chest. Nie Cheng grabs a hold of it, clutching the fabric of Nie Huaisang’s sleeves.

“Maybe he got stuck in a meeting,” Nie Cheng suggests, yawning. He absentmindedly tugs at the various layers of the sleeve, sticking his fingers between the white undershirt and gray top layer.

“This is why I never want to become sect leader,” Nie Huaisang says, wrinkling his nose. His hair is fanned out beneath him, the dark strands nearly past his shoulders. Nie Cheng takes in a deep breath, nothing that Nie Huaisang now smelled of grass. Or maybe it was just from the copious amounts of green that was around them.

“If Da-ge retires, the next leader is going to be you,” Nie Cheng points out. “Unless Da-ge has children.”

“Who would marry him?” Nie Huaisang murmurs. He sighs, a large, overexaggerated breath pushed out of his chest. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Da-ge never retires.”

“You can’t do that!”

“I definitely can! I’ll tell Da-ge that if he makes me sect leader I’ll disband the entire sect!”

They ignore the elephant in the room, that if Nie Mingjue passes away without an heir, Nie Huaisang would be all but forced to take up the mantle previously held by his father and brother. He wouldn’t have a choice, willing to or not. It was a role he had been crowned with at birth; previously unlikely, given his position within their father’s children, but with the current Wen situation, they had to be prepared for anything.

“You’d be a better sect leader,” Nie Huaisang says, twisting his wrist to grasp at Nie Cheng’s hand. “Da-ge should just give the position to you instead.”

“I don’t want it,” Nie Cheng protests, squeezing his brother’s thumb. He would be a better pick than Nie Huaisang, who had never experienced being the first son, never been looked down upon from upon a promised throne and told that one day, he would bear the responsibility of the people who once took care of him. A generational cycle, going round and round again, pushing him from a child to an adult, a disciple to a leader.

It was heavy knowledge to hold, and now Nie Cheng sits comfortably in his position as the third son, able to rely on his brothers before him.

Besides, he wouldn’t take any position from Nie Huaisang, no matter how much the other insisted on it. Power was a double-edged sword: dangerous in so many ways, but also granting a wall of security that wasn’t otherwise possible. It was how Nie-zongzhu could introduce a new son out of the blue, how Jin Guangshan could commit adultery so often, how Jiang-zongzhu could pick up an orphan from the streets.

Power corrupted, yes, but it also protected just as hard, shielding its wielder from harm. As long as there were benefits as compelling as that, Nie Cheng would give it to his brother, who was quick to fear and had an unfortunate tendency of getting himself into trouble.

“But Xiao Cheng!” Nie Huaisang whines, his voice ringing through the open air. Nie Cheng shushes him, pressing a finger against his mouth.

“I’ll still help you!” Nie Cheng tries to appease him, turning over to curl around Nie Huaisang’s arm, wrapping his own around it. He rests his head against the side of Nie Huaisang’s shoulder, blowing away the stray grass that clung to his lips. “I’ll be your right-hand man!”

“Of course you have to help me!” Nie Huaisang replies, tugging on the end of Nie Cheng’s hair. “I don’t know how to do any of this by myself!”

Nie Cheng squirms, further pressing his cheek against Nie Huaisang. “Do you think Da-ge got stuck doing more work? Did he forget about us?”

His brother shifts to patting his head, palm running down the top of his scalp. “Da-ge wouldn’t forget! I’m sure he’s just busy.”

“Okay.” Nie Cheng nods, eyes fluttering shut. “When I grow up, I want to help Da-ge. So he won’t be so tired all the time.”

Nie Huaisang’s hand is warm against his head, sliding down to tug at Nie Cheng’s cheek. “Da-ge is a bit dumb, so he’ll need all the help he can get. You and I will have to run things for him, so he can focus on yelling at everyone else.”

Nie Cheng snorts, finally giving into his exhaustion and shutting his mouth. He clings onto Nie Huaisang’s arm, holding it as one would hold a pillow, or an old plush toy. His brother is compliant with his touchiness, going so far as to twist his body towards Nie Cheng so he’s able to pull Nie Huaisang’s arm even closer towards his chest.

Just a little while, Nie Cheng promises himself. He’ll take a short nap, and wake up when Nie Mingjue comes back for them. It’ll only be a little while, just a little…

- - - -

Nie Cheng shoots up, waking from a familiar nightmare, the echoes of Jiang Yanli’s voice ringing through his mind. He scrambles to grab onto something around him, startling when his fingers make contact with soft fabric instead of itchy grass.

He’s back in his room now; no one woke him up when Nie Mingjue came. Nie Cheng catches his breath, sucking in air until it feels like his lungs are about to burst before exhaling.

There was faint light streaming into his room from the barely rising sun, whose warm air had already crept into Nie Cheng’s room. He slips out of bed, wanting to find Nie Mingjue.

The halls are quiet, but not lonely; Nie Cheng can hear others slowly rising for the day, getting ready in other rooms. Nie Cheng makes his way down the hall and to the left, standing in front of the ever-familiar study and knocking.

“Come in,” Nie Mingjue’s voice booms from within. He smiles when he sees Nie Cheng, letting him stand over his desk and peek at the papers he was working on. “I didn’t expect you to be up this early, Xiao Cheng. Good morning.”

“G’morning,” Nie Cheng mumbles, rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t get to say bye to Wangji-xiong.”

Lan Wangji went to bed at 9, following the Lan tradition of sleeping early and rising early. He was still awake by the time Nie Cheng had fallen asleep, but retired to his own quarters in order to meditate and get ready for bed. Nie Cheng has wanted to drop by before he left, unaware of his incoming deep sleep.

“You can write him a letter if you desire,” Nie Mingjue reassures him, patting his head. “Did you have fun at the Cloud Recesses?”

Nie Cheng absentmindedly nods, eyebrows drawing together as he examines the thick documents further. “Da-ge, why are your papers so dirty?”

There were stains littered all over the papers, from specks of light dirt to crusted splotches of a dark, reddish-brown. Nie Cheng could see that Nie Mingjue was rewriting the contents of the ruined parchment, and from what he could make out, it was a trade agreement between the Nie and Wen sects.

“I dropped them,” Nie Mingjue says, voice airy and absent, like a giant trying to hide behind a small houseplant. Nie Cheng isn’t impressed.

“Doing what?”

“Nothing,” Nie Mingjue replies. He holds on for all of three seconds under Nie Cheng’s stare before folding, sighing as he pushes the dirty papers to the side. “Just a little tousle with the Wens. It’s not a big deal.”

“Did you get injured?” Nie Cheng asks, tugging on his brother’s sleeve. “Did you win?”

“Of course, I won,” Nie Mingjue grins, pride sparkling through his eyes. “Those Wen dogs have nothing on your Da-ge. It’s only some minor cuts that I’ve retained, they’ve all stopped bleeding by now.”

He grasps Nie Cheng by the shoulders, leading him out of the study with gentle nudges. “Go eat breakfast first, okay? And don’t tell A-Sang what happened.”

Nie Cheng nods, placing a finger over his own mouth to show his compliance. He shuts the door behind him, examining the ornate decorations surrounding the frame of the study before turning around and heading straight towards Nie Huaisang’s room.

Of course he’s going to tell Nie Huaisang. Nie Mingjue had to have known when he told Nie Cheng, who doesn’t keep anything from his brothers.

Nie Huaisang is still asleep when he sneaks in, only fumbling his arm around when Nie Cheng jumps onto his bed, throwing all his weight atop the bed’s owner.

“Ge,” Nie Cheng says, tapping Nie Huaisang’s face with the tops of his fingers. “Ge, Ge, Gege, wake up.”

“Stop poking me,” Nie Huaisang grumbles, swatting his hands away. His voice is raspy and the words melt together like he was about to fall back asleep at any moment. Nie Cheng shakes him, rattling Nie Huaisang back and forth. “You’re so mean, Xiao Cheng.”

“I’m hungry,” Nie Cheng says, rolling to the side of the bed as Nie Huaisang sits up. Nie Huaisang blinks, lifting an arm to shove Nie Cheng off.

“Me too,” Nie Huaisang says, ignoring Nie Cheng’s sputtering protests. “Let’s go eat!”

He jumps off and runs away, leaving Nie Cheng to voice his complaints through loud yells as he chases after his brother. The residence soon fills with noise after, as the servants prepare to look after the two younger Nie sons.

Nie Cheng tells Nie Huaisang what he heard from Nie Mingjue in the middle of breakfast, between bites of mantou and youtiao. Nie Huaisang nods, absentmindedly swirling his spoon around in counterclockwise motions around the bowl, the metal occasionally clinking against the porcelain. He listens with pursed lips and wide eyes; Nie Cheng can’t help but pat the back of his hand, his fingers resting on Nie Huaisang’s.

“It’s okay,” Nie Cheng says. “Da-ge says he didn’t get any serious injuries.”

“I wish he didn’t have to travel to that stinky Wen sect,” Nie Huaisang grumbles. “He would’ve done it here if it weren’t for those cowards.”

“He went to the Wen sect?” How come Nie Cheng didn't know about this?

“...Of course he went to the Wen sect,” Nie Huaisang replies, nodding. “Wen Ruohan would never let contracts be made off his land.”

“Why?” Nie Cheng asks, tilting his head. Wasn’t it just a negotiation? It wasn’t like a ritual that required a certain location to follow through. If it were up to Nie Cheng, he would have it arranged at a separate location, away from other people who could interfere.

“Home advantage,” Nie Huaisang explains, flipping over their hands so that his was on top. He traces abstract symbols into Nie Cheng’s open palm, concluding with a harsh poke in the middle, nail digging into the skin. At Nie Cheng’s affronted gasp, Nie Huaisang runs an apologetic thumb over the place he just poked, smoothing the skin. “It’s easier to get the other party to agree with your terms if the people surrounding the place are also your people.”

“Huh?”

“You feel better when you’re with me or Da-ge, right?” Nie Huaisang asks. When Nie Cheng nods, he smiles, holding a finger up in the air like a teacher. “When you feel better, you’re more confident, and you have a better chance of getting what you want.”

Nie Cheng “oohs”, nodding along to Nie Huaisang’s words. “You’re really smart sometimes, Ge.”

“What do you mean sometimes!?” Nie Huaisang cries, banging his fist on the table. It makes a small clang, similar to stumbling into a doorframe or a chair. “I’m smart all the time!”

“If you say so,” Nie Cheng replies, eyeing his brother. Nie Huaisang whines, collapsing his body forward onto the table and stretching his arms out to grab Nie Cheng.

“Let go of me!” Nie Cheng shrieks, batting at Nie Huaisang’s hands. “You’re gross!”

“You’re gross!” Nie Huaisang shoots back. “And smelly!”

“Am not!”

“Am too!”

- - - -

Wangji-xiong,

Hello.

Da-ge says hi to your brother. He says hi to you too. I asked Ge to do the same, but he was really grumpy and didn’t want to. Sorry for not saying bye to you. No one woke me up because they’re all mean.

But I liked playing with you! The Cloud Recesses is a bit boring, though. You should come to Qinghe Nie! Da-ge said he wao would take us out to play in the streets. There’s this auntie who makes really good wontons, and she can make them not spicy too, since you don’t like those.

Da-ge got hurt by the Wens Da-ge says everything went well while we were gone. He got to go to the Wen sect and tour their sect! I think the Wens are kinda scary, but Da-ge isn’t spooked by them at all! He says their sect is very evil mean stinky interesting.

Ge is making fun of me again! But it’s okay because I bae beat him in training again. It’s not that hard, Ge doesn’t train properly because he doesn’t like using sabers. Or swords. Or daggers. Or anything pointy, really. He’s only here because Da-ge treahtn threatened to take away his painting classes. Da-ge says your brother is really strong, like him! I want to see his sword! I’m getting a saber soon, like my Da-ge! It’s going to be big and strong!

Ge says I have to stop writing now. Reply to my letter! Or I’ll get Da-ge to bring my me back to the Cloud Recesses to find you!

Bye,

Nie Cheng Wanyin

- - - -

Dear Xiao Cheng,

Good afternoon. Do not worry, Sect Leader Nie arrived after I had already retired to bed, so we would have been unable to meet anyways. You can give Nie Huaisang my greetings, even if he does not wish to reciprocate.

I also enjoyed our time together. Shufu says I can visit the Unclean Realm if I please, but that we should give Sect Leader Nie some more time to get settled leading the Nie sect. You can take me to see the places you enjoy, and I will follow.

Xiongzhang says the Wens are a powerful and dangerous sect. He wants your brother to be more cautious when interacting with them. You should as well, if you ever come across a Wen.

Nie Huaisang simply does not enjoy the things that have been pushed upon him. If he is content in his own activities, let him be. I will practice with you instead. I am expected to receive my own sword soon, as well. We can compare blades when given the chance; I am interested in your family’s use of a saber rather than the traditional sword. Xiongzhang is good, though he is not strong like how Sect Leader Nie is. The Lan style of swordplay involves fewer sharp movements than the Nie style. Xiongzhang is the best in his class; the next time you come visit, we can watch him at the training field.

Xiongzhang sends his regards towards your brother as well. He is excited to host him during this year’s disciple conference. You do not have to listen to Nie Huaisang; I enjoyed reading your letter. If you please, you can send more. I will reply with diligent haste.

Sincerely,

Lan Wangji

- - - -

Dae Dear Wangji-xiong,

My brother is going to what?

Chapter Text

“You can’t go!”

“I’ve already packed my bags,” Nie Mingjue says, trying his best to take a step towards the yard where the rest of the disciples were waiting for him. Difficult, when Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang are each clinging onto one of his legs, digging their heels into the ground in an attempt to anchor Nie Mingjue.

“Why can’t we come with?” Nie Huaisang asks, whining as he gets grabbed by the collar of his robes and lifted up. Nie Cheng holds on even tighter to Nie Mingjue’s leg, the last line of defense between Nie Mingjue leaving and staying.

“Because you’re not yet of age,” Nie Mingjue frowns. “Be good, it’s only for a few months.”

“That’s too many months!” Nie Cheng protests, tempted to bite down on his brother’s calf. Perhaps if he was injured, he wouldn't have to go.

“I’ll write you two letters every night,” Nie Mingjue offers. “And I’m sure Lan-shifu would let me come home everyone once in a while.”

“But what if he traps you there, and you never get to come back because you’re too busy working for the Lan sect?” Nie Huaisang cries, squirming around through the air. Nie Mingjue sighs, setting him down before quickly pulling Nie Cheng off him as well, much to the two brothers’ disappointment.

“Listen to me,” Nie Mingjue says, pulling them in close. They form a tight circle, the words spoken within meant only to fall upon three sets of ears. “Everything will be fine, okay? It’ll be like I never even left.”

Nie Cheng frowns, clutching the end of Nie Mingjue’s sleeve. Everything would not be okay, not if Nie Mingjue was going to leave home for so long. Multiple months! Their father had never even gone away for that long!

“You’ve been to the Cloud Recesses before, haven’t you?” Nie Mingjue coaxed, keeping his voice low and gentle, like a heavy blanket filled with goose feathers. “Wasn’t it nice there?”

“That’s why you took us there!?” Nie Huaisang cries. “You’re such a cheat, Da-ge!”

“Didn’t Xiao Cheng also make a friend while he was there?” Nie Mingjue shoots back. “The trip wasn’t in vain, then.”

“Better he never have met Lan Wangji,” Nie Huaisang grumbles, snatching Nie Cheng’s hand. “Xiao Cheng’s my didi, not his.”

“Can you bring Wangji-xiong a gift?” Nie Cheng blinks, looking up at his oldest brother.

“Do you have something you want to give him?” Nie Mingjue asks. Nie Cheng nods, releasing his hold on Nie Mingjue’s robe to dig through his own, pulling out a folded piece of paper. It was a drawing he meant to send over with his next letter, but Nie Mingjue would get there faster than any mail carrier, so he might as well ask him to take it with him.

“Why don’t you give me anything?” Nie Huaisang pouts.

“You get half of everything I own,” Nie Cheng replies, shaking his head. Honestly, his ge was so silly sometimes. Didn’t they sleep under the same roof, share the same meals, and attend the same classes together? He and Nie Huaisang were all but attached at the hip, more twins than a pair of older and younger brothers.

“And I gave you a birthday present!” Nie Cheng protests, recalling the card he had shyly pressed into Nie Huaisang’s arms before being tackled onto the ground with a hug by said brother. Even now, his sloppy handwriting and crude pictures were hung up on Nie Huaisang’s wall, right next to the open, wooden window projecting light into the room.

“Behave, you two,” Nie Mingjue says, stopping their argument from further progressing. He kneels down and places a hand on each of their shoulders, encasing them within strong arms. “You two need to protect each other while I’m gone, okay?”

“What do we do if we need help?” Nie Huaisang asks, leaning closer toward Nie Cheng.

“The Nie Sect has found a nanny to look after you for the next few months,” Nie Mingjue says. “I told them they didn’t have to, but they seemed to be worried about Xiao Cheng’s health…”

“I can take care of Xiao Cheng!” Nie Huaisang protests, puffing out his chest. “I know everything about his medical condition!”

“I think you’d accidentally poison me,” Nie Cheng says, poking Nie Huaisang’s cheek. Nie Huaisang scowls, jerking his neck away to avoid Nie Cheng’s touch.

“I wouldn’t accidentally poison you,” he replies, sticking his tongue out. “I’d do it on purpose.”

“Rude,” Nie Cheng huffs. “I’d poison you first.”

“No one is poisoning anymore,” Nie Mingjue scolds. He stands up, twirling his fingers around the numerous braids that entwine in Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang’s hair. “Be good. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He would not, Nie Cheng thinks, missing his brother already even as he stands in front of him.

“I’m going to usurp your position with Xiao Cheng,” Nie Huaisang huffs. They watch Nie Mingjue join the rest of the Nie disciples around his age, and together they take off, with Nie Mingjue leading the group.

Nie Cheng swings his and Nie Huaisang’s interlocked hands between them. He wonders what they’ll do now, without the supervision of their oldest brother.

“Xiao Cheng,” Nie Huaisang whines, resting his head against the side of Nie Cheng’s arm. “What if I get kidnapped at night?”

“Who would want to kidnap someone like you?” Nie Cheng asks, snorting. Nie Huaisang doesn’t relent though, sniffling and perfusing various worries until Nie Cheng finally gives in, unable to stand seeing his brother in pain, even if he was playing it up.

“Nothing will happen to you,” Nie Cheng assured him, patting his hand. “I’ll protect you, Ge.”

“But Xiao Cheng is so small!” Nie Huaisang wails. “The intruder is going to look past him and right to me!”

…Nevermind, let Nie Huaisang be scared all he wants.

“Who are you calling small!?” Nice Cheng huffs, dragging them back inside. “I’m taller than you!”

“You,” Nie Huaisang replies, dragging out the end of the word. “My cute little Xiao Cheng, ready to defend me at a moment's notice!”

“Go die!” Nie Cheng says, hitting the top of Nie Huaisang’s head. “I’m not cute, I’m handsome.”

“Xiao Cheng will always be cute to me,” Nie Huaisang grins. “We’re both going to grow up, but you’ll always be younger.”

“So what?” Nie Cheng grumbles. He’s still stronger than Nie Huaisang, who consistently slacks off during training. Nie Cheng wants his brother to do what he likes, but he can’t help but worry sometimes, fretting about what would happen to Nie Huaisang if he or Nie Mingjue weren’t around. Nie Huaisang was so bright, yet so delicate, like a firefly that could be crushed with a single step. Or perhaps a dog; a very domesticated, spoiled dog, whose never had to hunt for itself in its life.

Forget it, he’ll just have to stick by his brother’s side till they’re old and gray.

“I’ll sleep in your room tonight,” Nie Cheng declares. “To keep you safe.”

“Xiao Cheng is very smart,” Nie Huaisang nods. “And strong, and charming.”

“Don’t be so shameless,” Nie Cheng frowns, tugging on Nie Huaisang’s ear. Nie Huaisang groans, bumping his head against Nie Cheng’s clavicle.

“Mean, you’re being mean!” Nie Huaisang accuses. “I don’t want you in my room anymore!”

He says this while rubbing his ears and crossing his arms, skipping away from Nie Cheng, who laughs and simply follows after him, chasing Nie Huaisang into the grand hallways they called their home. Still, for all of Nie Huaisang’s protests and complaints, Nie Cheng found himself crawling into Nie Huaisang’s bed, clutching his own pillow because Nie Huaisang was greedy, and refused to share his.

As he settles into the mattress, Nie Cheng closes his eyes, letting out a small puff of air. His hand finds the end of Nie Huaisang’s sleeve and grasps onto it; it was nice to hear someone else’s presence next to him, to hear the rising and falling of another chest in sync with his. It made missing Nie Mingjue just a bit more tolerable.

He still wishes he didn’t have to leave, though. Stupid Da-ge! Come back soon, or Nie Cheng’s going to drag you back himself!

- - - -

Dear Wangji-xiong,

Is Da-ge there yet? Did you get in my drawing!? Is it pretty? It’s a little dog puppy; I like dogs, and they’re good at protecting people, so it can look after you while youre your ge is at camp with my da-ge!

Hey, since Da-ge is over at the Cloud Reccces Recesses, can you come over to the Unclean Realm? I want to play together! Ge is being annoying, all he wants to so do is watch birds. And you can meet our new nanny! She’s called Wang-ayi, and she’s really nice! She likes to cook for me and Ge, even though Lu-ayi told her she could do it. Wang-aiyi even let me play in the town by myself! I almost got lost and started crying, but a nice uncle found me and brought me back home. When you come over, I definitely won’t let us get lost!

Bye,

Nie Wanyin

- - - -

Dear Xiao Cheng,

I have received your drawing, given to me by your da-ge. It is very artistic; I appreciate the intent behind the gesture. I’ve sent a gift in return. Xiongzhang helped me pick it out; he says small carvings are very popular amongst children.

He and your da-ge are enjoying their time training with my shufu. Xiongzhang says your brother is getting along well with most people. Occasionally, he gets into arguments with the Wen disciples, but Xiongzhang manages to drag him away before anything too serious happens. Your da-ge also seems to be awkward around Jiang-guniang, the eldest daughter of the Jiang sect. Xiongzhang seems to think that da-ge holds feelings for her. I would not go against my Xiongzhang’s ideas, but I think that your da-ge seems like he wants to yell at her rather than court her. Perhaps that is simply how Nies approach romance.

Nevertheless, your da-ge worries after you and Nie Huaisang. I see him talking to shufu about it often. I don’t know if that is allowed, but shufu seems particularly concerned with matters regarding you and your brothers. He seems to be planning a trip to examine the sect. I will see if I can ask to accompany him, so that we can meet again.

Sincerely,

Lan Wangji

- - - -

A-Sang,

How have you and Xiao Cheng been faring? I’ve been settling in well. Xichen is a helpful friend, as always. If only you were as dependable to Xiao Cheng as he is towards Wangji, I wouldn’t worry so much! I’ve talked to some of the other disciples; no sect heirs, but some are close relatives. You were right; it’s much easier to form alliances here than across meeting tables. Why not spend those brain cells focusing on your studies, huh!?

Interesting news: I’ve bumped into Jiang-guniang many times already during my trip here. She seems to be content in her current situation. We’ve talked some, just casual everyday conversation. I think it is going well.

Remember to do your homework, and to look out for Xiao Cheng. I’ll be back soon.

Love,

Da-ge

- - - -

Xiao Cheng,

How are you and A-Sang doing? I’ve delivered your drawing to Wangji, as promised. He seemed to like it alot!

As for me, I’m making a lot of new friends here. There are a lot of different sects gathered here; when you come, you should try seeking some new people out. Of course, if you’re reluctant to, you still have Wangji and Xichen looking out for you.

How is Wang-ayi treating you two? Are you having fun? Don’t forget to continue training, and try to get A-Sang to practice as well. You need to look out for A-Sang when I’m not there, he gets into too much trouble. I’ll be back so fast, you’ll want to send me back to the Cloud Recesses!

Love,

Da-ge

- - - -

Dear Da-ge,

Wow, you can make friends? Who knew Da-ge had these hidden talents!? And I’m studying well! Laoshi said my poetry had gotten more elegant, hehe.

Xiao Cheng and I are having lots of fun without you! Wang-aiyi lets us eat cold sweets in the morning and run around all we want. She’s very caring; I wonder where she’s from?

Da-ge, with your temper, I don’t think Jiang-guniang is going to fall for you. You need to talk to her more! A-Sang’s advice is to talk about common topics, like family! Talk about how cute Xiao Cheng and I are! Then she can talk about how cute her brothers are is. Boom! Connection established! You need to get to know her better before bring her home, or else I won’t accept it.

Don’t be so stinky,

A-Sang

- - - -

Dear Da-ge,

Wangji-xiong gave me a dog sculpture! It’s really cute, and I put it on my desk so I can pet its head when I’m donig doing homework, except its really tiny so I can only use one finger and I have to be really jental gentle.

I don’t want to make news new friends! I’ll just stay with Wangji-xiong and Xichen-xiong. Wangji-xiong said he’d let me wach watch Xicheng-xiong’s sword fights! But I guess if I have to make friends to help the sect, then I can… or Ge can!

Wang-ayi is fun, but I like you more! She makes me and Ge drink this weird tea before bed. It smells good, but then it tastes icky bitter! It’s a liar! She says its good for our health, but it’s not good for my tongue! When you come back, bring lots and lots of some sweets for me and Ge! You can have some too, I guess.

Miss you lots!

Xiao Cheng

Chapter Text

“Dear Wangji-xiong…” Nie Cheng mumbles to himself, drafting yet another letter to his friend. “Today Ge and I… played with the horses in the stable…”

Ink turns into messy characters on the paper, its wet shine reflecting the sunlight pouring through. Nie Cheng sighs, setting down his brush and examining the few sentences he had already written. It was getting late, and Nie Cheng was getting hungry. His stomach rumbles in agreement, the final push to get Nie Cheng to hop off his chair and go find his brother.

Nie Huaisang is still outside, also scribbling something down on a piece of parchment. Nie Cheng sits next to him, silently observing the way Nie Huaisang’s brush moves across the paper. Nie Huaisang shifts, twisting his wrist so Nie Cheng can better read what he wrote.

“Da-ge is courting someone?”

“Da-ge is trying to court someone,” Nie Huaisang corrects, shaking his head. “It’s not going well.”

“Who is it?” Nie Cheng asks. He thinks about how Lan Wangji had mentioned his brother’s speculations at Nie Mingjue and Jiang Yanli. This was sure to clarify Lan Xichen’s assumptions!

Nie Huaisang shrugs, finishing off his letter to Nie Mingjue with a reminder to ask the girl more questions. Nie Cheng takes the brush from him, doodling a little smiley face in the margins of the paper.

“That’s ugly,” Nie Huaisang whines.

“You’re ugly,” Nie Cheng retorts, pulling Nie Huaisang up by his wrist. “Let’s go eat dinner now.”

Dinner is served by Wang-ayi, the nice lady who had been taking care of them for the past few weeks. She sets down a bowl of rice in front of both Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang, allowing them to reach for the dishes in the middle of the table by themselves.

“It’s good, A-yi!” Nie Cheng praises. There were flavors he had never tried before, foreign to his tongue yet very welcomed, his hands already reaching for another piece. “Where did you learn this from?”

“My hometown,” Wang-ayi smiles, wiping a stray grain of rice from the side of Nie Cheng’s mouth. “It’s a little west of Qinghe Nie.”

Nie Huaisang sets down his chopsticks, looking up at Wang-ayi with the tilt of his head. “West?”

When Wang-ayi nods, Nie Huaisang beams, lips stretching across his face. “Cool! A-Sang’s never been west before!”

“It’s very humid there,” Wang-ayi says, shaking her head as if recalling an unpleasant memory. “When I was younger, my parents would dunk me into the water to cool me down!”

Nie Cheng giggles, swinging his legs through the air as Wang-ayi launches into a grand story about her childhood. Nie Huaisang listens attentively, going so far as to stop eating so he can turn his full attention to her. Nie Cheng just pays attention absentmindedly, placing dishes into Nie Huaisang’s bowl so he has something to eat when he’s done listening.

After dinner, Wang-ayi makes them wash up before leading them back into the kitchen, where Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang will play together while she prepares something on the stove. Usually, Nie Cheng uses this time to ask Nie Huaisang to help him read some of the words he doesn’t understand from the letters he receives. Today, however, Nie Huaisang seems particularly interested in whatever Wang-ayi is cooking up, leaving Nie Cheng to sulk by himself.

Stupid Ge! Who needs him anyway? Nie Cheng plays with the dog sculpture Lan Wangji had gifted him, dragging its wooden feet across the floor, pretending that its going on an adventure across the sects.

“Wang-ayi, can I help?” Nie Huaisang asks, pushing himself up on the tips of his toes.

“I don’t want you to get burnt,” Wang-ayi frowns. Nie Huaisang whines, pushing his sleeves back to reveal pale arms, the veins easily seen past the thin skin of his wrists and inner elbow. Wang-ayi sighs, handing over the spoon and letting Nie Huaisang stir the small pot.

“Not too fast!” she says, just as Nie Huaisang spills some of the liquid onto his robes.

“Oh no!” Nie Huaisang cries, jumping back and dropping the spoon. “I— I didn’t mean to!”

After hearing Nie Huaisang’s cries, Nie Cheng looks up, ready to fetch his brother at a moment’s notice. “Ge?”

“I’m sorry, A-yi,” Nie Huaisang sniffs. Wang-ayi sighs, kneeling down to place a hand on Nie Huaisang’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, A-Sang,” she smiles. “Go wring out your robes and get changed, okay?”

“Okay,” Nie Huaisang nods, bottom lip wobbling. He drags his feet towards the door, careful not to let any of the liquid drip onto the floor. Nie Cheng watches him leave, scrambling up to accompany him.

“Xiao Cheng,” Wang-ayi calls. “Will you help me clean up this spill, please?”

Nie Cheng turns around, eventually nodding and walking toward her instead. Nie Huaisang would come back soon. He takes the towel from her, dabbing the liquids that spilled into the countertops, making sure not to leave any behind.

“Luckily I made too much today,” Wang-ayi hums, pouring the liquid into two cups. Steam rises from the inside, swirling into beautiful patterns that look like tiny clouds. “Come, Xiao Cheng, it’s time to drink.”

Nie Cheng wrinkles his nose, turning his head away. Wang-ayi sighs, patting his head. “Didn’t you say it helped you sleep? And besides, it’s good for your body.“

“It doesn’t taste good,” Nie Cheng says, but he shifts his neck, side-eyeing the innocuous looking drink. It did help him, chasing away any nightmares he had. It was almost like he closed his eyes and immediately woke up the next day, like he didn’t experience anything that happened while he slept.

“Just a sip,” Wang-ayi bargains. “So you don’t fall ill again.”

It was then that Nie Huaisang returned, dressed only in his inner robes. He picks up one of the cups, pressing the rim up to Nie Cheng’s mouth. “Xiao Cheng, drink!”

“Listen to your brother,” Wang-ayi nods, sighing in relief as Nie Cheng finally agrees, taking the cup from Nie Huaisang’s hands. He pinches his nose as he swallows the liquid in big gulps, trying not to taste the tea as it passes down his throat. It’s hot, nearly burning the top of his mouth, and Nie Cheng can feel the warmth from within his chest.

“Xiao Cheng,” Nie Huaisang whispers to him once Wang-ayi’s back is turned. “If you distract Wang-ayi, I’ll get you a piece of candy.”

“Really?” Nie Cheng’s eyes lit up; Wang-ayi didn’t let them eat anything while drinking, claiming the food would negate the health benefits of the tea. “Okay!”

He sets his cup down, running over to Wang-ayi and wrapping his arms around her leg. “A-yi, Xiao Cheng wants to go to bed now.”

“Do you want A-yi to tuck you into bed?” Wang-ayi asks. Nie Cheng nods, glancing over at Nie Huaisang, who shoots him a thumbs up. Wang-ayi reaches down to grab his hand, allowing Nie Cheng to pull her outside and towards his bedroom.

It’s a nice room; cozy, and filled to the brim with various decorations and knick-knacks. Hung up on his walls were paintings and calligraphy that Nie Huaisang has done, and on his desk were colorful toys that he had been gifted from Nie Mingjue. From a single glance, one could tell the owner of this room was spoiled to the brim. Nie Cheng sets his miniature dog sculpture down on the table, crawling into bed and wiggling under his thin blankets, the heavy woolen ones having been stored away for the upcoming winter.

“Sleep well,” Wang-ayi smiles, pulling up the blankets so they touched his chin. She smoothes down his loose hair, pushing it back so it doesn’t stay on his face. Her touch was warm, like the hometown she was from. Nie Cheng wonders if he ran warm too, having spent the first years of his life at Lotus Pier. The thought leans close to pulling up unpleasant memories, and so he tucks it away, ignoring it for the present moment.

“Goodnight!” Nie Cheng replies, watching in anicipation as Wang-ayi shuts the door behind her, leaving him alone in the room. It was particularly dark tonight; there was no moon, leaving the night sky a blank canvas of black and midnight blues.

His eyelids feel heavy; he always fell asleep soon after drinking Wang-ayi’s tea, but tonight he was determined to stay awake, at least long enough so Nie Huaisang could go to his room and Nie Cheng could sneak over. Nie Huaisang insisted on not telling Wang-ayi that he slept over in Nie Huaisang’s room while Nie Mingjue was away, just in case she told their oldest brother and caused him to worry,

When enough time has passed, and the hallways outside feel eerily silent, Nie Cheng slips out of bed, grabbing his pillow and creeping out of his bedroom to the room next door. The door doesn’t creak, not anymore; Nie Huaisang had a fascination with making sure the process of opening and closing his door was silent. He seemed to think it made him more like a spy; Nie Cheng would be happy if Nie Huaisang could become a cultivator, let alone a spy.

He drops down into Nie Huaisang’s bed, watching as his brother opens his eyes to peek at him. “Xiao Cheng.”

Nie Cheng opens his hand, and Nie Huaisang slips a wrapped piece of honey candy inside his palm. Nie Cheng pulls off the wrapper, dropping it onto the floor besides him before stuffing the sweet sphere in his mouth and closing his eyes.

“Tired?” Nie Huaisang asks. Nie Cheng nods; it feels like he can’t keep his eyes open, like there were weights tied to his eyelids, pulling them down.

“G’night,” he murmurs, rolling the piece of candy to the side of his mouth, between the warm flesh and face of his teeth.

“Goodnight,” Nie Huaisang whispers. Under the watchful gaze of his brother, Nie Cheng drifts off into sleep, back turned as if to shield himself and Nie Huaisang from the rest of the house.

He feels like he’s flying, floating around in a vague void of emptiness. Nie Cheng drifts around, but doesn’t encounter any partiular dreams or nightmares. There is no Wei Ying taunting him for their likeness, no Jiang Yanli frowning down at him, no Jiang Cheng calling him a monster. There was just… nothingness.

It was nice, Nie Cheng thinks, almost peaceful to not have to meet his recurring cast of characters. He wonders how they’re doing now, heart protected by the fact that he’s, well, he doesn’t exactly know what’s going on, but its as if he’s in a state of numbness, like his soul was detached from his body.

He hopes they’re happy. Kind of. Maybe they can suffer occasionally.

Nie Mingjue said it was good to have humility towards your enemies.Nie Huaisang said to give them no mercy. Nie Cheng likes to think he was a mix of the two; besides, they weren’t his enemy. Perhaps it was just a blessing in disguise; after all, he had never been as happy as he was now.

Nie Cheng floats through the void. There is no semblance of time, no shichens ticking by until the morning. Perhaps he will just exist in here until he no longer does. It would be an interesting experience, though Nie Cheng’s sure he’ll forget about this entire experience soon enough.

And then he wakes up to a sudden burst of pain.

His waist hurts, sharp needles seemingly poking into the soft skin. Nie Cheng absentmindedly feels around that area, not yet fully awake. His fingers come back stained with a mysterious liquid, and it is only once he licks a stray drop, tasting copper and iron rather than the sugar of the sweet he had stuck in his mouth, that he realizes that he is bleeding.

Actually, he’s bleeding in multiple places. His waist, of course, but also his right shoulder, and there are multiple cuts on his thighs, the fabric of his inner robes stained and torn.

A rising panic bubbles up inside Nie Cheng? What’s going on? What happened? It feels like his mind isn’t waking up fast enough, too slow to process anything. It feels like there should be something else to think about, something to worry about. What was i--

His brother. Where was Nie Huaisang? Nie Cheng’s eyes shoot wide open, muscles straining to extend to pat the empty mattress beside him. Another wave of anxiety rushes through him; Nie Huaisang couldn’t get hurt, he couldn’t, he couldn’t.

It’s then that he hears a muffled cry behind him, sounding more feminine than Nie Huaisang’s voice. Nie Cheng struggles to turn around, but once he does; the sight that greets him is a surprise: Nie Huaisang, straddling Wang-ayi’s lap as he strangles her, his hands gripped tight around her neck. Wang-ayi is squirming in place, and Nie Cheng comes to a chilling realization that she’s holding a knife in her hand, positioned behind Nie Huaisang’s back, where he couldn’t see.

He acts before he can think, suddenly gaining back control of his body and shooting up out of bed, knocking away the knife before Wang-ayi can do anything. His body screams at him, and he can’t stop the way Wang-ayi twists her wrist and manages to stab him once more in palm, causing Nie Cheng to cry out in pain. But the blade is away, and Nie Huaisang is safe, and that’s all that matters.

“Xiao Cheng!” Nie Huaisang cries, struggling to keep Wang-ayi down. “Get away from here!”

Nie Cheng disagrees; he is stronger than his brother, who is losing his hold over Wang-ayi with every passing second. Ignoring the light headed feeling muddling his brain, Nie Cheng presses down on Wang-ayi’s shoulders, preventing her from sitting up.

“You two were supposed to be asleep!” she shouts, eyes narrowing into thin slits. It reminds Nie Cheng of the paintings of monsters he would see sold on the streets, promising to scare away any bad spirits from the household. Ironic, then, as it would be that Wang-ayi was the malicious spirit that had haunted them.

"Apologies," Nie Huaisang grins, full of teeth, like a beast baring its claws. "A-Sang was never good at listening to instructions."

Nie Huaisang scoots back, fully sitting on her legs. Now, she is held down by Nie Cheng on the top, and Nie Huaisang on the bottom. It seems almost fantastical, that two children could hold down a grown adult, but Nie Cheng knows of Wang-ayi’s strength: nearly none, her aging bones weakening over time. It was one of the reasons why she was choosen to look after Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang; the Nie sect didn’t want her to have complete control over the two, just in case. It came in handy, now. Nie Cheng almost feels remorse that they were correct, before remembering that if he weren’t here, Nie Huaisang would’ve been the one getting injured.

Nie Huaisang questions her, consistently raising his voice more and more as she refuses to answer. It gets to the point that Nie sect members burst into the room, only to find Wang-ayi unconscious and Nie Huaisang sobbing over Nie Cheng’s body, who himself is close to following Wang-ayi in her state of consciousness.

“I’m sorry!” Nie Huaisang wails. His hands are wrapped tight around Nie Cheng’s robes, ignoring the way blood is getting transferred to his own clothes. His hands are shaking, fingertips a bloodless white. Nie Cheng covers his brother’s hands with his own, but that seems to only make him sob even harder, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

“As long as Gege is safe,” Nie Cheng murmurs. Nie Huaisang shakes his head, shrieking when the Nie disciples try to lift up Nie Cheng. Eventually, they compromise by carrying both Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang to the infirmary, leaving the Nie elders to drag Wang-ayi away.

Nie Cheng feels his own distress, seeing his brother crying uncontrollably. Look, weren't they both alive? Don't cry, Ge, Xiao Cheng is here.

He is bandaged up; the cuts sting against the alcohol, and he needs stitches on the cut across his waist, but the doctor tells him with a smile that he would soon make a full recover. Nie Huaisang frets by his side, sitting up next to him on the bed.

“Wang Junmei seems to have been interrupted in the middle of her actions,” the doctor frowns, cutting yet another strip of bandage to wrap around Nie Cheng. He had gotten spiritual energy transferred to him, but not enough to fully heal his injuries, the doctor careful not to overwhelm his young core. Once again, Nie Cheng is grateful that it was him and not Nie Huaisang, who hadn’t yet formed a golden core. “Good thing, too; she could’ve done much more damage if given the time.”

“Why didn’t I wake up the first time I got injured?” Nie Cheng asks. He’s not a particularly deep sleeper; the pain from the cuts should have woken him up much earlier.

“I’m not sure yet,” the doctor says. “Perhaps she did something to you.”

“It’s the tea,” Nie Huaisang says, straightening up. “She added sedative herbs to the tea she makes me and Xiao Cheng drink at night. I don’t know which ones exactly, but I have a sample you can examine.”

He refuses to let go of Nie Cheng’s uninjured hand, clutching it tight, as if Nie Cheng would crumble to touch as soon as he let go.

“I’ll go fetch it right away,” the doctor says, bowing his head. “Thank you, Er-gongzi.”

He calls a servant to retrieve it from Nie Huaisang’s room. While they’re waiting, a few Nie elders enter the room, fussing over Nie Cheng’s injuries.

“Who does Wang Junmei think she is!?” one of them, an older woman with gray streaks running through her braids, roars, slamming her fists on the table. Her outer robes were wrapped around her in a disorganized fashion, having been interrupted in the middle of her sleep to sort this out. “Which sect does she belong to? See if they still have to courage to act out after I’m done with them!”

“She’s from the west,” Nie Huaisang says, wrapping his arms around Nie Cheng’s. “The spices she uses suggest southwest specifically. But she isn’t affiliated with any sects.”

“We’ll see about that,” the Nie elder mutters. “She’s been chained to one of the cells underground for now.”

“Bring me a pen and paper,” Nie Huaisang orders. He looks comfortable in charge, a complete shift from the sniveling child who claimed he would never be able to lead the sect. “I’m going to write to Da-ge.”

“You heard him,” the Nie elder snaps, shooing off a frightened servant. Nie Huaisang nods, leaning back against the wall. From atop the infirmary bed, he looked like a king looking down upon his kingdom, calm and collected. Only Nie Cheng, whose hand felt like it was about to fall off from how tight it was being clenched, could tell otherwise.

Ah, well. It looked like Nie Huaisang had everything under control. Nie Cheng rests his head against NIe Huaisang’s shoulder, yawning.

“Xiao Cheng,” Nie Huaisang whispers, pushing his hand against Nie Cheng’s cheek. His hand is trembling, and Nie Cheng, ever seeking to guarantee his brother's comfort, puts his hand over Nie Huaisang's, surrounding his hand with his bruised, but soft skin. “Xiao Cheng, I swear I’ll never let you get hurt again. Ever again.”

He sounds furious, a quiet, simmering anger that hissed out its boiling arrival, threatening to burn all that touched it. Nie Huaisang may have been a coward, but he was still the second son of the Nie, and everyone knew that the Nie clan wreaked righteousness through the lands. It just so happened to be that Nie Huaisang’s sense of justice revolved around his small circle of family, rather than the rest of the world, as Nie Mingjue’s did.

Da-ge was right, in a way: Nie Huaisang was always ready to strike, delicate firefly morphing into a roaring beast spewing fire in its wake. Or perhaps he was always a beast, laying in wait, simply slumbering until it was awoken.

“You can’t promise that, Ge,” Nie Cheng sighs. “Besides, it’s my job to look after you.”

“Says who?” Nie Huaisang scowls. “You’re my didi. Mine. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

Nie Cheng hums, agreeing to his terms while making his own promise in his heart.

If Nie Huaisang can shield him, then Nie Cheng coud do the same. He wasn’t as smart as his ge, wasn’t as strong as his da-ge, but he was determined, and would wield his blade to protect his loved one from harm. This was his new duty, his pledge to the family who had taken him in and made him their kin. For that, he would follow them to the ends of the earth, and to the highest peak of the heavens, so long as they can remain together.

Assured by Nie Huasang’s commanding tone, Nie Cheng drifts off, smiling at the faint brush of hand against his hair, stroking through the soft strands and lulling him into sleep once more.

- - - -

Dear Nie Huaisang,

Your brother has informed me of what has occurred. Unfortunately, he is not able to return home for a few days. However, I happen to have some time, and thus will be arriving soon to inspect the Unclean Realm. Kindly expect my presence a day after this letter arrives.

Wangji has asked to attend. I will be bringing him along as well. He is concerned over matters regarding Nie Wanyin. I am, as well; if the boy has recovered, I would like to have a discussion with him.

Sincerely,

Lan Qiren

Chapter Text

Lan Qiren arrives on a warm morning, the air brushing against the cloudy whites and blues of his robes. He is greeted by a Nie elder, her long, gray-streaked hair pulled up into a series of flat buns, various sized braids weaved about.

“Mu-furen,” Lan Qiren greets, smoothing down invisible wrinkles down his robes.

“Lan-qianbei,” the Nie elder, Mu Huangli, replies, bowing to him. She raises an eyebrow, hands settling on her hips, nails tapping against the leather grip of her saber. “Welcome to Qinghe Nie.”

“Thank you for hosting me,” Lan Qiren says. Mu Huangli hums, saying nothing further. She does, however, startle when another, smaller head pops up from behind Lan Qiren.

“This is…”

“My nephew,” Lan Qiren nudges Lan Wangji forward, the child bowing to Mu Huangli, posture straight and precise.

“Mu-qianbei,” Lan Wangji murmurs, straightening up.

“Ah, Xiao Cheng’s friend,” Mu Huangli smiles, softening her tone as she kneels down. Lan Wangji nods, blinking up at the mention of Nie Cheng. “Xiao Cheng is outside the courtyard with A-Sang. Why don’t I take you there?”

She rises, fully gripping her sword before turning around, her back turned to the two Lans. “Follow me.”

Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji are led across cobbled stone pathways into the Nie’s personal residence, guarded at the entrance by four Nie disciples. Lan Qiren hums, taking in the surrounding environment, the gray-blue sky and withering leaves that shifted from green to various warm hues. He picks a stray leaf off a branch, a muted red not unlike the color of drying blood, and crushes it in his palm, the dust-like remains scattering off into the wind.

“Security has increased,” he observes, nodding to the other Nie elders they passed within the hallways.

“Our Er-gongzi insisted on it,” Mu Huangli says. “With Nie-zongzhu away, the sect is on guard for any potential danger to the remaining children.”

The mention of Wang Junmei goes unmentioned, but it lingers in the air, an unpleasant smell that was visually invisible but present nonetheless. Anyhow, there was no need for words: Lan Qiren knew his reason for visiting well enough.

Nie Cheng is outside just as Mu Huangli had said, swinging a wooden saber around, the dull blade cutting through the air with loud swipes. Nie Huaisang is sprawled across the dry grass, his own blade long abandoned as he shouts out encouragements to his brother.

“Xiao Cheng is amazing!” Nie Huaisang says, clapping his hands together. Nie Cheng scowls, lunging forward before pulling his arm back in a swift motion.

“Who said you could stop practicing!” he replies, never pausing even as he scolds Nie Huaisang. “Retrieve your saber and get back up!”

“But I don’t want to!” Nie Huaisang whines, rolling around in the grass. A few blades get pulled up, sticking to his loose robes, the fabric bunched up, but not wrinkled. Nie Huaisang sighs, picking up each individual strand and flicking them away with the snap of his fingers.

Mu Huangli calls out to them, using the same tone she used with Lan Wangji. “A-Sang, Xiao Cheng.”

Nie Cheng looks up first, eyes lighting up as he spots the three newcomers. He drops his saber, running across the grass and hopping over Nie Huaisang to barrel into Lan Wangji, clinging onto his arms. “Wangji-xiong, you’re here!”

He then frowns, lifting himself up on the balls of his feet to be eye level with Lan Wangji. “Did you get taller? That’s not fair!”

“I have always been this tall,” Lan Wangji replies, supporting Nie Cheng by holding onto the bottom of his elbows. “Xiao Cheng seems to have grown.”

“Only a little,” Nie Cheng confesses. “I’m still taller than Ge, though.”

“That’s because I spend all my energy growing my brain,” Nie Huaisang shoots back, coming over. He frowns when he sees Nie Cheng in such close proximity to Lan Wangji, pulling him back by the back collar of his robes. “No touching.”

Nie Cheng rolls his eyes as Mu Huangli simply laughs, content with letting Nie Huaisang do as he pleased.

“You’re being rude, Ge,” Nie Cheng says, sticking out his tongue.

“Er-gongzi is a bit on edge,” Mu Huangli explains to Lan Qiren, watching as Nie Cheng tries to wiggle away from Nie Huaisang. “You’ll have to forgive him, he doesn’t mean to offend Lan er-gongzi.”

“I understand,” Lan Qiren nods. “I’d like to discuss that, actually.”

“Er-gongzi?” Mu Huangli asks. “Well, he’s certainly talkative. I’m sure he’d be receptive to conversing.”

“Not him,” Lan Qiren says, clearing his throat. “About… someone else.”

Mu Huangli smiles, pulling back her lips to reveal a grin full of teeth, like a beast baring its claws, sharp and ready to attack. “Be candid with your speech, Lan-qianbei. Our Nie sect has no need to hide behind such frivolous words.”

Nie Cheng looks up, curious as to what the two adults were discussing. It almost seemed as if there were invisible blades hung up in the air, posies to strike at each other with a single call. Mu Huangli takes notice of his gaze, gesturing to Lan Qiren with a flourish of her sleeve.

“San-gongzi, Er-gongzi, greet Lan-qianbei.”

“Greetings, Lan-qianbei,” Nie Cheng says, blinking up at the man from his position in Nie Huaisang’s hold. The man was certainly younger than his father, but carried a certain air of wisdom with him that seemed to exaggerate his age. An old soul, Nie Mingjue would say. Boring, Nie Huaisang would correct. Nie Cheng seems more inclined towards his da-ge. After all, a relative of Lan Wangji’s surely couldn’t be boring. Boring was slow summer days and minds going fuzzy from the heat, stacks of assignments pushed to the side to be dealt with later, waiting for Da-ge to be finished with his meeting so he can settle a petty dispute between him and Nie Huaisang.

Boring was being locked in your room, listening to the lively chatter of your loved ones outside, knowing they didn’t want to see you.

“Hello, Lan-qianbei!” Nie Huaisang smiles, lips twisting up into a thin curve. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to discuss recent occurrences with your elders,” Lan Qiren replies, his mustache twitching. They almost look like cat whiskers slicked together. Nie Cheng has to resist the urge to reach out tug on the thin clumps.

“We won’t bore you with the specifics,” Mu Huangli says, tugging Nie Cheng out of Nie Huaisang’s grasp. She smooths down his robes, pinching the soft flesh of his cheek with her pointed fingers. “Go entertain Lan er-gongzi, he came all this way just to see you.”

“Wangji-xiong is the best!” Nie Cheng beams, bouncing over to Lan Wangji. The other boy nods, pursing his lips together as the two adults leave, Mu Huangli’s hands once again resting near her scabbard.

“What do you want to do?” Nie Cheng asks.

Lan Wangji falls silent in consideration, leaving Nie Cheng to wait a bit impatiently, darting from side to side. At last, Lan Wangji reaches to grab Nie Cheng’s wrist, keeping him in place. “Xiao Cheng promised to guide me through town.”

Nie Cheng wrinkles his nose, shooting a glare at Nie Huaisang, who was standing behind Lan Wangji. “I would, but Ge won’t let me out of the house now.”

“I said you could after you got better!” Nie Huaisang protests, jutting out his bottom lip. “Don’t make me out to be the villain!”

“Xiao Cheng is injured?” Lan Wangji asks. He draws his eyebrows together once he raises Nie Cheng’s wrist, spotting the bandaged hand.

“Do you remember Wang-ayi?” Nie Cheng asks. At Lan Wangji’s nod, he lights up, stretching up his arms. “She tried to hurt Ge and I fought her off! I was really cool!”

“You were in danger,” Lan Wangji scolds, frowning.

“That’s what I said,” Nie Huaisang sighs, shaking his head. “Xiao Cheng is too caught up in his own strength.“

Lan Wangji nods. “Rest is crucial to proper recovery.”

“I don’t want to,” Nie Cheng sulks. It was him who was injured, why wouldn’t he have final say over what he gets to do? Not fair! “I want to play!”

“Let’s play house,” Nie Huaisang suggests. Nie Cheng perks up; Nie Huaisang’s version of house tended to include dramatics unfit for a domestic household. Nie Cheng has no idea how the title managed to stick, but Nie Huaisang had always had strange naming conventions.

“I want to be the father!” he says. The role of a mother goes unused, as per usual, following real life conventions in a rather twisted manner.

“No,” Lan Wangji rejects. “You are the didi. Nie Huaisang will be the father.”

“What!?” Nie Huaisang cries, sputtering. “You’re the older one! If I’m the father, are you going to be the grandfather?”

“I will be Xiao Cheng’s xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji replies, nodding.

“Xiongzhang,” Nie Cheng calls, testing the word out on his tongue. It feels heavy, reminding him of stumbling over the polite greetings he was forced to learn in class. Much longer to say than Ge, and yet the word made him snicker, perhaps in knowing that it would annoy Nie Huaisang. “Xiongzhang!”

“I hate you,” Nie Huaisang grumbles, crossing his arms. Nie Cheng simply reaches out and pats the back of his hand.

“Do not disrespect the younger,” Lan Wangji says. Nie Cheng nods in agreement, running over to pick up the wooden sabers he had left behind.

“Who wants to follow your stupid rules,” Nie Huaisang murmurs. He turns his head away when Nie Cheng offers him a saber, wrinkling his nose. “I’m old and can no longer fight.”

“I don’t think you ever knew how to fight,” Nie Cheng says, shaking his head and passing the rejected saber over to Lan Wangji instead. “That’s why Xiongzhang murdered you.”

“That’s why he did what!?”

Silently, Lan Wangji raised his saber, pointing the dull tip at Nie Huaisang.

“The position of sect leader is his now,” Nie Cheng says, tone grave as he places a hand over his chest. “My condolences.”

“The members would throw a coup,” Nie Huaisang fires back, sticking his tongue out. “I will be avenged!”

“But no one knows!” Nie Cheng argues. “It’s a secret murder.”

Nie Huaisang raises an eyebrow, placing his hands on his hips. “How did you hide it?”

“Um…” Nie Cheng racks his brain for an appropriate answer, drawing nothing but blanks. He had never considered assassination before, so there was no former information to fall back on. “Kill everyone who saw it happen?”

“Do not harm the innocent,” Lan Wangji says, pulling his saber back. He examines the blade, eyes tracing over the traveling lines through the sanded wood.

“That’s too messy,” Nie Huaisang says, shaking his head. “If other people saw it, you’ve already messed up. You want to be discreet.”

“Like a spy!” Nie Cheng adds, eager to show off his own knowledge.

“Like a spy,” Nie Huaisang agrees. “The best way is to get them to lower their guard and then attack. Get inside their heart, and then rip it from the inside out.”

Nie Cheng nods, mind already drifting away. He could be a spy! Blending in within the other sect, and then boom! Attack! He could have a cool name too, like all the heroes in the stories he’s read.

Lan Wangji looks up at Nie Huaisang, lips tugging down. “No dishonest practices.”

“It’s not dishonest if no one finds out I’m being dishonest,” Nie Huaisang replies, smiling. He steps forward, towards Lan Wangji who raises his eyebrows, looking down at Nie Huaisang. “Besides, doesn’t it say on that stinky wall of yours to not criticize others? And to defer to your elders? That’s technically me, now!”

Lan Wangji hums, seemingly processing Nie Huaisang’s words, before turning to Nie Cheng, completely disregarding his so-called “elder”. “Didi, come watch. I will teach you Lan sword techniques.”

Nie Cheng’s eyes light up, and he immediately grabs Lan Wangji’s arm, dragging him over to a grassier area of the courtyard. “Okay!”

“You can only watch,” Lan Wangji reminds him. “Do not practice until you are healed.”

“Okay,” Nie Cheng whines, dragging out the word. “Are all older brothers so paranoid? You’re like an old aunty!”

Even so, he obediently settles into the grass, beckoning Nie Huaisang over. Once his brother joins him, Nie Cheng rests his head on Nie Huaisang’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. “That’s how he killed you.”

“I could defeat him,” Nie Huaisang sniffs, elbowing Nie Cheng, who simply snorts in response.

Lan Wangji’s movements are practiced, but clumsy, indicative of his early progress in training. To Nie Cheng, they’re his only reference of the Lan style, and remind him of an arrow shooting through the air, landing square on the bullseye. Not as good as Nie Mingjue, but that’s because no one is better than Nie Mingjue. His da-ge was the best!

Nie Cheng sighs, fully leaning against Nie Huaisang. “I want to be as good as Wangji-xiong one day.”

“He’s showing off,” Nie Huaisang mumbles, sulking. “So what if he knows to swing around a sword?”

“You could also learn to do that,” Nie Cheng reminds him.

“No thank you,” Nie Huaisang replies, frantically shaking his head. “I don’t know how to do that!”

Nie Cheng let’s put a quiet “humph”, rolling his eyes. It was an old argument, he wasn’t expecting anything different, but it was still fun to nag Nie Huaisang. In any case, let Nie Huaisang do as he pleased, Nie Cheng would just become strong enough to protect them both.

He keeps his eyes on Lan Wangji’s elegant movements, only noticing an interruption when Nie Huaisang moves away, causing him to tip towards the ground. Nie Cheng huffs, about to scold Nie Huaisang for not warning him, before following his brother’s gaze and seeing Lan Qiren standing at the edge of the courtyard, near an open doorway.

“Is Wangji-xiong leaving?” Nie Cheng asks. Lan Wangji looks over at the mention of his name, dropping his arm to stare at his uncle.

Nie Huaisang shakes his head, standing up. “He called for me.”

“Huh?” That catches Nie Cheng’s attention, snapping his gaze up to his brother’s face: blinking eyes and lips stretched into a horizontal line, drawn back like a bow ready to take fire. He looked like an ancient statue, open eyes but lacking any void of emotion, a passive expression meant to guard something hidden deeper within.

“It’s because I’m the best!” Nie Huaisang boasts, and with a blink, his usual easygoing smile is snapped back onto his face. He kneels to pay Nie Cheng on the top of the head, brushing off the stray grass blades clinging onto his robes. “Don’t make trouble while I’m gone.”

“You’re the one who makes trouble,” Nie Cheng mumbles, wrinkling his nose. Lan Wangji comes up from behind him, taking Nie Huaisang’s precious spot.

“Nie Huaisang is gone?”

“Your uncle needed him for something,” Nie Cheng shrugs. He blinks, twisting his torso over in order to pat Lan Wangji’s arm with both hands. “What’s Da-ge doing at the Cloud Recesses? Do I get to do it too? Can I go back with you?”

“He is taking classes with Lan elders,” Lan Wangji replies, indulging Nie Cheng’s questions. “You will participate with your own generation. We will attend at the same time.”

“Our generation?” That would be him; Nie Huaisang; Lan Wangji; the Jin heir, Jin Zixuan, and his horde of relatives; a smattering of heirs from the smaller sects; disciples from every sects, of course; and—

—and Wei Ying.

“Has Xiao Cheng met many of his peers?” Lan Wangji asks. Nie Cheng shakes his head, wordlessly gesturing to his general torso area, a sign most people took to mean “I was ill”. It doesn’t really mean that, he actually has no idea what it is he’s doing, but Nie Huaisang told him it was better to let people come to their own, albeit incorrect, conclusions.

“You’re the only one I know outside of the Nie sect,” Nie Cheng confesses. Plus, given the events of the last few days, Nie Cheng has a feeling he won’t be meeting any new people any time soon. “I’ll stick with Ge and Wangji-xiong!”

Lan Wangji nods, placing a hand over the one Nie Cheng had on his arm. “Don’t slouch.”

Nie Cheng straightens his back, copying Lan Wangji’s manner of sitting. He was rigid, like the stone steeles Nie Cheng sees in ancestral halls. The mellow white robes certainly didn’t help his case. If Lan Wangji were to ever become a ghost, it surely would be from the resentment he feels at people breaking the rules.

“Your da-ge is having a pleasant time at the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Wangji says. “Most others like him well enough, though they seem intimidated.”

“That’s because Da-ge is too good for them,” Nie Cheng replies, puffing out his chest. Nie Mingjue was tall, strong, and spoke in a gruff, stern voice. It was no wonder everyone was scared. Nie Huaisang says that’s the reason why Nie Mingjue will never marry, because he chases away all the suitable cultivators

But according to Nie Huaisang’s letter, Nie Mingjue was trying to court someone. Nie Cheng hums to himself, trying to imagine Nie Mingjue getting married, dressed in a bright scarlet, gold embroidery running down his heavy robes, arm in arm with his spouse. It’s not unpleasant; Nie Mingjue deserves to be happy. Go a little further, wherein he has children and Nie Cheng gets called Shu-shu, now that was just slightest bit disturbing.

“Is Da-ge courting anyone?” Nie Cheng asks. Nie Huaisang’s writing indicated that Nie Mingjue was chasing a female cultivator, but Nie Cheng couldn’t think of any prominent female disciples who would’ve attended that could attract Nie Mingjue, who was always much more drawn to the gore and bloodshed of a good hunt.

“Xiongzhang still thinks he is trying to court Jiang Yanli.”

Jiang Yanli?

All at once, everything seems to have burned down: the wedding, the smiling spouse, the children. All Nie Cheng can hear is taunting, and ringing silence that cut even deeper.

But a cold wind brushes by, and the fire gets suffocated, and Nie Cheng comes to the sudden realization that he can’t remember what Jiang Yanli’s voice sounded like. Or Wei Ying’s, for that matter. Just who exactly was screaming at him in his head, then? Who was causing him so much distress that he got ripped out of his slumber, dragging his blanket across the wooden floors as he went to sleep in Nie Huaisang’s room, seeking out comfort?

He could learn to live with it, Nie Cheng decides, if Nie Mingjue wished to court Jiang Yanli. If it made him happy, Nie Cheng could force a space in his life for her to reside in once more.

“Oh,” Nie Cheng says. “That’s exciting. I thought Da-ge would never find someone.”

Lan Wangji’s lips twitch down for a moment, and it is perhaps the closest he will ever get to disagreeing with his brother. “Your da-ge can often be found conversing with her, yes, but he seems reluctant to every time.”

“What do you mean?”

“They do not seem close,” Lan Wangji says. “It’s as if he’s interrogating her.”

He purses his lips, hair falling down to frame his face as he ducks his head. “Do not talk about others behind their back.”

“It’s okay,” Nie Cheng says, patting his crossed knee. “I’m the one who asked. I’ll bear your responsibility.”

“Copying the wall of discipline?”

“Your responsibility, not your punishment,” Nie Cheng corrects. “It’s okay! You’re not at home anymore, I give you asylum.”

“Only the sect leader may do that,” Lan Wangji points out. Nie Cheng lets out an “oh”, shaking his head in protest.

“Da-ge would let me do it!” he insists, throwing his hands in the air. He forms a fist with his hand, shaking it through the air as he imitates Nie Mingjue. “Who dares to not listen to my brother! I’m going to eat you!”

Lan Wangji nods, tugging on the sleeve of his bandaged hand. “Do not aggravate your injuries.”

“I’m fine,” Nie Cheng grumbles, obeying nevertheless. “How’s your brother? Does he still play with you? Da-ge is busy all the time, but he says once everything gets settled he’ll take me and Ge on a trip! We can come visit you again!”

Lan Wangji answers his barrage of questions answer after answer. It’s nice, knowing he’s heard, even if it doesn’t show on Lan Wangji’s face. Half the time, it seems as if Lan Wangji isn’t even acknowledging his presence, but then he answers Nie Cheng’s inquiry, or adds on his own comments. He was like a predator laying low, a feline with its eyes closed, but still observing it’s surrounded as it laid in false sleep.

Even so, despite his quiet nature, Lan Wangji seemed pleased by Nie Cheng’s energy. Opposites attract and whatnot, he supposed. Perhaps that’s why he and Nie Huaisang got along so well: Nie Cheng, who was ready to snap at anyone, and Nie Huaisang, who would rather die than perform any sort of confrontation.

Nie Cheng is invested in their conversation, but doesn’t fail to notice Lan Qiren approaching the entrance to the courtyard, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. Nie Cheng stands, tugging Lan Wangji up and leading him to his uncle.

“Lan-qianbei,” Nie Cheng greets, bowing. Lan Wangji follows suit, staring up at Lan Qiren.

“Nie Wanyin,” Lan Qiren nods. “I’d like to talk to you, if possible.”

Nie Cheng blinks, turning his head to look at Lan Wangji. “Now?”

Lan Wangji looks just as confused as he is, which doesn’t do much to ease Nie Cheng’s nerves. Nie Cheng swallows, feeling the muscles in his throat contract and release. It’s not like he could refuse Lan Qiren, and besides, the man had been nothing but kind to him and his family.

Still, Nie Cheng can’t help but shiver as the hairs on the back of his neck rise, for seemingly no reason. He wishes Nie Huaisang was here; he was always good at speaking for both of them.

“Where’s my brother?” Nie Cheng asks.

“Nie Huaisang is preoccupied in other matters,” Lan Qiren replies, tilting his head. “Mu Huangli is with him as well. Shall we go? We can use the room I previously used when conversing with Mu Huangli.”

“Oh,” Nie Cheng says. His eyes dart around the space, looking for any possible excuses. Finding none, he resolves himself to having this conversation, but not before grabbing Lan Wangji’s sleeve, lifting it in the air. “Can Wangji-xiong come along?”

“No.” Then Lan Qiren’s eyes get drawn to the distance and his eyebrows raise, as if thinking. “On second thought, why don’t you join us, Wangji? If Nie Wanyin grants permission, of course.”

Nie Cheng grins, shifting ever closer to Lan Wangji. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad! “Yes! Wangji-xiong can listen. If it’s about the sects it should involve him anyways.”

“Hmm,” Lan Qiren hums noncommittally, leading the to a quiet room and shutting the door. It’s a simply meeting room, one that hadn't been used in a while due to Nie Mingjue driving all his advisors out of their personal residence. There is a simple table in the middle of the room, with seating placed around. Lan Qiren sits on one side, and Nie Cheng settles opposite of him, placing his hands on his lap. Lan Wangji pauses at the doorway, but eventually sits down next to Nie Cheng, looking up at his uncle with curiosity, as if he had never seen him from this angle before.

“What did you wish to discuss?” Nie Cheng asks, keeping his tone steady and in control.

He tries to copy what he’s seen his brothers do, to take hold of the conversation with their hands and steer it in the direction they want, but Nie Cheng was always better at swinging a saber than holding a conversation. Even when he was a sect heir, he went through daily training in order to master the skill of public speaking. If he was bad then, don’t even mention now, when he has no obligations to bother with conversation, relying on Nie Huaisang’s silver tongue instead.

Lan Qiren raises an eyebrow, tracing his index finger over the grooves in the table. “Nothing of importance.”

Given the fact they couldn’t have this conversation in the courtyard, and that Lan Qiren had locked the door once everyone stepped in, Nie Cheng disagrees.

“I’m curious, now.” Nie Cheng leans forward, spreading his elbows out across the table. “Imploring Lan-qianbei to reveal his answer.”

Lan Qiren smiles, closed mouth and not quite reaching his eyes. “Well, it’s just that I knew your mother.”

Chapter Text

He knew. He knew.

Nie Cheng tries to keep his cool, ignoring the fire igniting in his veins, the invisible worms that crawl through his robes and make him want to squirm. Those were going to give him away, to knock down his already unstable card tower of lies. Nie Cheng can’t go down, he won’t.

“Really?” Nie Cheng asks, widening his eyes. “When did Lan-qianbei have the opportunity to meet her? From what Xiao Cheng has heard, she was a rogue cultivator. Did she attend the conference that Da-ge is at right now? What was she like?”

Lan Qiren raises an eyebrow, resting his clasped hands on the table with a flick of his billowing sleeves. “Do not jest, San-gongzi. Didn’t Mu Huangli say your Nie sect values candor in its words?”

“I am being candid,” Nie Cheng replies, blinking. He cocks his head to the side, trying to imitate the owls he had seen prowling around at night, their open eyes and soft coos always managing to make the dark sky feel less lonely. “If I’ve misconstrued some information about my mother, this gongzi apologies; all I’ve heard about her comes from others. Xiao Cheng has never met her before.”

“Shufu,” Lan Wangji calls, eyebrows twitching. “Xiao Cheng’s mother is no longer on the mortal plane. It is disrespectful to slander her name.”

“Between the two of us, who is slandering her name?” Lan Qiren asks, staring directly at Nie Cheng. His gaze pierces through the boy, raising the hairs on the back of Nie Cheng’s neck. He knew. There was no way he didn’t know. How could Nie Cheng talk his way out of this?

His eyes dart towards his left, where Lan Wangji is sitting, staring at his uncle. His lips are twitching downwards, and it is perhaps the most disobedience Lan Wangji has shown his elders, defending Nie Cheng over a completely fabricated lie. How was he going to face Lan Wangji after this? To look his very first friend in the eye and confess to being a liar, to stealing an identity for himself to hide away in, like a sniveling coward? Nie Cheng pulls his gaze away, kneading his sweaty palm between his fingers.

Oh, how he wishes Nie Huaisang was here.

- - - -

“It smells,” Nie Huaisang says, wrinkling his nose.

“It’s meant to smell,” Mu Huangli says from ahead, though Nie Huaisang can see the way her shoulders are tensed up as well. She too is disgusted by their unfortunate environment. “You think we should treat our prisoners as honored guests?”

“No,” Nie Huaisang mumbles, kicking a stray rock out of his path. He holds a hand up to his nose, covering the bottom with his heavy sleeve. “I just wish I didn’t have a sense of smell right now.”

Mu Huangli snorts, unlocking a creaking iron door with a key hung around her neck. “You and me both, kid.”

She holds the door open for Nie Huaisang, waiting until he steps through to close the door behind them, the heavy metal scraping against the stone floor and squealing shut. Inside, the air is damp, and it vaguely smells of rotting food and urine. When Nie Huaisang flicks his tongue out, he can taste the phantom copper tones of blood. Gross.

Nie Huaisang’s lips curl up. Good; let the people in here suffer, both mentally and physically, in this dreary environment.

“Where is that woman?” Mu Huangli murmurs, lifting up a torch in her hand to better illuminate the room. The cages surrounding them are mostly empty, save for one: the smallest, grimiest one, stuck in the very back of the room, where the rodents liked to make their nests and hosting the corners the spiders had a particular affinity for. In it sat a woman, her hair undone, robes torn and bare. Nie Huaisang walks up to her with an airy confidence, glancing down at her limp body.

“Wang Junmei,” he greets, smiling when she lifts her head, scowling up at the boy. She had heavy bags under her eyes, her loose hair stringy from days of being unwashed and limply hanging from her skull. Her cheeks were hollow, though the scratches on the back of her hand suggest that the mental punishments she had suffered were more affecting.

Perfect.

- - - -

“Xiao Cheng does not know who his mother is,” Nie Cheng says, firm in his statement. “Begging Lan-qianbei to explain.”

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” Lan Qiren replies, lips pursing into a straight line. “Will you confess, or will I have to be the one to tell Wangji the truth?”

So that’s why he was so amicable to Lan Wangji being in the room. Nie Cheng scowls, unhappy at being tricked. Sure, he was constantly being played by Nie Huaisang, but Nie Cheng knew his brother would never do him serious harm. Lan Qiren was dangerous, an outsider who might ruin their entire plan.

“I have nothing to confess,” Nie Cheng says, jutting his chin out. “I, Nie Wanyin, third master of the Nie sect, have never known my mother, as she had reportedly suffered a difficult birth with me and passed away. I was born sickly and have been raised by my father and brothers ever since.”

“I’m sure,” Lan Qiren says, nodding. Nie Cheng almost relaxes for a moment before Lan Qiren continues speaking, because of course he had more to say.

“But that’s Nie Wanyin. And you aren’t Nie Wanyin, are you?” Lan Qiren hums. Nie Cheng freezes, unable to even move his finger by a twitch. He was trapped, like prey that had been toyed around with, and was finally backed up into a corner, unable to escape the looming predator growling down on him.

“Shufu,” Lan Wangji calls out in a low tone, head turning to note the way Nie Cheng is staring at Lan Qiren, unconsciously trembling in place.

“Why don’t you greet him, Wangji?” Lan Qiren says, nodding his head.

Lan Wangji purses his lips, and at that moment, he looks so much like the very uncle he was trying to oppose. “Wangji has already greeted Xiao Cheng.”

“Not Nie Wanyin,” Lan Qiren replies, raising an eyebrow. “Greet him. Go on; introduce yourself to Jiang-gongzi.”

- - - -

“You!”

Wang Junmei hisses at Nie Huaisang, tugging against the iron chains shackling her to the wall. “I’m innocent! Release me this instant!”

“I would hardly call drugging our young masters and attempting to assassinate them innocent,” Mu Huangli scoffs, pointing her torch towards Wang Junmei. She narrows her eyes, the flames illuminating the fury within them in the dark basement. “You were with the Wens, of course.”

“I’m not a cultivator!” Wang Junmei cries. “You made sure I didn’t have a spiritual core before hiring me!”

“A mortal can still commit murder,” Mu Huangli says. “Besides, your hometown is the Nightless City. Your mother and father were cultivators. Your brothers are cultivators.”

“If only Wang-ayi had enough competence to cultivate a core as well, she wouldn’t have to resort to such drastic measures just to earn the approval of her family,” Nie Huaisang muses, smiling down at Wang Junmei. “How unfortunate.”

“As if you could cultivate a core, either!” Wang Junmei retorts.

“I choose not to out of choice. Can you say the same?” Nie Huaisang sneers. “Besides, I’m at least two decades younger than you. I still have time; if you had the ability to cultivate a core, you would’ve done so by now. Instead, you’re relegated to acting as a dog for a family who will never accept you. No wonder you aren’t affiliated with any sect; who would want someone like you?”

“You brat!” Wang Junmei screams, thrashing around. The iron chains clank against each other, loud noises echoing through the otherwise empty room. Nie Huaisang lets her perform her little tantrum, only stepping back and allowing Mu Huangli to stand in front of him when Wang Junmei lunges at the bars separating them, knuckles gripped white as she shakes them back and forth.

“I’ll kill you!” she shrieks. Nie Huaisang snorts, watching the way Mu Huangli shoves the torch into Wang Junmei’s hands, scorching her fingers and causing her to yelp and let go of the rapidly heating bars.

“You’ve already tried that before!” Nie Huaisang calls out, cupping his hands over his mouth. “It didn’t work!”

“It would’ve!” Wang Junmei says, shaking out her burning hands. “Who knew Nie Wanyin would be there as well?! If not for that godforsaken cripple, I could’ve killed you just as I was mea—”

She doesn’t get the chance to finish before a flash of silver is thrown through the air, a slim dagger piercing straight through her hand and clanging against the stone wall behind her. Blood trickles down from the hole in her hand as she clutches it against her chest, mouth agape as Nie Huaisang pulls out yet another blade, it’s surface gleaming against the fire in Mu Huangli’s hand.

“Better watch that mouth of yours, Wang-ayi,” Nie Huaisang smiles. “I get quite violent when I’m upset. I’ll try to keep it under control, but without a spiritual core, I have such terrible aim. Who knows what I’ll hit next? Perhaps an organ, or an artery?”

He spins the dagger around his fingers, giggling at the cool brush of air that follows the twirling blade. “Let’s see, shall we?”

Another flash of silver, and suddenly blood erupts from a cut dangerously close to Wang Junmei’s eye. It almost looks like eyeliner, dripping down into her eye and down her face as she cries out.

“Whoops,” Nie Huaisang drawls out. “I missed!”

He lifts up a hand, bringing it up to cover his mouth and nose. The stench was revolting. “Retrieve them.”

The daggers come flying back by Mu Huangli’s command, once again creating holes through Wang Junmei, who lets out muffled screams with each bloody blade that cuts through her flesh. Mu Huangli holds both in her grip, wiping off the blood with a grey handkerchief before handing them back to Nie Huaisang. “Er-gongzi.”

“Thank you, Mu-qianbei.” Nie Huaisang tucks them back into his robes, finally looking back at Wang Junmei, stretching his lips out into a smile. “Now, I have some questions to ask Wang-ayi. Praying she will comply, or else A-Sang might be tempted to throw yet another fit.”

- - - -

“Jiang-gongzi?” Lan Wangji asks, drawing his eyebrows together. “Shufu, Wangji doesn’t understand. Jiang-gongzi passed a year ago.”

“So we thought,” Lan Qiren nods. “And yet here he is.”

He gestures to Nie Cheng, who still hasn’t managed to move, despite his mind yelling at him to do so. “You have your father’s eyes, Jiang Cheng. And your scowl is nearly identical to your mother’s.”

“Don’t call me that,” Nie Cheng hisses. His mouth feels dry, and yet his tongue itches to speak, to scream, to cry. “Jiang Cheng is dead. He went missing and was never found.”

“So you’ve said,” Lan Qiren says. His posture is straight, like an unfeeling statue of a god looking down at Nie Cheng. He could almost see his life held in Lan Qiren’s hands, being toyed around with as if it was a children’s plaything.

“Do not deceive others,” Lan Qiren scolds, frowning. “Do you know how worried your parents were?”

“My parents are dead,” Nie Cheng holds up, scowling back. “Your nephew was at my father’s funeral, Lan-qianbei.”

“I am speaking to you, Jiang Cheng,” Lan Qiren replies.

“Then you are speaking to a ghost,” Nie Cheng says, gripping the edge of the table. His nails try to dig into the smooth wood, to no avail. He’s like a kitten, feebly scratching at the surface, too weak to cause any real damage.

“Xiao Cheng?”

“Wa-- Lan Wangji.”

Nie Cheng can’t look him in the eye, can’t bear to face the betrayed look Lan Wangji must have on right now. He’d rather argue with Lan Qiren until his lungs burst than face Lan Wangji’s silent disappointment. He turns his head away, missing the way Lan Wangji’s hand twitches, as if he wants to reach out, but is stopped by an unnamed force.

“I must inform Jiang-zongzhu and Jiang-furen of this immediately,” Lan Qiren says, making the motion to rise.

“No!” Nie Cheng cries, banging his fists against the table. The noise echoes throughout the room, startling Lan Qiren so much that he sits back down, looking down at Nie Cheng with disapproving eyes.

“Your family will be overjoyed to know that you are alive and well,” he says.

“My family hated me!” Nie Cheng retorts, shooting up out of his seat. His tongue is moving faster than his mind can process, but he can’t stop himself, too wound up from being pushed and prodded. “Jaing-zongzhu was too enamored with the idea of caring for his dead love’s child that he completely ignored his own. My mother could barely control her own husband, never mind her son. My sister gave up on me after believing that I would never get over my grudge against her new ‘brother’. Is that what you want me to return to? Do you want me to give up a happy life, to return to one where I was so miserable that I faked my own death, just because it’s right? Because it’s just?”

Nie Cheng takes in a deep breath, feeling the air cool down his throat and lungs. He slumps back down, resting his hands in a clasped position on the table, trying to imitate the diplomacy he had seen from his brothers. “Apologies, Lan-qianbei. I don’t know what came upon me.”

“It’s alr--”

“Xiao Cheng does not have a sister. In the future, I won’t let misinformation like that spread.”

Lan Qiren’s frowns, looking ever like the stern teacher he is known to be. “Jiang Cheng.”

“Jiang Cheng is dead, Lan-qianbei,” Nie Cheng reminds him once again. “He died the moment he stepped out of Lotus Pier with the intention to never return. I am Nie Wanyin. You are in my household, my sect, and I expect to be treated with respect.”

Lan Qiren’s eyes lock onto his. Nie Cheng doesn’t waver, holding his gaze until Lan Qiren’s eye twitches, causing him to blink away. “You were mistreated?”

“It would not have been good for me if I stayed,” Nie Cheng replies.

“How do you know it wasn’t just a fluke?” Lan Qiren asks. “Adjusting to a new ward is a hard process. Perhaps they simply weren’t ready yet.”

“Should I take that risk?” Nie Cheng asks in return. “Should I stake a life I know would provide comfort and happiness, for a life that might? Why? What am I getting out of it?”

“Your family—”

“My family is here, Lan-qianbei,” Nie Cheng cuts him off. “You should know that some parents are unfit to care for their children. Would you forcibly reunite them, knowing the damage it may cause the child? All because it is from their blood in which the child was born?”

Lan Qiren pauses at that, hesitating. He glances over at Nie Cheng’s left, where Lan Wangji sits, silent ever since Nie Cheng refused to meet his eyes. “No. I suppose I wouldn’t.”

He clears his throat, smoothing down invisible wrinkles on the front of his robes. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything. I’ve been impolite, Nie san-gongzi.”

“Thank you,” Nie Cheng says, dropping his shoulders. “I hope I don’t have to remind you that none of what had been said will leave this room.”

“Of course,” Lan Qiren nods. Then, dropping his voice to a lower volume, he continues. “Then, the matter with the Jiang clan… they must be disciplined for their negligence.”

“It is already enough that they have lost their heir,” Nie Cheng replies. Not that it mattered much; Wei Ying, or a distant cousin would probably end up taking over. But it was enough that the cultivation world had known that Jiang Cheng was dead.

“Alright,” Lan Qiren agrees. “Nie Wanyin is content, in the Unclean Realm?”

“Xiao Cheng is happy,” Nie Cheng confirms. “I like being able to play with my brothers.”

“Very well,” Lan Qiren nods. “Then, I suppose I have nothing else to discuss with you. I will go call for Nie Huaisang and Mu Huangli.”

“Thank you, Lan-qianbei,” Nie Cheng says. He stands, unlocking the door before stepping out, drawing in a deep breath of fresh air. Nie Cheng makes his way back towards the courtyard, ignoring the second set of footsteps following him.

He trusted that Lan Qiren would keep his secret; Lans did not lie, and once Nie Cheng had managed to convince him that he was better off here, Lan Qiren had no reason to tell the rest of the cultivation world. It was the silent presence behind him that worried Nie Cheng more. Nie Huaisang and Nie Mingjue had met him before he was Nie Cheng, had helped him build up his identity and name. Lan Wangji had only known Nie Cheng, Nie Wanyin. What would he think now, knowing that it had all been a ruse?

Nie Cheng picks up his wooden saber from the grass, silently examining the grooves and lines that ran through the oiled wood. It’s light in his hands; metal and leather were much heavier, as he had discovered from messing around with the decorative sabers hung up in Nie Mingjue’s office.

“Xiao Cheng.”

Nie Cheng turns the blade around in his hand. The back is just as detailed as the front, the beauty of the raw wood shining through the glistening surface. It’s a good training sword, one of high, and unnecessary, quality. Nie Mingjue had bought it in hopes that its beauty would convince Nie Huaisang to pick up the blade and train. It didn’t work, of course.

“Xiao Cheng.”

Dropping the blade back into the grass, Nie Cheng turns to face Lan Wangji, looking down at his tidy robes. “Are you mad at me?”

“Xiao Cheng should respond the first time he is called if he can hear it,” Lan Wangji scolds.

“Not about that!” Nie Cheng says, curling his fists up. His nails dig into the flesh of his palm, dull stings grounding him as he dares to flick his eyes up, finally meeting Lan Wangji’s gaze. “About… the other thing.”

“Xiao Cheng is Xiao Cheng,” Lan Wangji said, and that was that.

Nie Cheng stares at him, eyes blown wide. Lan Wangji looks back, eyes half-lidded as if the conversation was something mundane. He reaches out to place a hand on Nie Cheng’s shoulder, digging into the muscle to straighten his back. “Don’t slouch.”

Something erupted in Nie Cheng, then. He couldn’t help it; tears started misting at the corners of his eyes as his shoulders trembled, nose stinging as his vision got blurrier and blurrier. “Wangji-xiong.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji responds. “Do not worry, Xiao Cheng.”

Nie Cheng sniffles, raising his hands to furiously rub at his wet eyes. Lan Wangji steps forwards to tug them away; Nie Cheng drops his head onto Lan Wangji’s shoulder in response, sobbing into his robes.

“I didn’t mean to lie to Wangji-xiong,” Nie Cheng cries. “I’m not him, I’m really not!”

“You are not.”

“I’m not a thief,” Nie Cheng swears. “I didn’t do it, it wasn’t me. You should’ve seen, I couldn’t have stayed, there’s nothing left of him. I’m not a thief, I’m not him.”

“Xiao Cheng is Xiao Cheng,” Lan Wanij repeats. “That is all.”

“Mn,” Nie Cheng hiccups, wrapping his arms around Lan Wangji’s shoulders. The other boy lets him, going so far as to rest a small hand against Nie Cheng’s back. “Wangji-xiong is the smartest.”

His eyes sting, tears seeping into the white cloth of Lan Wangji’s robes. The fabric is soft against his face, and Nie Cheng rubs his face against it, seeking comfort.

He yearns for his brothers.

- - - -

“What a useless conversation,” Nie Huaisang sighs, tugging on the ends of his braids. Mu Huangli trails after him, shutting the iron door behind them with a resounding click. They both ignore the faint screams coming from within, long since tuned out of their brains. “Jealousy was the main motive, as suspected.”

“I can’t believe they’re getting mortals to do their dirty work for them,” Mu Huangli says. Nie Huaisang can hear the crinkling of the parchment she wrote on and it gets crumpled within her tight grip. “Have they no respect!?”

“Knowing Wang Junmei, she probably volunteered to do it,” Nie Huaiasng snorts. Pathetic. Desperate, the irrational touch of a woman trying to seek the approval of an unloving family. He saw the mirrored parallels, and perhaps in another life he would’ve held more pity for her because of it. But not now. Never, not after what she had done to Nie Cheng.

“Nie Huaisang, Mu Huangli.”

Mu Huangli dips her head down, stuffing her papers into her robes. She settles her hands near her waist, resting against the scabbard of her sheathed sword. “Lan-qianbei.”

“Lan-qianbei!” Nie Huaisang beams, skipping up to him. “Are you here to talk to Mu-qianbei?”

“I just spoke with your brother,” Lan Qiren says, clearing his throat.

“Did you?” Nie Huisang asks, grinning just a bit wider. Just a bit more dangerous. “What did you say to Xiao Cheng?”

“It seems there was a misunderstanding between us,” Lan Qiren says. “I… everything was cleared up. Nie Wanyin made his position abundantly clear.”

“You aren’t trying to poach our San-gongzi, are you?” Mu Huangli asks, smiling. Her’s, too, has an edge of a bite to it. Nie Huaisang had learned from observing those around him, after all. “Nie-zongzhu would not permit such an action. Not to mention Er-gongzi.”

“You can’t take Xiao Cheng away!” Nie Huaisang adds. “He’s my brother.”

“Of course,” Lan Qiren nods. Nie Huaisang hums, mollified by his response. So he had managed to nag Nie Cheng long enough to get him to crack. Nie Huaisang eyes the older man, hiding his mouth behind the draping sleeve of his robe.

“I want to go play with Xiao Cheng now!” he declares, turning around to tug on Mu Huangli’s robes. “Mu-qianbei, I’ll practice my writing with you later, okay? Please?”

“I suppose,” Mu Huangli muses. Nie Huaisang nods eagerly, dashing off as soon as he’s dismissed. Reports could be written later on, after all, while Nie Cheng was safe and put to bed. He still had more questions to ask Wang Junmei, but he would let her stew for a while, keep her mind on edge and her body tensed, like a bow drawn taught, ready to snap with the slight push of any more pressure.

As for now, Nie Huaisang had another pest to deal with.

- - - -

“Xiao Cheng!”

“Ge?”

Nie Cheng lifts his head up from Lan Wangji’s shoulder, getting a moment’s glance before being tackled away by Nie Huaisang, who wraps an arm around him, using his other to cradle Nie Cheng’s wet face. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Nie Huaisang’s head whirls around to shoot the dirtiest glare Nie Cheng has ever seen come from him at Lan Wangji, who simply stands there, arms hanging limply by his side.

“It’s not his fault,” Nie Cheng sniffs. Nie Huaisang turns his attention back to him, wiping away his tears with the pads of his thumbs.

“What’s wrong?” Nie Huaisang asks again, lowering his voice. “Did Lan Qiren say anything to you?”

Nie Cheng shakes his head, feeling a fresh set of tears forming under his eyes. He didn’t deserve his brother, he really didn’t. Nie Huaisang frowns, pressing his thumb in the dip below Nie Cheng’s eye, flicking away the teardrops.

“Don’t cry,” he coos, pinching the soft skin of Nie Cheng’s cheek. “Don’t cry, Xiao Cheng. Tell me what happened, Gege will fix it for you. Everything will be alright. Just take a deep breath for me, alright?”

Sometimes, Nie Cheng marvels, Nie Huaisang could act awfully grown up.

“I’m not crying,” Nie Cheng grumbles. “Ge, they know.”

“Who knows?”

Nie Cheng juts his chin out towards Lan Wangji, who has continued to simply stand in place, observing the two brothers. When their attention gets directed towards him, he raises a hand, beckoning Nie Cheng over. “Xiao Cheng.”

“Wangji-xiong has been really nice to me,” Nie Cheng says, pulling Nie Huaisang over. Nie Huaisang raises his eyebrows, looking over Lan Wangji, who ignores him, choosing instead to smooth down the crumpled edges of Nie Cheng’s robes.

“Has he?” Nie Huaisang asks, smiling. “Well, that’s kind of him. Wangji-xiong won’t be spreading any rumors of Xiao Cheng, will he?”

“Xiao Cheng is my didi,” Lan Wangji says, ever so naturally. The speed at which Nie Huaisang’s face twisted was very impressive. If it weren’t for the fact that Nie Cheng lived with the boy, he would’ve assumed that Nie Huaisang was a shapeshifter, a spirit of some kind. Not malicious, perhaps just mischievous, a bit silly.

“No, he’s not!” Nie Huaisang protests. Nie Cheng laughs, grinning up at Lan Wangji.

“Wangji-xiong,” he says. His eyes light up, mind filled with a devious plan. “Zhan-ge!”

“No!” Nie Huaisang cries, clinging onto Nie Cheng. He drapes himself across Nie Cheng’s back, reaching over his shoulder to bat away Lan Wangji.

“The only way Xiao Cheng will ever be your brother is if you marry into the Nie family,” Nie Huaisang declares, narrowing his eyes. “I’d like to see you try!”

“Or Xiao Cheng could marry into my family,” Lan Wangji suggests. Nie Huaisang scowls, pressing his cheek up against Nie Cheng’s.

“Our family’s Xiao Cheng is too young for marriage,” Nie Huaisang says. “He can only marry when he’s a hundred years old!”

“I’ll marry your brother, Zhan-ge,” Nie Cheng says. Lan Xichen was nice, and he got along with Nie Mingjue well. Plus, he was strong! Lan Wangji nods, as if truly contemplating the idea. “Then you and I can see each other every day!”

“Stop calling him that!” Nie Huaisang whines.

“Do not force others,” Lan Wangji says, frowning.

“Do not force others,” Nie Cheng echoes, giggling. Nie Huaisang tries to knock his head against Nie Cheng’s, but gets blocked by Lan Wangji’s palm separating them. Fed up, Nie Huaisang simply turns his head, sticking out his tongue to lick a stripe of saliva across Lan Wangji, who quickly recoils, glaring at Nie Huaisang as if he has been scandalized.

“Shameless!” he hisses, looking torn between wiping his hand on his robes or just dealing with it.

“You’re gross, Ge,” Nie Cheng says. He offers up his own sleeve, long since used to dealing with Nie Huaisang’s mannerisms. Lan Wangji shakes his head, instead choosing to just hold out his hand like it had a bad smell, far away from the rest of his body, as far away as he could reach. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes, eventually choosing to just grab Lan Wangji by the wrist and wipe his hand for himself.

“Don’t worry about ruining my robes,” he says before Lan Wangji can even open his mouth. “Ge has done worse.”

“Rude,” Nie Huaisang huffs.

“I apologize for getting your robes dirty,” Lan Wangji says. Nie Cheng waves him off, coincidentally smacking Nie Huaisang in the face at the same time.

“There’s no need for such formalities between us,” he says. “Wangji-xiong looks after me, and I look after him. And we both have to look after Ge, to make sure he doesn’t get in trouble.”

Lan Wangji nods, eyes finally flickering over to look at Nie Huaisang. “I will help keep him in control.”

“Who’s keeping who in control?” Nie Huaisang murmurs.

“Xiao Cheng should continue calling me Zhan-ge,” Lan Wangji says. Both Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang’s eyes go wide, matching expressions of shock on their face as Lan Wangji blinks at them, as if they were the ones who had said something shocking.

“Isn’t that too informal?” Nie Cheng asks.

“There’s no need for such formalities between us,” Lan Wangji says. His eyebrows draw together, twitching for just one moment. “I… did not know what Shufu was planning when he invited me to join your conversation. I apologize, Xiao Cheng.”

“It’s okay,” Nie Cheng shrugs. He wasn’t too concerned over that issue; he trusted the Lans. Perhaps that would be his downfall, but he also had his brothers to fall back on, and between Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang, the cultivation world have a difficult time defeating him. “Only you and your shufu know apart from Ge and Da-ge.”

“Mn.”

“I guess that does basically qualify you to be my brother,” Nie Cheng muses. A piece of him for a piece of Lan Wangji. Secrets neither were meant to hear or use, but now there was no turning back. He still wishes that Lan Wangji and Lan Qiren didn’t know, but at least it was revealed early on. How would he have done it further down the road? After Nie Cheng had established himself, after he had built their relationship upon a fake identity? Alas, a web of lies was eventually bound to trap anything that came its way, including its creator.

“Wangji-ge,” he compromises. Lan Wangji nods, mollified. Nie Huaisang was not, but Nie Cheng knew how to coax his brother. He’d be fine by the end of the day.

Nie Cheng looks at the three of them, a small group of kids, some of the people he holds closest to his chest. His heart feels full, suddenly, as if water had been poured into and was overflowing from a vase.

Perhaps he wasn’t Nie Wanyin at one time, but that didn’t matter now. Not anymore. Never again.

He knew himself, and that’s all that mattered.

Chapter Text

Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji have to go soon after, much to Nie Cheng’s dismay. He wanted Lan Wangji to stay longer! Until Nie Mingjue came back! If Lan Xichen got to keep his brother, why couldn’t Nie Cheng do the same?

Mu Huangli makes them send off the two Lans. Nie Cheng wraps another length of fabric around Lan Wangji’s neck, afraid of the cold. The bright gold stands out against the muted whites and blues, draping down Lan Wangji’s torso.

“You’ll still write to me, right?” Nie Cheng asks, tugging on the ends of the gold fabric. Lan Wangji nods, grabbing Nie Cheng’s hands when it was obvious he was less adjusting the fabric and more playing around with it.

“Be good,” Lan Wangji says. “Your brother will be back soon.”

“Okay,” Nie Cheng sighs. Once they left, it would just be him and Nie Huaisang again. Nie Mingjue really was gone for too long.

“Nie Wanyin.”

Nie Cheng blinks up to find Lan Qiren standing above him, a small wrapped object in his hands. “Lan-qianbei.”

“I apologize,” Lan Qiren says, clearing his throat. “For the accusations I have made. From now on, I will attempt to clear up any rumors I hear regarding Nie san-gongzi’s heritage. Please, forgive me.”

He holds his hands out, allowing Nie Cheng to take the parcel from his upturned palms. “I hope you will consider visiting more often. Wangji is fond of you, and your da-ge will occasionally need to loosen his workload.”

Nie Cheng, unable to wait, unwraps the gift. In the embroidered handkerchief lies a piece of jade, round and white, with cloud motifs carved into the stone.

“There is no spiritual energy imbued within it, so you won’t be able to enter in and out as you please,” Lan Qiren explains. “But show it to the disciples guarding the entrance and they will alert me or Xichen to welcome you in.”

“Thanking Lan-qianbei,” Nie Cheng says, holding the token up to the light. The stone is translucent, looking like the surface of a clear pond as it absorbs and reflects the sun’s rays.

“Take it as a sign of our sincerity,” Lan Qiren nods. “You are always welcome to visit our sect.”

“What about me?” Nie Huaisang asks, popping up from behind Nie Cheng. He had appeared with Mu Huangli, who hurries to catch up to them from the wooden deck.

“I trust you will not visit without your brother,” Lan Qiren replies, eyebrow twitching. “Besides, your da-ge said that you are to putting greater focus towards your studies.”

“In three years I’ll be like Da-ge and attending class at the Cloud Recesses,” Nie Huaisang says, hopping up and down, the grass beneath his feet crinkling.

“Me too!” Nie Cheng says, raising his hands. Lan Wangji nods, eyes crinkling in pleasure.

“I just have one question for Lan-qianbei,” Nie Huaisang says, grinning. He bares his teeth in a manner similar to a predator, straightening his back and rolling back his shoulder. “Why change your mind?”

Both Lan Wangji and Nie Cheng shut their mouths, looking at each other in mild confusion and panic. Nie Cheng doesn’t know what his brother is trying to accomplish, and Lan Wangji has no idea what Lan Qiren will say in response.

“Do not ponder much over it,” Lan Qiren coughs. “I misunderstood the situation. You will understand, I have had past scenarios where family members are unwillingly taken in. That was not the situation with Nie Wanyin, as I was quickly told.”

“I see,” Nie Huaisang hums. “Well, so long as everything is clarified now. Right?”

“Of course,” Lan Qiren says, placing a hand on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “You have no need to fear.”

He and Lan Wangji leave soon after that, leaving Nie Cheng craning his head to watch them fly away, clutching the jade token in his hand. Nie Cheng decides to spend the rest of the day outside, dropping down onto the grass as the sun goes down, making way for the night sky and its sea of stars.

The North Star shines as bright as ever, twinkling at Nie Cheng in greeting. He has not sought its glow since before his father passed, but the sight of it brings comfort, the reminder that the universe is still on his side.

“Hello, old friend,” he whispers. “I’m doing well. Is Baba up there with you? He would make a good star.”

There is no response, but the sky seems to shine just a bit brighter after that. Satisfied, Nie Cheng sits up, heading inside to join Nie Huaisang in writing yet another letter to their brother.

Nie Mingjue returns in the spring; by then, they have each aged a year. Nie Mingjue takes Nie Huaisang to recieve his spiritual weapon; at least, he should’ve. Nie tradition dictates that each member receives their blade at thirteen, but Nie Huaisang has not developed a spiritual core. Still, he doesn’t seem too concerned.

“I have you two to protect me,” Nie Huaisang says, lounging about on Nie Cheng’s bed. He sits up, tapping on the side of his temple. “And this.”

“Your hair?”

“My brain,” Nie Huaisang corrects, shaking his head. “You’re so silly, Xiao Cheng.”

“You’re the silly one,” Nie Cheng murmurs, weighing the steel blade in his hand. He was determined more than ever to train hard. Nie Huaisang had no interest in swordfighting, so Nie Cheng was the only one that Nie Mingjue could nurture in this manner. Stepping into the forgery with his brothers and examining all the blades hanging up on the wall as Nie Mingjue spoke to the blacksmith made Nie Cheng anticipate his own birthday even more, counting the days left until he would be ready.

- - - -

Nie Cheng is thirteen.

He is freshly thirteen, and though he does not feel much older, in his heart he knows, knows that everything is the same but different, like angling a picture in a different manner that it feels completely brand new.

The fated day starts with Nie Cheng being rudely awaken by Nie Huaisang throwing himself onto Nie Cheng’s bed, squashing him down beneath his layers of blankets.

“Xiao Cheng is old now, Xiao Cheng is old now!” Nie Huaisang calls, digging his hands underneath the blankets to drag Nie Cheng out of bed. Nie Cheng groans, throwing a stray pillow at him.

“I’m the same age as you now!” Nie Cheng protests, chasing Nie Huaisang out the door and through the halls. “Ge, you’re such a menace!”

They duck and weave past various servants roaming the halls, who all stop to wish him happy birthday. Nie Cheng attempts to thank them all before returning his attentions to Nie Huaisang, who has long since disappeared. Grumbling, Nie Cheng drags himself to the bathroom, vowing to hunt down his brother.

He ends up finding Nie Huaisang in Nie Mingjue’s study, cupping a hand over his mouth and furiously whispering to their older brother. Narrowing his eyes, Nie Cheng places his hands on his hips, ready to scold Nie Huaisang. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing!” Nie Huaisang cries, raising his hands up in surrencer. “I don’t know anything!”

Nie Cheng rolls his eyes, stomping over to pull Nie Huaisang away by the wrist. “Don’t bother Da-ge.”

“Happy birthday, Xiao Cheng,” Nie Mingjue smiles at him, placing a hand atop his head. Nie Cheng blinks, trying to duck away. He was thirteen now, way too old for such childish behavior! Nie Mingjue simply laughs, curling his hand in to rub his knuckles against Nie Cheng’s hair, disrupting the neatly brushed strands.

“Can I get my sword now?” Nie Cheng asks.

“In a few days,” Nie Mingjue promises. “I’ll take you once I finish up last month’s reports.”

“I want to come too!” Nie Huaisang says, arm shooting up into the air.

“Of course you do,” Nie Mingjue shakes his head, reaching out to rub against the top of Nie Huaisang’s hair as well. “I’ve asked your teachers to cancel class today, so you should have more time to yourselves.”

“Can we go into town?” Nie Cheng asks, raising the hand that has grabbed Nie Huaisang to clasp their hands together in a pleading motion. If he was old enough to wield a spiritual sword, than surely he was old enough to walk around by himself. Nie Mingjue hesitates, but finally nods.

“It would do you good to have some independence,” he sighs. “I can’t look after you two forever.”

“Speak for yourself, I’m very independent,” Nie Huaisang sniffs. Yeah, right. As if Nie Huaisang could go a single day before finding Nie Cheng to help him deal with someone or other. Nie Cheng smacks the back of his hand, causing Nie Huaisang to whine, attempting to hit him in return.

“I’m hungry,” Nie Cheng says, dragging Nie Huaisang out the study. “Da-ge, we’ll be back soon.”

“Make sure to return in the afternoon,” Nie Mingjue says, waving them off. Nie Cheng knew there were festivities planned, but he didn’t know what. Still, he follows Nie Huaisang off to the dining room, where the kitchen has prepared his favorite foods: steaming chao shao bao with fluffy white exteriors and sweet red pork spilling from the inside, crispy you tiao dipped in warm dou fu nao, heating up his chest from the inside out on the cold day.

After eating, Nie Cheng gets dressed in heavy layers of robes, ready to go out with Nie Huaisang. They wander through the winding streets, stopping at the shop vendors who call them over with a cheerful “Er-gongzi, San-gongzi!”. It’s as if everyone knew of Nie Cheng’s birthday, as he is handed snacks and trinkets, snuck red envelopes and told not to tell his da-ge, and greeted with an endless supply of well-wishes and cheers.

“San-gongzi is already so big,” one of the stall aunties coos, pinching his cheek between her thumb and index finger. Though her stature is small, and there is sweet smelling perfume radiating from her, it does nothing to hide the rough, calloused fingertips that rub against his face, nor the saber proudly dangling from her hip. “What will we do if you keep growing and growing forever?”

“I’m going to be a great warrior,” Nie Cheng boasts, puffing out his chest. “Like Da-ge!”

“Nie-zongzhu is certainly a good role model,” the auntie nods in approval. She places a paper fan in his hands, allowing Nie Cheng to twist it around and admire the sturdy construction. “Though it would do you well to learn from Er-gongzi as well. Gracefulness and mastery of the four arts will get you into places a blade cannot.”

“Like when you spied on the Kang sect?” Nie Cheng asks. The stall auntie merely smiles, patting him on the shoulder.

“I’m but a humble shopkeeper.” She laughs, and it sounds like silver bells twinkling amongst the spring wind. “How could I have done such a dangerous thing?”

Nie Cheng ends up giving the fan to Nie Huaisang; he must have had hundreds by now, but seemed content to continue collecting them. Nie Huaisang snaps open the fan, and out comes flying a stream of thin, colorful paper, imbued with spiritual energy to fly up and dissolve into the air. Fascinated, Nie Cheng tries to catch the yellows and reds, but they dart away from him, flitting through the sky before melting away.

“Pretty,” he breathes out, watching the last of the paper disintegrate. Nie Huaisang fans himself, bringing the edge of the fan up to cover the bottom of his face.

“Dyed talisman paper,” he observes before snapping the fan shut. “I want to do that too!”

“You need a golden core for that,” Nie Cheng reminds him.

“Xiao Cheng can make it for me,” Nie Huaisang says, immediately changing his mind. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes. One day Nie Huaisang would develop a golden core. He had to, if he ever wanted to be a high-level spiritual cultivator and live as long as Nie Mingjue or Nie Cheng. It was just a matter of waiting at this point, till Nie Huaisang grew bored of playing around and changed his mind. Nie Cheng wasn’t too concerned about it; let him play around and be as free as he pleased, Nie Cheng could guard his back and make sure he stays alive long enough to cultivate.

In the evening, despite his instistances to stay out just a bit longer, he is ushered back home by everyone in town. Finding no one to tlak to, Nie Cheng begrudgingly goes home, long since left alone by Nie Huaisang, who ran back ages ago. Traitor.

The Nie sect is bathed in the warm glow of lanterns hung up in the air, gently swinging in the breeze. Nie Cheng follows a path of fallen autumn leaves to a large gathering of sect members, who bow down once they spot him. “Greetings to San-gongzi!”

“Happy birthday,” Mu Huangli says, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her sword is ever present by her side, but her robes have been changed out from her typical clothing to a more lavished, more embroidered set. She places a qiankun pouch into his hands; in it lies a set of arm guards, thick leather embroidered with talismans of protection and blessing. “Live long, grow strong, and prosper.”

“Xiao Cheng!” Nie Mingjue calls, picking him up with a grunt. He lets go of Nie Cheng quickly, dropping him back to the ground and placing an approving hand on his shoulder. “You’re getting too big for that!

“I’m going to be the tallest,” Nie Cheng nods, reaching up to clasp Nie Mingjue’s hand.

“Make a wish and it might come true!” Nie Mingjue laughs, ruffling his hair. “Come, everyone has been waiting for you!”

“Happy birthday!” Nie Huaisang says, dashing up to him and wrapping his arms around Nie Cheng’s neck. Nie Cheng hugs him back, noting with great pleasure that Nie Huaisang has to stand on the tips of his toes to reach him. After all these years, he was still taller.

Nie Cheng lets himself get swept away into the festivities, laughing amongst the booming music and countless rockets that are set off. It’s almost surreal to think that all of this is for him, but it was the same last year, and it is promised to be the same next year as well, and the year after that.

He is gifted many things, including a pale gray, nearly white ribbon Nie Huaisang proudly ties into his hair. Nie Cheng feels the back of his head, and startles when the ribbon seemingly comes to life, the end curling around his fingertip. It feels like he had been struck by tiny shocks, so sudden he nearly retracts his hand.

“What is it?” he asks, peering up at his smiling brother.

“Something to make you prettier,” Nie Huaisang replies. Nie Cheng huffs: he is handsome, no matter how many times Nie Huaisang and the aunties in town call him otherwise. He has strong features, okay!?

“It’s spiritual?” Nie Cheng asks.

“Just charmed to react to touch,” Nie Huaisang replies, shrugging. “It’s not all that useful, really, more like a party trick. But I have other gifts for Xiao Cheng!”

“One is enough,” Nie Cheng grumbles, letting go so the ribbon flutters down the back of his hair, nestling amongst the dark strands. He straightens his back, looking out amongst the sea of people who have gathered to celebrate his birthday. A small crowd, much smaller than any public festivities should be, but Nie Mingjue was nothing if paranoid over his brothers, fearing too many guests would lead to attempted assassinations and poisonings, and Nie Cheng preferred less people anyways.

Nie Huaisang hums a cheerful tune, tugging on Nie Cheng’s ears. The ends of Nie Cheng’s ribbon reach out and try to tug Nie Huaisang’s wrists away, to no avail. It ends up splayed across Nie Cheng’s hair once more, every so often reaching up to bat at Nie Huaisang.

“It’s just like you,” Nie Huaisang giggles, glee seeping into his tone. “You secretly like A-Sang, don’t you?”

The ribbon, ever the inanimate object that it is, doesn’t reply.

“You’re stupid,” Nie Cheng says to his brother, who merely gasps and tugs even harder on Nie Cheng’s ears. Nie Cheng laughs, and under the bright night sky, bursting with light and joy, all is right in their corner of the world.

Happy birthday to him.

Chapter Text

Dear Wangji-ge,

Thank you for your gift, and for your well-wishes. (Da-ge is making me send off thank you letter to everyone who sent a gift but was not present. But that’s okay, because it’s mainly just you and Xichen-xiong as well as the citizens in town, and I’m glad to express my thanks to them.)

Will you come visit again soon? Da-ge is taking me to get my own spiritual sword! You should bring Bichen, so we can spar together. I’m not sure what I’ll name my blade yet, but I want it to be honorable like yours. Ge doesn’t have a sword, but Da-ge took us to a blacksmith and they’re discussing making him a blade with spiritual energy imbued into it, so he can at least protect himself. They would have to be careful that his body doesn’t reject the spiritual energy, but if Da-ge does it, then it should be fine.

There have been talks of the Wens gathering more and more resources, but no one knows what they’re doing. Da-ge predicts a war in the upcoming years. Wangji-ge, you should be careful, if Lan-qianbei will continue to accept disciples from the Wen sect. I’ve heard of some Wen disciples in our generation, but no one too prominent. Hopefully, it’ll be fine when it’s our turn to attend Lan-qianbei’s classes.

But you should come back! Or perhaps I’ll visit the Cloud Recesses; Xichen-xiong is always nice to me when I visit. Ge isn’t as nice, but I still like him enough. I like you too, so don’t ignore me, or I’ll break your legs!

Sincerely,

Nie Wanyin

- - - -

“Welcome back, Nie-zongzhu,” an attendant greets, bowing down to Nie Mingjue he steps into the forge, waving a hand around in an attempt to clear away the warm air. “San-gongzi has been hard at work discussing with the master blacksmith.”

Nie Cheng looks up when he hears his name called, blinking up at Nie Mingjue, who has come over to rub his knuckles into the top of Nie Cheng’s head. “Hi.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to run off without me?” Nie Mingjue asks, shaking his head as Nie Cheng averts his eyes to the side, placing his hands atop Nie Mingjue’s. “What have you come up with?”

“I want one like Da-ge’s!” Nie Cheng says, showing Nie Mingjue the drawing the blacksmith had sketched for him. The blacksmith presents other drafts as well, smoothing out parchments smudged with charcoal, the burned edges fading into a clearer white. Nie Mingjue looks over them, at last tapping on one of the designs, crinkling sounds echoing from his fingertips.

“What do you think?” he asks, flipping the page around to show Nie Cheng and the blacksmith. Both of them nod in approval, and Nie Cheng takes the parchment from his hands, tracing over the intricate designs on the scabbard and hilt, getting charcoal dust on his fingers.

“You better come up with a name for it soon,” Nie Mingjue says.

“I will,” Nie Cheng nods, tightening his grip on the design, He couldn’t keep it, of course; it would be given back to the blacksmith, who would finish the draft and use it as a reference when hammering his sword, but for a moment Nie Cheng considers stuffing it in his robes and bolting, making a daring escape. Still, he hands it back over with a quiet sigh, already counting down the days until it appears before his eyes.

The days seem to purposely drag out as Nie Cheng tries to track the progress of its creation. Nie Mingjue humored him the first few times before setting a ban on the mention of his spiritual sword. Nie Huaisang didn’t want to hear it either, leaving Nie Cheng alone to sulk and track the days lagging by.

The blade comes delivered by the blacksmith himself in a few weeks time, Nie Cheng sprinting to the greeting hall once he heard the news. He takes the sheathed blade into his hands, admiring the way the metal swirls across the thick leather, plating the opening of the scabbard. He draws the saber, the metal hissing out as it’s revealed to him for the first time. A shining, curved blade made of steel gleams at him. The hilt is a solid weight in his hand, with a small pommel of stacked metal disks and a short blade guard. The blade collar is the same metal as the pommel, lines of silver criss-crossing each other to form an abstract design of a beast, its eyes narrowed and mouth open, giving way to sharp swirls supporting the edges of the sword, and the balde itself, a single-edged, curved saber, as way Nie tradition.

Nie Cheng holds it in awe, admiring its beauty. The sword, as if hearing his praise, seems to pulse in his hands.

“What are you going to name it?” Nie Mingjue asks, placing a hand on his shoulder. Nie Cheng strokes the flat face of the sword, careful not to cut himself. He purses his lips; he has an idea, but still isn’t confident in his decision. At least, with the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to come up with anything on the fly, he speaks.

“Pulao.”

Nie Mingjue nods, clapping. “An honorable name. May it protect you well, and may you wield it to protect others.”

“Yes, Da-ge,” Nie Cheng nods, rubbing his thumb against the hilt. He sees why Mu Huangli likes to keep a hand on her sword, now. The sword, Pulao, seems to like it as well, as it hums against Nie Cheng’s skin. Nie Cheng smiles, delight shining in his eyes as he attaches the scabbard to his hip, the weight comfortably settling against his hip, like it was meant to be there all along. Perhaps it was nature’s way of telling him that he was where he’s meant to be, that the stars had collided to provide him the opportunity of coming home.

In any case, it feels like coming home, and perhaps that’s all that matters.

- - - -

Dear Xiao Cheng,

Are you well? How was visiting Tingshan? Your da-ge told Xiongzhang that you and Nie Huaisang snuck away into town while he was talking to the sect leader. You would have been harmed if you were not careful; at least Nie Huaisang was accompanying you.

I am pleased that you and Nie Huaisang are to attend Shufu’s lectures this year. Shufu will be glad to know you will be there with your brother; he always enjoys teaching you when you visit. Jin-zongzhu’s son will be attending as well, as well a few of his niece and nephews. Yunmeng Jiang is attending as usual, and will be led by the sect leader’s ward this year. A few of the heirs of minor sects will be present as well; I believe the daughter of the sect leader of Meishan Yu will be in attendance. Overall, it should be a pleasant year.

If it is agreeable with your Da-ge, you and Nie Huaisang should arrive a few days earlier than the other disciples.

Sincerely,

Lan Wangji

- - - -

Dear Wangji-ge,

I’m excited for Lan-qianbei’s lessons too! Da-ge says they’re pretty boring, but Lan-qianbei seems enjoyable enough when he teaches. I like watching him lecture Ge.

I wish I could come earlier, but in actuality, I may be arriving late. Just a few shichen later, though! Da-ge is taking me on a nighthunt, and we don’t know if we’ll be able to finish on time. But Ge is going to be there leading the other Nie disciples. Make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble, alright?

That’s a lot of sect heirs. I don’t think Da-ge’s year had any? Other than him and Xichen-xiong, of course. I mean, Yunmeng Jiang’s eldest daughter was there, but she’s not technically the heir. In any case, I’ve spoken to some of them before, but not for very long, and I doubt they remember me. I usually let Ge do the speaking, between the two of us. Between the three of us, too; you don’t speak much either!

I’ll come visit you as soon as I arrive at the Cloud Recesses, alright? I should seek out your shufu and your xiongzhang as well, at least before classes officially start. Speaking of, do you want anything from town? I’ll be passing by since Da-ge is dropping me off. Just let me know! And don’t even think of trying to pay me back, or I’ll break your legs.

Sincerely,

Nie Wanyin

- - - -

“Are you ready?” Mu Huangli asks, watching through narrowed eyes as Nie Huaisang stuffs yet another book into his qiankun pouch before hanging it inside his robe. “What do you need so much reading for?”

“I’m an intellectual,” Nie Huaisang sniffs, flipping open a fan. It was a gift from Nie Cheng, the yellow-orange jade tassel hanging from the bottom matching the one on Nie Cheng’s sword. Careful calligraphy was painted on the inside, with a painting of the surrounding forests drawn on the exterior. “I like to read.”

“Sure,” Mu Huangli snorts, placing a hand on the hilt of her sword. “Well, let’s get going. We don’t want to be late.”

“How come Xiao Cheng gets to be late and I can’t?” Nie Huaisang whines, dragging his feet as he follows Mu Huangli outside, where the other Nie disciples attending Gusu Lan’s lectures were already situated.

“San-gongzi is out hunting with Nie-zongzhu,” Mu Huangli says. “Er-gongzi has no interest in such, as you call it, frivolous matters.”

“If I knew it would get me out of this I would’ve attended,” Nie Huaisang mumbles. Mu Huangli simply shakes her head, gesturing for Nie Huaisang to step on his sword. Together, they take off into the air, making their way toward the Cloud Recesses.

While landing, Nie Huaisang spots other disciples from various sects, still a distance away but visible as little specks in the clear sky. It seems their sect was first. They travel up the rocky staircase leading to the entrance of the Cloud Recesses. The atmosphere is quiet, broken up only by the chatter of the Nie disciples. Nie Huaisang admires the soft gray pebbles dotting their path and the distant sound of rushing water. A thick fog surrounds them, blurring their view of tall, hanging trees and the sprawling mountain tops that peak over the white wall. Mu Huangli steps back once they reach the top, allowing Nie Huaisang to take over.

“Good luck,” she says. “Don’t cause trouble.”

“I would never,” Nie Huaisang swears, not meaning a single thing he says. To the Lan disciples guarding the entrance, he exchanges a few pleasant greetings, already familiar with them. Nie Cheng’s unfortunate friendship with Lan Wangji, that stick in the mud, has continued on into their teenage years. It means Nie Huaisang has been exposed to the Cloud Recesses much more than any non-Lan disciple should, in order to make sure Nie Cheng doesn’t get kidnapped.

The process of checking in a group of disciples is much different than flashing Nie Cheng’s jade token and being let in, but it’s simple enough, and soon enough the disciples are let in and led to their rooms. Nie Huaisang is given his own jade token, in fact, and he absentmindedly stuffs it into a sleeve, much more interested in examining his room and setting up his yellow book trade before Nie Cheng gets here and starts scolding him.

Outside, the other sect’s disciples have started pouring in. Nie Huaisang spots a flash of purple and promptly turns the other way, not yet ready to deal with that situation. He ends up wandering about, bumping into Lan Wangji.

“Hello,” Nie Huaisang groans, rubbing his head. Lan Wangji nods in reply. Nie Huaisang notes that he’s dressed in more elaborate robes than usual, not that it changes much. Perhaps just an additional layer of fabric, more embroidery stitched along his sleeves, his jade token proudly hanging from his waist.

“Has Xiao Cheng arrived yet?” Lan Wangji.

“Wangji-xiong, we just got here, much less Xiao Cheng!” Nie Huaisang says, raising an eyebrow. “And you can’t call him Xiao Cheng anymore!”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji nods, seemingly in agreement. Nie Huaisang knows he won’t follow through with any of it, that two-faced brat.

“Whatever,” Nie Huaisang huffs. “Where are you going? Can I come along?”

“To visit Xiongzhang and report on the incoming disciples,” Lan Wangji says. “Are you not supposed to be with your sectmates?”

“They’ll be fine,” Nie Huaisang says, waving him off. “I want to see Xichen-xiong.”

Lan Wangji purses his lips, but doesn’t say anything, allowing Nie Huaisang to silently follow him. Nie Huaisang snickers, tagging along behind Lan Wangji. He hopes Nie Cheng gets here soon, because it was awfully boring.

From the corner, he spots a canary, its golden feather striking against the muted blues and greens of the environment. It flitters about, surprisingly quick as it darts from tree to tree. Nie Huaisang is fascinated by it, by the way it seems to fly so freely, the way it seemed like a gold blur flashing through the sky, like an arrow ready to strike.

He's going to catch it.

Chapter Text

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen greets. When he looks up from his paper, his eyes curve up into crescent moons as he smiles, ever the pleasant man to be around. “And Huaisang has arrived as well! I trust your room arrangements have been pleasant?”

“The Cloud Recesses is accommodating as always,” Nie Huaisang says, bowing down to Lan Xichen. There were two beds in his room; no doubt Nie Cheng would be taking one of them, once he came.

“I’m glad.” Lan Xichen dips his head, setting down the brush in his hand with a gentle sweep of the wrist. “There should be a few other sects nearby your quarters, Huaisang. I think Jin Zixuan is a few doors down, and Wei Wuxian should be even closer by.”

“What?” Nie Huaisang asks, unable to help himself. Even Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow at that. Nie Huaisang grins, curling his lip up to reveal bright teeth. “What a coincidence! Perhaps I’ll go talk to them afterward.”

“Don’t cause unnecessary trouble,” Lan Wangji says.

“You’re unnecessary trouble,” Nie Huaisang murmurs. Lan Wangji’s finger, limply hanging by his side, twitches; if he had any less self-control, he would’ve elbowed Nie Huaisang by now, he just knew. Nie Cheng usually did the fighting for him, but he wasn’t here, so ha! See who’s the winner now.

Ready to escape trouble, Nie Huaisang excuses himself, ducking out of the pavilion to join the rest of the disciples. He catches a glimpse of the golden canary again, its wing spread out as it flew overhead the other disciples. Its color is stark against the blue sky, almost teasing him in a mischievous manner. Nie Huaisang follows that streak of gold, keeping it in his view. Unfortunately, it means he isn’t paying enough attention to the rest of his surroundings.

When he walks straight into another disciple, he isn’t that surprised. Sure, he’s a little disappointed in himself as he gets the wind knocked straight out of him, leading him to stumble back. He’s stronger than this! But it was bound to happen, with how his attention was diverted, and his eyes drawn towards the sky rather than the ground.

When he looks up and sees robes of bright gold, that’s when he starts panicking. When he notes just how elaborate those robes were, and the entourage that was slowly surrounding them, he has a sinking feeling in his gut that he knows just who he ran into.

“Jin-gongzi,” Nie Huaisang says, smiling as he gets up. “What a pleasant first encounter!”

“What were you thinking?” Jin Zixuan says, crossing his arms. Somehow, despite being the less injured one, he manages to look even more offended than Nie Huaisang. “Were you even thinking?”

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Nie Huaisang says, fiddling with his fingers from under his sleeve. He blinks up at Jin Zixuan, pulling a fan out of his robes to snap open and hide his face behind. “You just happened to look like this little birdy I was following.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Nie Huaisang laughs, his voice trailing off as he sees Jin Zixuan take a step closer to him, hands poised to draw his sword. “Say, why don’t we just let bygones be bygones? Forgive and forget, yeah?”

“You dare compare me to a little bird?” Jin Zixuan scowls. “Were you not taught any manners, Nie-gongzi?”

“Not a little bird, got it! You know, if anything, you’re like a peacock,” Nie Huaisang says, which only serves to annoy Jin Zixuan even more, as he continuously inches closer and closer to Nie Huaisang. “A crane? A phoenix? A chicken? Alright, alright, no need to get so handsy, Jin-gongzi, I’m sure we can talk this out, no need for all this ab— ah, Xiao Cheng, Xiao Cheng, save me!”

Jin Zixuan’s face twists in confusion, making him pause just long enough to get pushed back by a sheathed sword. He stumbles back, getting caught by two Jin disciples before he can fall to the ground. Nie Huaisang gets pushed back as well, a hand grabbing his arm, right under the crook of his elbow.

“What the hell?” Jin Zixuan sputters, shoving away the Jin disciples before standing up by himself. Nie Huaisang’s eyes light up at the numerous braids and familiar gray ribbon facing him. He pokes it, causing the end to lift up and wave at him before falling back down.

“Just what,” a voice says. “Do you think you’re doing?”

- - - -

Nie Cheng stands in front of Nie Huaisang, eyes narrowed as he glares at Jin Zixuan. The hand not clinging onto Nie Huaisang is gripping his sword hilt, ready to draw his blade at any moment. “Get away from him.”

“Who are you?” Jin Zixuan demands. Nie Huaisang lifts himself up on the front of his feet, peeking over Nie Cheng to stick his tongue out at Jin Zixuan.

“Didn’t you hear me call for Xiao Cheng?” he sniffs, settling his chin upon Nie Cheng’s shoulder, who promptly shrugs him off.

“Xiao Cheng?” Jin Zixuan asks. Recognition dawns upon him, and he all at once looks both disgusted and bemused. “Really, Nie Huaisang? You’re getting your sick brother to defend you? Do you have no honor?”

“What shame should I have in being protected by my family?” Nie Huaisang scoffs. Jin Zixuan and Nie Cheng lock eyes, and some unspoken understanding of how ridiculous this situation is flashes between them, though it may be more due to the exhaustion that was tugging at Nie Cheng’s bones and how he really wants to collapse onto a bed and take a nap.

“Enough,” Nie Cheng says, letting go of both Nie Huaisang, who immediately moves to clutch at the back of his robes instead, and his sword. He clasps his hands together, bowing to Jin Zixuan. “This one is called Nie Wanyin. It’s nice to meet you, Jin-gongzi.”

“Jin Zixuan,” the Jin heir nods. “It’s nice to meet you as well. Keep your brother in better check next time.”

Nie Cheng scowls. “Watch your mouth, and we’ll see about that.”

Jin Zixuan nods, lips pursed as he turns around, getting swallowed up by his entourage as his silhouette disappears from view. Nie Cheng immediately pulls Nie Huaisang from out behind him, examining him for any injuries. Seeing none, he smacks Nie Huaisang across the top of his head, using the time Nie Huaisang spent afterward complaining to pick up the bag he dropped on the ground.

“I leave you alone for less than a day and you’ve already gotten into trouble?” Nie Cheng asks, swinging his qiankun pouch at Nie Huaisang to hit him again. “Are you serious?”

“It’s not my fault!” Nie Huaisang yelps, catching his bag. He opens it, digging into the bag and pulling out a wrapped piece of taffy before popping it into his mouth. Nie Cheng frowns, tugging back the pouch.

“That’s for Wangji-ge,” he says, tucking his qiankun pouch into his robes. “What did you do to Jin Zixuan?”

“I bumped into him,” Nie Huaisang shrugs, chewing on the candy. “Not my fault he’s so big. How did you get here anyways?”

“I heard you screaming all the way from the entrance gate,” Nie Cheng says. “We ended early because Da-ge didn’t want me missing out on much.”

Good thing he had too; Nie Cheng doesn’t want to think about Nie Huaisang would’ve done if he hadn’t managed to step in.

“Where’s Wangji-ge?” Nie Cheng asks. “I have stuff for him.”

“The first thing you do when you get here is ask for Lan Wangji,” Nie Huaisang sulks, crossing his arms.

“The first thing I did was save you,” Nie Cheng reminds him, rolling his eyes. He’d never understand Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji’s petty rivalry. “I know you know.”

“No you don’t.”

“Whatever,” Nie Cheng huffs. “I’ll see him at dinner anyways.”

Nie Huaisang sticks his tongue out, yelping when Nie Cheng tries to grab him. He dashes away, calling out to Nie Cheng behind him. “You’re not allowed to talk at dinner!”

“I’ll talk to him afterward, idiot,” Nie Cheng yells back. He follows Nie Huaisang back to the disciples’ dorms, collapsing onto the empty bed once inside. Nie Huaisang sits by his side, grabbing his robe.

“Did you get me anything from town?” he asks. Nie Cheng raises an eyebrow, chucking his qiankun pouch back at Nie Huaisang.

“There’s a bottle of alcohol in there,” he says, closing his eyes.

“Emperor’s Smile?”

“Do you think Da-ge would let me bring that in here?” Nie Cheng snorts. “It’s barely alcoholic, but it’ll have to tide you over. We’re in the Lan sect now, we have to at least partially listen to their rules.”

“I can’t believe you’re Lan Qiren’s favorite when you act like this,” Nie Huaisang sighs. In the background, Nie Cheng hears the sound of a cork popping.

“Between me and you, there isn’t much competition,” he murmurs, yawning. His eyes water, and exhaustion seems to drag him farther and farther back into the dark recesses of his mind. “Ge, I caught a big beast today. Da-ge said they were going to skin it and use its fur to make coats for the upcoming winter.”

“Xiao Cheng is impressive as always,” Nie Huaisang praises, patting Nie Cheng’s head. Nie Cheng squirms his head around, trying to avoid the touch, to no avail. “I didn’t do much here. I did see Wangji-xiong, but he and Xichen-xiong were talking about boring things, so I left.”

Nie Cheng hums, letting Nie Huaisang ramble as he slowly drifts off to sleep. A hand comes to absentmindedly adjust his robe collar, pulling it up to cover his clavicle. Under that warm touch, Nie Cheng dreams.

He wakes up some time later, blinking awake to an unlit and empty room. His qiankun pouch sits neatly on the table next to him, and Nie Huaisang is nowhere to be found. Nie Cheng retrieves his belongings, making sure Pulao is safely secured to his waist before pushing the door open and stepping outside, breathing in the cool, tranquil air. Disciples from various sects are ambling about; he can spot Jin Zixuan and his entourage from the corner of his eye.

There weren’t that many places Nie Huaisang could be. He was probably off to bother Lan Wangji, or hand out copies of those yellow books he insisted Nie Cheng had no idea about. Nie Huaisang was not sneaky; how did he expect Nie Cheng not to know if he just kept them lying around his room, out in the open? He was lucky Nie Mingjue hadn’t caught him yet.

“Hey, look out!”

Startled, Nie Cheng whips his head around in the direction the voice came from to find a perfume satchel flying his way. He raises his arm up and catches it, the scent of lavender floating up to his nose. He looks back to where it came from and sees a girl, her eyes rimmed with red as she pushes away a boy from another sect, with someone from her sect stepping up in front of her.

“Leave my shimei alone,” the defender says, a smile spread out on his face. It all but spelled out trouble, looking eerily familiar to the expression Nie Huaisang wore when he was trying to play tricks, a grin filled with false positivity and faux openness. “Or would you like me to sift through your things as well, little friend?”

“Fi-fine!” the boy stutters, balling his hands up. “Do whatever you want! I was just playing around anyways.”

“Go play with yourself,” the other boy grins. “I’m sure you’re used to that.”

Flustered, the boy stumbles away, pushing his way past other disciples with hurried shoves. The other boy calls after him, demanding an apology while his shimei tries to calm him down. Suddenly, Nie Cheng is knocked into, nearly losing his grip on the perfume sachet. He grabs the boy by the arm, dragging him back to the boy and his shimei after a moment’s consideration.

“Aren’t you supposed to apologize?” He drops the boy in front of the shimei, who steps back.

“It’s none of your business,” the boy spits. Nie Cheng raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. He’s seen cubs more fierce than this boy. Hell, even Nie Huaisang was scarier, when he was in a mood.

“You were making such a ruckus, how could I not take notice?”

“You might as well just apologize, now that our classmate has so kindly brought you back,” the other boy says, hovering a hand above his sword. Nie Cheng nods, ready to provide assistance if needed.

“I’m sorry,” the boy grumbles, crossing his arms. The shimei nods, pursing her lips. “Are you happy?”

“You’re disgusting,” the other boy smiles, kicking him. “You can leave now, thank you!”

The boy scrambles away, brushing past Nie Cheng’s robes. He can feel his ribbon moving on its own, tugging away from the messy boy. Nie Cheng pats it back down, not wanting it to tangle with the rest of his hair.

“What a jerk,” the boy sighs, patting his shimei’s shoulder. “Let me know if he bothers you again, okay?”

“Thank you, shixiong,” she sniffs, rubbing her eyes. Nie Cheng hesitantly clears his throat, holding out the perfume sachet he caught by the edge of the string.

“I believe this is yours,” he says. The girl’s eyes light up, and she scoops the perfume sachet up, cradling it close to her chest. The lavender scent fits well, matching the color of her and her shixiong’s robes.

“Thank you,” she says, bowing. “I honestly don’t know why Ku Jinglian keeps bothering me, I’ve already told him I’m not interested in his antics.”

“Some people just don’t know when to give up,” Nie Cheng shrugs. He’s heard of stories from the stall aunties in town, of men who won’t stop pursuing others even after countless rejections. Those tales usually end with the men getting beat up, but Nie Cheng doesn’t know if that’s applicable in this sort of situation. The girl nods, about to say something else when someone calls to her from a distance, causing her to hastily bow once again and run off.

That just leave Nie Cheng and the other boy, who threw a casual smile to Nie Cheng.

He clears his throat again, awkwardly stepping back. “Well, I’ll leave first—”

“Wait!” the boy says. He bows to Nie Cheng, who starts shaking his head, eyes darting around the courtyard. “What’s your name? We should be friends.”

“Huh?”

“Well, since we made such good partners in crime,” the boy says, grinning. He throws his ponytail over his shoulder, the red ribbon wrapped around the base fluttering up in response to the large movement. “C’mon, I don’t bite.”

“I wasn’t afraid of that,” Nie Cheng huffs. He gives up, bowing down to the Jiang disciple. “My name is Nie Wanyin. It’s nice to meet you.”

“So he has a name!” the boy smiles. He skips the bow, choosing instead to sling a casual arm around Nie Cheng’s shoulder. “I’m Wei Wuxian! Nice to meet you, Wanyin. I have a feeling we’ll be great friends.”

Time freezes. Nie Cheng looks up at the boy, at Wei Wuxian, at Wei Ying.

He grew up with the shadow of names, not faces, in his heart. Only the purple of the Jiang sect echoed within him; even now, all of his belongings are devoid of the color, lest it tie him back to his old sect. Nie Cheng searches Wei Wuxian’s face, desperately trying to connect it back to the blur of Wei Ying’s. Were his eyes always that grey, that filled with life? Did he grow into his height, or had he been taller than Nie Cheng even in childhood? Nie Cheng can’t seem to remember.

“Wanyin?”

“Sorry?” Nie Cheng blinks, shoving his thoughts down into the empty corners of his mind. “It’s nice to meet you as well, Wei-shixiong.”

“So formal,” Wei Wuxian teases. Nie Cheng tries to smile, but it’s like his lips are stapled down. “Are you sure I’m your shixiong? My birthday’s pretty late, on the last day of the eighth month. When’s yours?”

“In the ninth month,” Nie Cheng replies. Wei Wuxian laughs, and it sounds like the twinkle and clang of metal bells and the haunting wails of ghost cries all at once. Nie Cheng scowls, not quite sure what Wei Wuxian thought was so funny.

Wei Wuxian continues to chuckle, patting his shoulder. “So you are younger! I guess that makes you my xiao shidi.”

“Where did the xiao come from?” Nie Cheng asks. Wei Wuxian shrugs, a content smile settling on his face as he observes Nie Cheng. Suddenly, his eyes narrow, and he places his index finger between Nie Cheng’s eyebrows, right where a huadian would go on one of his shijies or shimeis.

“You look familiar,” he says. Nie Cheng stills, only relaxing when Wei Wuxian continues on, seemingly unable to recall where it is he had seen Nie Cheng before. “Have we met before? Surely I would have remembered someone as adorable as my xiao shidi.”

“I am not your xiao shidi,” Nie Cheng scowls. Wei Wuxian ignores his protests, dragging him across the courtyard to the entrance gate, where disciples were still piling in.

“Did we bump into each other while arriving?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“I came late,” Nie Cheng replies, shaking his head.

Wei Wuxian thinks for a minute before seemingly coming to a conclusion, snapping his fingers and pointing at Nie Cheng. “We’re neighbors! The Nie brothers are rooming next to me. I probably saw you unpacking.”

“What part of ‘I came late’ do you not understand?”

“I can’t figure it out,” Wei Wuxian whines, clutching his chest in mock-exasperation. Nie Cheng fights the urge to roll his eyes; Wei Wuxian reminds him of Nie Huaisang, in his mischievous banter and dramatic actions. It’s easier to face him when Nie Cheng can see his brother in Wei Wuxian. “You’re such a mystery, Wanyin!”

“Keep thinking,” Nie Cheng says, eyes flickering to the clarity bell hanging on Wei Wuxian’s waist, next to his sword, which was apparently named Suibian. “Maybe you’ll exhaust your brain by dinnertime.”

“I’m a genius,” Wei Wuxian boasts. “I’ll keep thinking until the end of the world.”

They watch the incoming disciples check in and flood through the gate, spilling into the Cloud Recesses. A girl catches his eyes: a shorter cultivator dressed in elaborate robes, hair done up in buns on the side of her head, the front strands of her hair looping back around and forming knots that frame her face. The headpieces atop said hair indicate her high-ranking status, but it’s her face that attracts Nie Cheng. Those narrowed eyes, the sharp nose and chin, they—

“She reminds me of you,” Wei Wuxian says, pointing the girl Nie Cheng was looking at. “You look the same.”

“I look like that.”

“It’s your eyes,” Wei Wuxian replies, tapping on the side of his temple. “And your nose, and ears, actually. Who is she, anyways?”

Nie Cheng shrugs. The girl notices them looking at her, scowling as she marches over. On closer inspection, Nie Cheng finds more and more similarities; her electrifying violet eyes draw out something startlingly nostalgic in his, a wanting to seek comfort in the arms of someone he has long since lost.

“What are you looking at?” she snaps, glaring up at the two of them.

“Our apologies,” Wei Wuxian says, flashing her a charming smile. “It’s just that you were so beautiful. Meimei, each flower must turn to soak in your light and grace. How could we resist? Might I know this one’s name?”

The girl wrinkles her nose at Wei Wuxian’s flirting, but obliges nonetheless. “This one is Yu Jiaxin.”

“Yu-meimei,” Wei Wuxian greets, sending her a wink. Yu Jiaxin looks immensely unimpressed, as if he has just tripped over and trampled the bed of flowers he just claimed she had. “And you wouldn’t happen to know a Yu Ziyuan, would you?”

“My aunt,” Yu Jiaxin replies, crossing her arms. The gold chains in her hair dangle as she leans in, raising her eyebrows. “You’re definitely not her son; you look nothing like her. Unless you’re an identical copy of your father?”

“I’m Wei Wuxian, Jiang-zongzhu’s ward,” Wei Wuxian explains. Yu Jinxin looks him over once more before nodding and turning to stare at Nie Cheng instead.

“And you?” she asks. “You look like you could be a cousin of mine.”

“Nie Wanyin,” Nie Cheng says, bowing. Yu Jinxin hums, their eyes meeting each other for a brief flash, enough for her to recognize their similarities as well. Just his luck.

“Who’s your mother? You’re not Nie-zongzhu’s son, are you?” she asks, squinting at his face. Nie Cheng is once again hit with memories of an older face tugging on his ear, tending to his injuries, cradling him when he a toddler; everything overlaps into shades of violet poison and gold hair pins until he has to look away.

“I’m his brother,” Nie Cheng explains, unable to feel his fingers from underneath his robe sleeves. He tries to give out as little information as possible, sticking to the story Nie Huaisang made up all those years ago. “I don’t know about my mother. My father says she was a rogue cultivator.”

“She was definitely part of the Yu clan,” Yu Jinxin declares. “That makes you a part of my sect.”

She pats Nie Cheng on the shoulder, though she needs to reach up in order to do so. He’s tempted to bend his knees to give her greater access, but he has a feeling his legs would be kicked in if he did. “If you need anything, you come find me. Your father may have claimed you, but the Yu sect follows matrilineal lines, which makes you a Yu in my eyes.”

Nie Cheng doesn’t have family.

He has his brothers, sure, but that was it. He had his father, whose tomb he visits every year to clean and burn paper offerings, and a mother, who doesn’t know of his existence and would probably shun him away if she did. Holidays were spent celebrating with the sect or between the three brothers, small and tucked away, nothing like the grand family reunions he once knew. And that was fine. Nie Cheng was fine, was happy with Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang.

But the promise of something more, of a gift Yu Jinxin so casually handed out to him. Even if he could never accept, would never risk the possibility of getting caught red-handed and tied back to his origins, even then it ignites something in him, a candle that he thought had long been melted down and burned away.

“What about me, Yu-meimei?” Wei Wuxian asks, raising his hand.

“Just who are you calling meimei?” Yu Jinxin scowls.

“Yu-jiejie,” he corrects, pouting down at her. “Won’t you take care of me too?”

Yu Jinxin snorts, fiddling with the rings on her fingers. Nie Cheng watches them slide around, recalling the way he used to gnaw on one similar. “We’ll see about that. For now, take me to the disciples’ courtyard. I want to get settled in before dinner.”

- - - -

Nie Cheng doesn’t end up finding Nie Huaisang until dinner, so he walks in and sits down with Yu Jinxin, who has decided to attach herself to him, and Wei Wuxian, who declared they were now an inseparable trio. Dinner is the same as always in the Lan sect: rice with bland side dishes that were mostly leafy greens. Nie Cheng eats with relish, starving after the night hunt and already used to the food despite preferring spicier dishes. From the corner of his eye, he sees Yu Jinxin pushing her food around, looking as if she were about to dart out of the dining hall or start yelling at her vegetables.

Hiding his smile behind his sleeve, Nie Cheng looks to his left instead, where Wei Wuxian has decidedly given up on eating and has instead started to play with his food, poking two holes into his rice and laying a green bean across the bottom to resemble a smile. He shows his artwork off the Nie Cheng, pointing to himself all the while before tugging the bowl back and dragging his chopsticks through the rice once more.

When he reveals his new creation, two angry eyebrows have been added to the top of the eyes. Wei Wuxian looks to his right, tilting his head to gesture to Yu Jinxin, whose attention had been piqued by Nie Cheng’s earlier movements, and who was currently glaring daggers at Wei Wuxian, sliding a finger across her throat in a mock threat.

Just how he ended up in this situation, Nie Cheng had no idea.

“I’m so hungry,” Wei Wuxian whines after dinner, rubbing his stomach. “Is this all they serve?”

“Pretty much,” Nie Cheng shrugs. Wei Wuxian lets out the longest groan, as if about to die.

“I’m going into town,” he says, placing his hands on his hips. “And getting something delicious!”

“You’re not allowed to leave the Cloud Recesses,” Nie Cheng reminds him. Wei Wuxian waves him off, rolling his shoulders back as he rubs his hands together, plotting.

“I’m going to scale the wall,” he says. Yu Jinxin rolls her eyes, although she too was rubbing her unfed stomach. Nie Cheng notes to himself to sneak her some of the snack he bought earlier in town.

“You’re going to trip and fall,” she says.

“Is Yu-jiejie worried about me?” Wei Wuxian teases, laughing. “I’ll be fine! I’ll even bring you back a bouquet of flowers, how about it?”

“I don’t need your flowers,” she sniffs.

“Wish me luck,” Wei Wuxian says to Nie Cheng, placing a hand on his shoulder. “If all goes well, I’ll be back in a few shichen with a full stomach and a few bottles of Emperor’s Smile.”

He disappears into the crowd, blending in with the other Jiang disciples and their purple and black robes. Nie Cheng watches him go before scanning the room for Nie Huaisang. His brother is found soon enough, seemingly in a heated one-sided argument with Lan Wangji, who is putting their plates away. They probably dined together, and Nie Huaisang most definitely hated every second of it, Nie Cheng muses. He cups a hand around his mouth, waving his arm.

“Ge!”

“Xiao Cheng!” Nie Huaisang cries, draping himself over Nie Cheng as soon as he gets close enough. The familiar weight is comforting, even as Nie Cheng shoves him off. “Wangji-xiong was bullying me again!”

“You should’ve eaten your food properly,” Lan Wangji says from behind him, frowning. “Wasting someone else’s work is not permitted.”

“Nothing is permitted here!” Nie Huaisang cries, throwing his hands up. Nie Cheng ignores his complaints, smiling at Lan Wangji instead, who situates himself farther away from the blubbering mess that was Nie Huaisang and closer to Nie Cheng.

“Wangji-ge,” Nie Cheng greets, taking out his qiankun pouch and handing over the small bag of taffies he bought in town earlier. “For you.”

“Xiao Cheng,” Lan Wangji greets, and though his eyebrows furrow at the banned candy, he takes it nonetheless, and his tone is warm throughout. He places a hand on Nie Cheng’s arm, clasping it like Nie Mingjue did to Lan Xichen. “Have you settled in?”

“Mhm,” Nie Cheng nods. He looks over at Yu Jiaxin, who is examining Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji with undisguised curiosity. “I made a friend.”

“Two friends,” Yu Jiaxin corrects. “Unless we’re excluding Wei Wuxian, which I also agree with.”

“Whatever Shijie wants,” Nie Cheng says. Yu Jiaxin nods, as if he has answered her question correctly.

“Wei Wuxian?” Nie Huaisang asks. Nie Cheng meets his eyes, and he can’t do anything but shrug as they unspokenly prod him for answers. He doesn’t even want to look at Lan Wangji, in case he had forgotten about the situation with him and Lan Qiren all those years back. His eyes would give away everything to Lan Wangji, who had been learning how to read him from Nie Huaisang since they were kids.

“We helped chase away one of his shimei’s unwanted suitors,” he explains.

“And then they wouldn’t stop looking at me,” Yu Jiaxin huffs. “Talk about hypocritical. Which one of you is Wanyin’s brother?”

Nie Huaisang’s hand immediately shoots up, and he glares at Lan Wangji as if daring him to do the same. Lan Wangji stares back, deadpan. Yu Jiaxin blinks her violet eyes at Nie Huaisang, eyebrows drawing together when she doesn’t find what she’s looking for.

“You’ve inherited nothing from your mother,” she murmurs. “What a shame.”

“We have different mothers, Shijie,” Nie Cheng corrects. Yu Jiaxin lets out a small “ah”, looking relieved.

“I knew our Yu genes weren’t weak enough to be overpowered,” she says, puffing her chest out. “Well, it’s okay; you’re Wanyin’s family and Wanyin is my family, so I guess we’re still tied together. I’m Yu Jiaxin, by the way.”

“This is my brother, Nie Huaisang,” Nie Cheng introduces to her. “And my childhood friend, Lan Wangji.”

“You didn’t get eloped before dinner, did you?” Nie Huaisang asks, eyes wide. Both he and Lan Wangji look alarmed at the mention of family, knowing the Nie brothers had no one but each other and the odd assortment of friends they’ve each accumulated. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes, flicking his brother’s forehead.

“His mother was from the Yu clan,” Yu Jiaxin says, frowning. “Shouldn’t you know that, as his brother?”

“Xiao Cheng’s mother was a rogue cultivator,” Nie Huaisang grins, Lan Wangji nodding from beside Nie Cheng.

“That’s what you might think,” Yu Jiaxin snorts, crossing her arms. “But I know a Yu when I see one.”

Nie Huaisang laughs, lips stretching wide to reveal his upper row of teeth. “Well, I heard from my father that Nie Cheng’s mother wasn’t affiliated with any sects, but perhaps he misunderstood. We’ll never know now, will we? All is left up to rumors and speculation.”

“Speak whatever you want,” Yu Jiaxin says, disinterested. “I know what’s true in my heart.”

She stretches out her arms, placing them on her hips in a similar manner to Wei Wuxian just moments before. “Let’s go for a walk. Maybe I’ll find some berries to scavenge.”

“Were you not satiated with tonight’s meal?” Lan Wangji asks.

“I didn’t eat tonight’s meal,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “If you can even call that a meal. Er, no offense, Lan-gongzi.”

“I told you it was gross,” Nie Huaisang says to Lan Wangji, who frowns.

“I thought it was good,” Nie Cheng says, just to oppose his brother. Lan Wangji’s brows relax at his statement as he nods along with Nie Cheng. Nie Huaisang huffs, turning instead to complain alongside Yu Jiaxin about just how bad dinner was.

“Xiao Cheng,” Lan Wangji calls out to him, volume low. Nie Cheng’s attention is immediately drawn to him, as he leans in to listen to what Lan Wangji has to say. “Your other acquaintance, he—”

“It’s fine, Wangji-ge,” Nie Cheng reassures him. He has a feeling he’ll have to do the exact same thing with Nie Huaisang too, once they get back to their room. “Everything went well, promise.”

Nie Cheng laughs to himself, brushing his thumb over Pulao’s hilt. “I’m surprised you still remember.”

“It is important to Xiao Cheng,” Lan Wangji says.

“Not really,” Nie Cheng replies, shrugging. He likes to think he’s over it by now.

“It is important to Xiao Cheng,” Lan Wangji repeats, firm. Nie Cheng stills, pausing for a second before releasing all the pressure in his body with a heavy sigh.

“I guess it is, huh?” he murmurs. Funny, how that works.

Chapter Text

“Can I eat these?” Yu Jiaxin asks, leaning into a berry bush situated a few meters away from the path, leading into the vast nature that surrounds the Cloud Recesses. She picks one off, holding it up between her nails to examine the small fruit.

“They don’t taste good,” Nie Huaisang tells her, wrinkling his nose. “Great for staining clothes, though.”

“Da-ge got super mad when Nie Huaisang ruined his new robes,” Nie Cheng says. Yu Jiaxin sighs, dropping the berry onto the grass and crushing it beneath her shoe.

“I’m hungry,” she mumbles, patting her stomach. Nie Cheng would pass her some of the taffy he had stored in his qiankun if he hadn’t already given it to Lan Wangji, who just separated from their group in order to patrol around the sect’s borders.

“Come to our dorm,” Nie Huaisang offers. “I have snacks.”

“Really?” Yu Jiaxin frowns, placing her hands behind her back. In the gentle breeze of the Cloud Recesses, her gold hairpins sway, the chains dangling down to brush against her ears. “It’s not from the Lan sect, is it? I don’t trust their food anymore.”

“Xiao Cheng picked some up when he was in town,” Nie Huaisang assures her. Nie Cheng nods, and Yu Jiaxin easily agrees, following them back. The sun has barely begun to set, but there are already disciples heading back to their rooms, abiding by the Cloud Recesses’ rules of retiring early and sleeping at nine. Nie Cheng has a feeling that isn’t happening with their group.

“Where are you staying?” Nie Huaisang asks. Yu Jiaxin points to a seperate pavilion linked to theirs by a bridge, where the female disciples were hosted. The fog makes the building harder to see, but Nie Cheng can still make out its general shape standing atop the mountain peak.

“It’s a little past that big tree,” Yu Jiaxin says. She raises an eyebrow at their dorm, eyes scanning around the room as if to spot any hidden snacks. Nie Cheng settles down on the floor, absentmindedly tapping on the table as he watches Nie Huaisang scuttle around, opening chests and pulling out his qiankun pouch.

Yu Jiaxin sits next to Nie Cheng, sliding out one of her hairpins. She sneaks it into Nie Cheng’s hair, sliding it past the braids that entwine his hair.

“Your ribbon’s possessed,” she notes, tugging on the end.

“It’s charmed to react to touch,” Nie Cheng explains. “It doesn’t usually move around that much, though.”

“Maybe it likes me,” Yu Jiaxin says. Nie Cheng untugs it from his hair, handing it to Yu Jiaxin to observe. She strokes the gray silk, eyes lighting up as it wraps around her fingers, nearly dancing as it slips in and around.

“This is fun!” she smiles. “It tickles.”

She looks delighted in messing around with Nie Cheng’s ribbon, and for a second the upturn of her lips reminds Nie Cheng of someone else’s. All of a sudden, A-Cheng is eight again, and sitting atop his sister’s shoulders watching her stir a simmering pot of warm soup, the steam drifting up to brush against his round face. She sits him down and hands him a bowl and smiles at him like there is nothing else she would rather be doing than watching her brother eat and he is welcomed and treasured and loved and--

Yu Jiaxin looks an awful lot like Jiang Yanli, Nie Cheng realizes. Or, at least she did.

In the pauses between moments in time he can make out the blur of Jiang Yanli, but Yu Jiaxin is stubbornly no one but herself, even as she shares similar features to people Nie Cheng once knew. He blinks again and the image of Jiang Yanli is already fading back into the recesses of his mind, and Nie Cheng can see nothing but the present. He wonders if he even saw a resemblance, or if meeting Wei Wuxian has somehow misaligned his perception of the world, like the catalyst for a reaction long since overdue to implode.

He hasn’t really given much thought to Lotus Pier over the past few years, really. There are times where he will lay awake and nothing seems to be able to lure him into the heavy embrace of sleep. Perhaps that is when his mind will drift off, recalling past occurrences of love from a cracked lens and unable to retrieve his memory without feeling a bitter ache in the bottom of his stomach. Or when he does finally drift off, haunting nightmares will wail at him, dragging him back into the realm of consciousness with a sharp claw.

But Nie Cheng doesn’t actively think about them. Not anymore. He has long since stopped asking himself what if. His only regret, perhaps, is that he can’t show them how well he’s doing now, that he no longer craves for their approval like it is infused with the air he breathes to survive.

“What’s with the long face?” Yu Jiaxin asks, resting her elbows on the table. She props her chin onto the top of her hand, peering at Nie Cheng from beneath her eyelashes. “Why so gloomy?”

“Just thinking,” Nie Cheng replies, unfastening his sword to let it rest on the floor. Pulao’s sheath thuds against the wooden floor, the metal shining even under the dim candlelight of their down.

“Don’t think too much or you’ll end up hurting your brian and going dumb,” Yu Jiaxin suggests. “That’s what my mother always told me. And she’s really smart, so I usually just listen to her advice.”

“Shijie is smart as well,” Nie Cheng says. Yu Jiaxin brightens up, preening at the praise like peacock might. Surprisingly, Nie Cheng finds he doesn’t mind; her attitude is much better compared to Jin Zixuan’s.

“I’ve inherited a lot of good things from my mother,” she boasts. “Wanyin, when you come visit, I’ll introduce you to her. Guest disciples aren’t usually allowed to directly meet with the sect leader unless they’re also sect officials but it’s okay since you’re family, and you have me.”

“What’s your mother like?” Nie Cheng asks.

Yu Jiaxin huffs, wrinkling her nose. “She’s smart, like I said before, but sometimes she uses her intelligence to mess around with me instead of helping. A-Niang also likes to yell at A-Die alot, but I don’t think he minds since he’s always laughing when she does, and he likes to kiss her afterwards. What was your father like?”

“Strong,” Nie Cheng muses. His eyes sting and dampen with tears that don’t fully form; it’s been a long time since he’s directly mentioned his father, but it’s been even longer since he died. It hurts like an old wound, wherein one day you might feel perfectly fine and one day you might wake up to an aching that seems like it’ll never go away. Today was not one of those days, though Nie Cheng still misses him. “He always wanted to do the right thing. He didn’t have to take me in, but he still did.”

“He also yelled a lot,” Nie Cheng adds, recalling a booming voice that seemed to reverberate from his chest into the open air, filling the space and chasing out the haunting silence.

“Parents are loud,” Yu Jiaxin nods. “They always seem to be yelling about one thing or another.”

“Sometimes the best method is to be a little more quiet,” Nie Huaisang says. He places a plate of pastries and spiced walnuts onto the table, sitting down across from Yu Jiaxin and next to Nie Cheng with a book in his lap. He absentmindedly places it on the table, where Yu Jiaxin picks it up and flips through it after getting a permissing nod from Nie Huaisang. “Xiao Cheng, why is there jewelry in your hair?”

“It’s Shijie’s,” Nie Cheng explains, reaching back to pull it off. The hairpin is heavy in his hand, intricately molded with a small bouquet of flowers resting at the top. He grabs a walnut, tossing it into the air and catching it with his open mouth.

“Interesting,” Yu Jiaxin murmurs, thumbing a page on Nie Huaisang’s book. She looks up at the mention of herself, sliding off the rest of hair pins to lay them on the table next to Nie Cheng’s ribbon. Without the gold adorning her hair, she looks much more like she could be Nie Cheng’s shimei instead. “Wanyin should wear more ornaments in his hair. Do you have a guan?”

“I always forget to wear it,” Nie Cheng says, shrugging. Nie Huaisang didn’t usually, and he followed his brother’s lead. Nie Mingjue always managed to get on onto their heads for formal events, anyways, so it wasn’t that big of a deal. “What are you reading, Shijie?”

He tries to lean in to see, but that only results in Yu Jiaxin leaning back to avoid him, holding the book high up in the air. “No! Wanyin shouldn’t be reading these kinds of things!”

“What kind of things?”

Yu Jiaxin sticks out a hand to grab a pastry from the plate, stuffing it into her mouth before mumbling out a series of unintelligible words. Nie Cheng narrows his eyes, looking over at Nie Huaisang, who the book originally belonged to.

“It’s those stupid books of your’s, aren’t they?” he hisses, feelings his ears heat up as Nie Huaisang laughs. He knew what was in them, of course; unbridled curiosity led him to stealing one off Nie Huaisang’s floor and promptly throwing it back at him after he skimmed through it. Nie Mingjue always kept him sheltered from sexual behaviors, and Nie Cheng had no real interest in going against his brother and digging deeper into them. Nie Huaisang seemed to get enough of a kick out of them, though Nie Cheng doesn’t know if he does it for pleasure or profit.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nie Huaisang sniffs, turning his head away. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes, chucking a stray walnut at Nie Huaisang’s face. Yu Jiaxin finishes skimming through the yellow book, handing it back to Nie Huaisang, who clutches it close to his chest.

“These are expensive goods!” he yelps. “Don’t damage my capital! I can make good profits off of these!”

“I can’t believe you haven’t been caught yet,” Yu Jiaxin says, laying her head down on the table. She blinks up at Nie Huaisang and Nie Cheng, her buns getting squished against the wooden surface.

“It’s only been a day!” Nie Huaisang says, huffing. “I’m not that obvious.”

“You’re incredibly clumsy,” Nie Cheng tells him, recalling when Nie Huaisang would trip over virtually nothing as they were at sword practice. He hadn’t managed to injure himself, thankfully, but Nie Mingjue barred him from practicing without supervision ever again.

Nie Huaisang chooses to ignore his brother’s snark, instead switching the subject over to something else. He retrieves a board, setting up a game of weiqi. Nie Huaisang and Yu Jiaxin play against each other while Nie Cheng watches, polishing the sheath of his sword.

Yu Jiaxin looses as often as she wins, and after a couple of matches declares Nie Huaisang “one of the most frustrating people to play with, you have to be cheating!”. Nie Huaisang simply smirks, picking up another piece and once again beat her.

Eventually, Yu Jiaxin leaves, picking up her hair pins to sneak back to her dorm. They’re way past curfew, so the three of them are sure to quietly open the door, making sure it doesn’t creak as Yu Jiaxin tiptoes her way down the porch, waving goodbye to them before taking off towards the female dorms.

“She’s nice,” Nie Huaisang comments, examining the weiqi board before him. He picks up a black piece, holding it between his thumb and index finger. “Xiao Cheng seems to have met a lot of interesting people today.”

“Ge,” Nie Cheng starts, sitting down next to Nie Huaisang. Nie Huaisang tilts his body to the side, resting his head on Nie Cheng’s shoulder. Nie Cheng sighs, looking down at his lap. “You can’t expect me to avoid them forever.”

“I know that,” Nie Huaisang mumbles, rubbing the weiqi piece. “But the sect leader’s ward? Really, Xiao Cheng?”

“He’s nice.” Nie Cheng says, parroting back Nie Huaisang’s words. No one knows what really went on, back when Nie Cheng was A-Cheng, and A-Cheng was another man’s son. Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji might have an idea, based on Nie Cheng’s outburst all those years back, but his brothers had never pressed for answers. Nie Huaisang seemed perfectly content to pretend that Nie Cheng had never not lived in the Unclean Realm until now, and Nie Mingjue knew better than to push.

“Were you two brothers, once?” Nie Huaisang asks.

“Jealous?” Nie Cheng teases him, elbowing Nie Huaisang, who yelps. Nie Huaisang shakes his head, throwing his arms around Nie Cheng as he presses their cheeks together.

“Who’s jealous of who?” Nie Huaisang scoffs. “Xiao Cheng loves me the most.”

“There’s also Da-ge and Wangji-ge,” Nie Cheng reminds him. Nie Huaisang lets out a “hmph”, flicking the tip of Nie Cheng’s nose. Nie Cheng grabs at him, wrestling him down onto the floor. The weiqi piece gets crushed between Nie Huaisang’s fist as he raises his arms in surrender. Only then does Nie Cheng let him go, sitting back to lean against his bed as Nie Huaisang’s gets up, rubbing his head.

“You’re so violent,” Nie Huaisang sulks. He discards the weiqi piece in his hand, tossing it onto the board. It lands back onto its original position, sliding back into place. “At least Xiao Cheng is actually normal.”

“I told you that I’m fine,” Nie Cheng insists. Everyone was much too concerned about him. Nie Cheng was strong! He could overcome any adversary, any trouble or problem that might come hurling towards him. He wasn’t some damsel in distress who constantly needed to be comforted or saved.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Wei Wuxian remembered him.

- - - -

The next morning, Nie Cheng is out taking a walk with Nie Huaisang and Yu Jiaxin when he bumps into Lan Wangji, who has a look on his face that Nie Cheng has never seen before.

“Wangji-ge!” Nie Cheng greets, smiling. “Where are you going?”

“Supervising a detention,” Lan Wangji says, face getting even weirder. Nie Cheng would’ve said he looks constipated, if not for the fact that he’s seen Lan Wangji with an upset stomach before, and that the face he was currently making was way stranger.

“Someone’s gotten in trouble already?” Nie Cheng asks. His eyes shift over to Nie Huaisang, who rapidly shakes his head, indicating that he’s not the one in trouble. “Who?”

“Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji freezes for a split second before readjusting, eyebrows minutely twitching as he nods to the incoming blur of purple barreling towards him. “Wei Ying.”

“Of course it’s him,” Yu Jiaxin says, rolling her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Nie Huaisang says.

Yu Jiaxin shakes her head. “No, it’s definitely him.”

Wei Wuxian appears next to Lan Wangji, grinning at the three of them. “Good morning! Lovely weather we’re having, huh?”

“How did you already get detention?” Nie Cheng asks. They had been here for less than a day. Classes haven’t even started yet; they were to begin the following day, though Nie Cheng is starting to seriously doubt if Wei Wuxian can last for that long.

“It’s not my fault the food here is so boring,” Wei Wuxian protests. Lan Zhan’s gaze hardens, and his eyebrows pull together. He’s not not upset, Nie Cheng notes, but there’s a hint of another emotion in his expression. Disappointment? Shame? “I didn’t eat dinner! I just wanted to get something to eat in town.”

“You tried to sneak four bottles of Emperor’s Smile into the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Wangji reminds him.

“Four bottles of alcohol and a boquet of roses,” Wei Wuxian corrects, winking at Yu Jiaxin. “For our beloved Yu-jiejie, of course.”

Yu Jiaxin is, as always, unimpressed by Wei Wuxian’s antics. “And now you’re in trouble.”

“Lan Zhan says I have to copy the rules of disciple at the library,” Wei Wuxian sighs, shoulders dropping. “I wanted to play around a bit before classes started…”

“This is your other friend?” Nie Huaisang asks Nie Cheng, who rolls his eyes. As if he didn’t know who Wei Wuxian was. If it wasn’t the embellished purple robes that gave him away, then surely Lan Wangji calling his name was.

They were very informal with each other, Nie Cheng notes. He doesn’t think he’s heard a single person refer to Lan Wangji by his given name before; neither Lan Qiren nor Lan Xichen do so. Then again, Nie Cheng has never met Lan Wangji’s parents before, who had been in seclusion for ages.

“I’m Wei Wuxian!” the boy introduces, smiling. “Oh! Um, this is Lan Zhan. He’s Zewu-jun’s brother.”

“I’m plenty familiar with Lan Wangji,” Nie Huaisang says, side-eyeing Lan Wangji, who raises an eyebrow at him in return. Nie Huaisang turns to Wei Wuxian, grinning. His lips curl up over his gums, showing off his bright teeth. “Nice to meet you, Wei-xiong! I’m Nie Huaisang. Thank you for taking care of my family’s Xiao Cheng yesterday.”

“I also did that,” Yu Jiaxin murmurs, crossing her arms. “Arguably more than him.”

“Shijie is the best,” Nie Cheng reassures her. Mollified, she settles, watching the interaction in front of her with half-narrowed eyes. Wei Wuxian makes the connection fast enough, pointing between Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang, who gives him a nod to confirm his suspicions.

“I see,” Wei Wuxian muses. “Well, it’s no worries; I’ll look out for Wanyin as well.”

“I’m sure you will,” Nie Huaisang laughs. Nie Cheng clears his throat, looking for a way to change to topic to something less awkward. He looks over at Lan Wangji, who has been silently standing there, watching as Wei Wuxian interacts with the others. He seems to be more passive now, though that unnamed emotion still lingers in the curve of his eyebrows and the tilt of his lips.

“Wangji-ge, will you be joining us for lunch?”

Lan Wangji considers it for a moment, at last coming to an uncertain conclusion. “If Wei Ying finished copying before lunch, I will accompany Xiao Cheng. If not, I will join Xiao Cheng for dinner instead.”

“Does everyone call you Xiao Cheng?” Wei Wuxian asks Nie Cheng. “Can I call you that too?”

“No,” Nie Cheng scowls. “No one calls me that.”

Of course Wei Wuxian would meet the only two people in their generation who use that nickname with him. Nie Cheng wasn’t a child, alright!? He was just as old as everyone else here, and definitely much stronger, no matter his age.

Wei Wuxian sulks, crossing his arms with a pout. His ponytail swings around behind him, the red ribbon eye-catching against all the purple. Nie Cheng seems to remember him wearing a similar ribbon in their childhood, though perhaps he is only crafting false memories based on the present. “Is Nie Cheng your given name, then? Which cheng is it?”

“The cheng in chengqing,” Nie Cheng replies before he can stop himself and fully think over his actions. His eyes widen, mouth clamping shut as he watches Wei Wuxian for any semblance of a reaction. Wei Wuxian simply nods, eyes clouding.

“That’s an interesting name,” he says. For a second, the atmosphere around him seems to dim, but it passes in the blink of an eye, and Nie Cheng isn’t sure if he had simply imagined it. “Nie Cheng. It suits you.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji reminds him. “Library.”

“Right, right,” Wei Wuxian laughs. He puts his arms behind his back, turning around. Lan Wangji follows him, and together they exit, like a pair of children walking together to school. Nie Cheng watches as their shoulders brush against each other, and how Lan Wangji stills before moving farther away. “See you all at lunch!”

“That was weird, right?” Yu Jiaxin asks once the other two are far away enough. The three of them settle on an open lawn surrounded by various greenery, watching the trees sway in the wind, leaves occasionally drifting down to settle onto the soft grass. “I’m not the only one who thinks that was weird?”

“I think Wangji-xiong has a crush,” Nie Huaisang muses, smiling. He pulls out his fan and flicks it open, fanning himself despite the dropping temperatures.

“What crush?” Nie Cheng asks as Yu Jiaxin nods. “On who?”

“Who else?” Nie Huaisang replies. “Wei Wuxian. Oh, but don’t tell him. Given how blockheaded he is, I’m sure Wangji-xiong hasn’t found out yet. But it’s pretty obvious.”

“On Wei Wuxian?” Nie Cheng can’t seem to wrap his head around it.

“That’s gross,” Yu Jiaxin declares, flopping back to lay on the grass. She tugs at a few strands of grass, yanking them out of the ground. Nie Cheng watches her do so, his brain going into overdrive as he processes what Nie Huaisang just said. “Are you sure?”

“I’m never wrong,” Nie Huaisang huffs.

“Lan Wangji is too good for Wei Wuxian,” Yu Jiaxin says. “That man is such a flirt, I wouldn’t be surprised if Lan Wangji ends up thinking Wei Wuxian likes some pretty girl he won’t stop bothering.”

“Wangji-ge wouldn’t,” Nie Cheng starts. “There’s no way he— he— Shijie, you can’t possibly see it, do you?”

“Once Huaisang told me his idea the pieces started coming together,” Yu Jiaxin replies, already familiar with the two of them despite only having met yesterday. She’s older than both Nie Huaisang and Nie Cheng, much to Nie Huaisang’s chagrin. He then promptly refused to acknowledge their familial ties, though Yu Jiaxin was persistent in being able to claim Nie Cheng. It was like watching the strangest custody battle between two teenagers, neither of which really had any say in the matter. His family tree consisted of burnt roots and dried leaves; Nie Cheng’s mind flashes to violet blossoms, and he quickly shuts that down.

“See?” Nie Huaisang says to Nie Cheng. “I wouldn’t lie to you. Yu-shijie says she can see the connection.”

“Only because you planted the idea in her head,” Nie Cheng says, sticking out his tongue. He tries to stop his heart from beating so fast, lest it alert Nie Huaisang to his nervousness. Nothing was making sense anymore, the world seemed to have flipped itself upside down. It seems so surreal that Lan Wangji would like anyone.

How weird, indeed.

- - - -

Lan Wangji does end up joining them for lunch, though Wei Wuxian is nowhere in sight. Yu Jiaxin is sitting with her sectmates across the table from them, and Nie Huaisang is once again nowhere to be found, though Nie Cheng heard him off-handedly mentioning something about catching birds.

Lunch is as quiet as dinner, but Nie Cheng is content to let the comfortable silence between him and Lan Wangji stew, laying his head down and observing the other disciples as he waits for Lan Wangji to finish his food. Jin Zixuan seems to have taken a whole table for him and his entourage, who are quietly whispering to each other behind cupped hands. Nie Cheng thinks he spots a flash of red amongst the Jiang disciples, though he isn’t too sure. Wei Wuxian didn’t seem too keen to eat from the Lan sect’s kitchens ever again.

After lunch, Nie Cheng convinced Lan Wangji to duel with him, not knowing how to bring up the subject. Pulao hums upon seeing a familiar opponent, familiar with the ring of Bichen against its sheath.

He trades blows with Lan Wangji, careful to not actually injure him. This time it ends with Lan Wangji standing over, who frowns as he helps Nie Cheng up, pulling him up with a hand clasped over his arm.

“What is the matter?” Lan Wangji asks. He is, as always, as attuned to Nie Cheng’s moods as Nie Cheng is to his. “Xiao Cheng has been off.”

“Ge says you like Wei Wuxian,” Nie Cheng blurts out. Lan Wangji startles, flushing from the tips of his ears, a rosy red that spreads at an alarming rate. Lan Wangji turns away but Nie Cheng follows after him, all the way until they’re in a secluded neck of the Cloud Recesses, surrounded by tall trees with sweet blossoms hanging from them. It’s a spot they had accidentally found when they were children; Nie Cheng often ran here when he was upset, though he’s never seen Lan Wangji here unless he was looking for him.

“Was he right?” Nie Cheng asks, panting. Lan Wangji purses his lips, still flushed red. At last, he nods, barely a twitch of his head but enough to confirm his feelings to Nie Cheng.

“Huh.” He really wasn’t expecting that answer.

“Xiao Cheng,” Lan Wangji says. But Nie Cheng has already waved him off, long since accepted it.

Lan Wangji was like his brother. Not by blood, of course, but then again none of his brothers really were. Nie Cheng had watched him grow up, and had been taken care of by him since they were children. From running around their sects to trips into town to celebrating birthdays and holidays together, he had never doubted Lan Wangji, or his unwavering judgment. If Lan Wangji liked him, perhaps Wei Wuxian wasn’t so bad after all.

Still, the weird feeling in his gut won’t go away.

“I’m sorry,” Lan Wangji says. “I don’t— I don’t understand it, either.”

“What’s there to understand?” Nie Cheng says, shrugging. He was fine; he didn’t hold any grudge against Lan Wangji, or even Wei Wuxian. Well, not that much anyways, not enough to get in the way of Lan Wangji. There was nothing wrong, the bitter taste in his mouth aside. “Wangji-ge likes a troublemaker, and sent him to detention at their first meeting. You really do know how to pick them, don’t you?”

“Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji hisses, blushing. Nie Cheng laughs, patting him on the shoulder.

“Kidding, I’m kidding. Like whoever you want. Just make sure you won’t forget me, will you?” Nie Cheng teases, elbowing Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji frowns, placing a hand on Nie Cheng’s shoulder.

“I wouldn’t forget you,” he tells him, as sincere as Nie Cheng knows him to be. “Xiao Cheng is my didi.”

“Don’t let Ge hear you say that,” Nie Cheng laughs. He feels something in soul lighten, though he doesn't exactly know why. Lan Wangji smiles, bringing a finger up against his lip, a promise to keep their talk a secret.

“Don’t tell him,” Lan Wangji says. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes, affronted that Lan Wangji would even think he would do something like that.

“I’m not stupid, Wangji-ge,” Nie Cheng says.

“Mn, Xiao Cheng is very smart,” Lan Wangji replies, dipping his head down. Nie Cheng preens at his praise, puffing his chest out.

“Let’s go back,” he tells Lan Wangji, dragging him by the wrist. “Come play weiqi with me. I don’t want to keep losing to Ge.”

“Okay,” Lan Wangji easily agrees. Together, they make their way back to the disciples' pavilion, where Nie Huaisang and Yu Jiaxin are already playing together, Nie Huaisang sliding his white piece into place to beat Yu Jiaxin.

“Again!?” Yu Jiaxin cries, slamming her fists on the ground. “This is ridiculous!”

“That’s why you’re playing with me,” Nie Cheng tells Lan Wangji, who nods. They sit down next to Nie Huaisang and Yu Jiaxin and take their usual picks, Nie Cheng picking up the black pieces and Lan Wangji picking up the white.

From across the pavilion, Wei Wuxian spots them, coming over to stand across Nie Cheng. “I want to play the winner!”

“Then you’ll be playing me,” Nie Cheng boasts. Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow, sliding his piece into place. He looks at Nie Cheng, as if daring him to say anything.

“Your turn,” Lan Wangji says. “Winner.”

Nie Cheng laughs, and everything is alright once more.

Chapter Text

The first day of classes starts with Nie Huaisang barely coming in on time, sliding down into the spot besides Wei Wuxian as he grips onto a small, silver cage. Lan Wangji, who had stolen his seat next to Nie Cheng, looks over at him for a moment before returning to organizing his desk.

“What did you do?” Wei Wuxian asks. Nie Huaisang holds up the cage, revealing a golden canary fluttering around the space, its wings like sheets of gold rapidly beating the air.

“I’ve been chasing it for days,” he says, sticking his finger through the bars of the cage. It shies away, darting to the other side of the cage. Sighing, Nie Huaisang sets it down on the floor, brushing off his robe sleeves. “I managed to hunt it down right before class.”

“That’s the most hunting Ge will ever do,” Nie Cheng tells Wei Wuxian.

“Neat,” Wei Wuxian says. “Hey, Lan Zhan, you never told me the Cloud Recesses had birds like these! I thought everything was blue and white.”

“There is a vast amount of flora and fauna that resides within the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Wangji replies, not looking at Wei Wuxian. From besides Lan Wangji, Nie Cheng can see that his ears are a deeper pink than normal. Was he even trying to keep it a secret? Between him and Nie Huaisang, it seems like Nie Cheng is the only one with a sense of discretion.

“Are there any fauna I can eat?” Wei Wuxian asks, rubbing his belly. “Mn, I would kill for some spicy beef right now. Oh! Or my shijie’s pork and lotus root soup.”

“You got a girl to make soup for you?” Nie Huaisang asks. Nie Cheng blinks, a phantom aftertaste of herbs and spices seemingly lingering on his tongue, unable to be scraped off. He turns to Lan Wangji, following his lead in scooping up the parchment on his desk and neatly stacking them. He tries to ignore the conversation between Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang, but Wei Wuxian had a voice that seemed to echo throughout the room, and Nie Huaisang was never one to be ignored.

“You’re flirting with another girl?” Yu Jiaxin asks, turning around from her seat in front of them to frown at the four of them. She’s sitting with a girl from her sect, a tall cultivator with braids coiled up into a bun on the top of her head. Nie Cheng worries if he’ll be able to see past her sometimes. “Wei Wuxian, you really have no shame.”

“No, no!” Wei Wuxian sputters, waving his hands around in an effort to explain himself. “Shijie is my sister! Her parents took me in when I was younger! I call her Shijie because her mother doesn’t like it when I call her Jiejie.”

“Your sister?” Yu Jiaxin asks, squinting her eyes. “Oh, my cousin? Jiang Yanli, right?”

“Mhm!” Wei Wuxian nods, smiling. The corners of his lips are soft, like recalling a sweet dream of spun sugar. “Shijie’s the best person I know.”

His expression darkens as he shoots a glare off to the side, where the Jin sect was sitting. “Her only flaw is that she’s engaged to that gaudy peacock. Shijie deserves better, but she likes him for some reason, and their mothers had agreed to the engagement before they were even born.”

“Xiao Cheng’s exactly like you, he doesn’t want Da-ge to get married,” Nie Huaisang laughs as Nie Cheng’s head shoots up, about to protest. It’s not that he doesn’t want Nie Mingjue to get married, it’s that no ones good enough for him, and Nie Mingjue doesn’t even have an interest in getting married except to give Nie Huaisang and Nie Cheng a maternal figure in their life, which isn’t needed. His reasoning is perfectly logical! “You two really embody the youngest child role.”

“Not true,” Nie Cheng huffs under his breath. Lan Wangji pats him on the shoulder, consoling him.

“I’m actually the middle child,” Wei Wuxian corrects. His smile strains, like it’s something he isn’t quite comfortable talking about. “I had a brother.”

Their group quiets. Who didn’t know of the Jiang family’s dead son?

Of course, each silence has a different tone that rings through the room. Wei Wuxian, clearing his throat like he was embarrassed to have had to correct them, or perhaps silently grieving the boy whose presence he had ripped back from the afterlife. Yu Jiaxin, for the cousin she never got to meet, familial ties connecting them together across the realms of the living and deceased.

Lan Wangji and the Nie brothers, looking at each other with shushed eyes and carefully choosing not to say anything, watching the room with baited breath. Nie Cheng squirms in place, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable, like he was being hugged too tight by the fabric clinging to his skin.

After a moment Wei Wuxian clears his throat, breaking the awkward silence that was quickly coagulating. “Anyways!”

“Sorry, Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang apologizes. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Wei Wuxian waves him off, scratching the back of his head with a light laughter. “It’s fine, really.”

“I don’t know what I would do without Xiao Cheng,” Nie Huaisang continues. “I guess you and I are in the same boat.”

“Ge,” Nie Cheng hisses, narrowing his eyes. Just what was Nie Huaisang trying to do? His brother simply smiles at him, giving him that stupid grin he always does when he’s trying to cause mischief.

“It’s okay,” Wei Wuxian assures him. “I’m just glad Xiao Cheng cares about me so much!”

“Don’t call me that,” Nie Cheng grumbles. Forget it, they’re both annoying, let them pester each other until they fall down and die. He didn’t care about either of them anymore; Lan Wangji and Yu Jiaxin were his only friends now.

They chat amongst themselves for a few more moments before the class quiets down, hearing the door slide open and footsteps stepping inside. Their boots thud against the wooden floor as they walk to the front of the class. Nie Cheng sits up straight, making sure his parchment is perfectly straight in front of him before looking up at the instructor.

Lan Qiren stands at the front of the class, peering down at the young cultivators. He clears his throat, reaching into his throat to pull out a piece of parchment with a list of disciple names. He calls them out one by one, taking note of every present disciple with a nod. When he gets to Wei Wuxian’s name, his eye twitches just the slightest; according to Lan Qiren, Wei Wuxian’s mother was a troublemaker, and he was expecting nothing less from her son. From what he’s seen so far, Wei Wuxian did not disappoint.

“Nie Cheng.”

“Present,” Nie Cheng says, blinking up at Lan Qiren. The man nods, lips twitching up ever so slightly; of course, the honored Lan-qianbei wouldn’t dare be caught favoring a student, but Nie Cheng had been playing around at the Cloud Recesses ever since he was a child.

After attendance, Lan Qiren pulls out yet another list, the paper rolling down as he starts reciting the rules of the Lan sect. Nie Cheng knows the basic ones, but the more obscure rules were new news to him. He had to admit, Lan Qiren’s voice was quite monotone while he was lecturing; it made for good white noise to fall asleep to. Nie Cheng had fallen asleep plenty of times before to his lectures, but he had never been an official disciple of Lan Qiren before, only ever listening to him during his unofficial trips to the Cloud Recesses.

“I’m only repeating this one by one because nobody reads them, even though it’s carved right onto the wall,” Lan Qiren says, placing his parchment down on the table. He clears his throat once more, placing his hands behind his back. “Thus forth, no one will be able to claim ignorance as an excuse to break the rules. Even as I do this, though, there are people who are not paying attention. Very well, I will talk about something else. Let’s review resentful spirits.”

Nie Cheng listens to his lecture, attentively scribbling down notes on his parchment. From the corner of his eye, he can see Nie Huaisang playing with his bird on the floor, and Wei Wuxian absentmindedly doodling on his paper. Yu Jiaxin’s back was slumped down, and Nie Cheng’s best guess was that she was close to dozing off. Only Lan Wangji seemed to be listening to his uncle talk though he wasn’t taking notes, simply taking in Lan Qiren’s words with half-lidded eyes, seemingly unaware of the rest of the world around him.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Qiren barks. Wei Wuxian, who had been whispering something to a Jiang disciple behind him, blinks up at Lan Qiren, standing up and bowing to him. “Are yao, demons, ghosts, and monsters the same thing?”

“No,” Wei Wuxian answers.

“Why not?”

"Yao are formed from living, non-human beings; demons are formed from living humans; ghosts are formed from dead humans; monsters are formed from dead, non-human beings."

"'Yao' and 'monsters' are often confused. What is an example that distinguishes the two?"

"That’s easy…”

Lan Qiren keeps questioning Wei Wuxian, firing off question after question. Nie Cheng doesn’t pay much attention, snapping back to the present only when Lan Qiren mentions Qinghe Nie and when the room suddenly quiets.

“Why are you all looking at him?” Lan Qiren snaps. “Think about it as well. And don’t open your books!”

“What’s the question?” Nie Cheng asks Lan Wangji, lowering his voice into a faint whisper. Lan Wangji frowns, but indulges him anyway, like Nie Cheng knew he would.

“How to exorcise a fierce ghost,” Lan Wangji whispers back. “Pay attention.”

Nie Cheng nods, tapping the end of his brush against his finger. The room is silent for a few more moments, Wei Wuxian having said nothing since Lan Qiren asked the question. At last, Lan Qiren raises an eyebrow, tilting his chin towards Lan Wangji instead. “Wangji, you can tell him what should be done.”

Lan Wangji stands up, giving a textbook-perfect answer that Nie Cheng knows has the rest of the class sighing in relief, himself included. As per usual, they can rely on Lan Wangji to carry them through.

“I was just thinking,” Wei Wuxian says after Lan Wangji sat back down. “That perhaps there is a fourth method.”

He then proceeds to suggest the most inane idea that Nie Cheng has heard, something about harnessing resentful energy to fight the fierce corpse. To be honest, Nie Cheng didn’t quite understand it, and it stung a bit to know he still wasn’t as brilliant as Wei Wuxian, but the growing twitch in Lan Qiren’s right eye tells him that maybe he shouldn’t be envious.

“How dare you!” he roars, slamming his hands down on the table. Wei Wuxian is unphased even as Lan Qiren starts lecturing him, books flying his way from the front of the class. Nie Cheng catches one of them; it’s a book filled with the Lan sect rules that Lan Qiren has just rattled off. Definitely not what it was meant to be for. Nie Cheng passes it to Lan Wangji, who sets it on their shared desk.

“Get out!” Lan Qiren says, pointing to the door. Wei Wuxian happily waves goodbye, all but skipping his way out the door. Lan Qiren scowls, huffing as he tugs on his robes.

“One of you tell him he has to copy the Virtue section of Righteousness three times, do you understand?” he tells the Jiang disciples, who hurriedly nod. “Let him learn what natural law and morality is!”

Class is fairly peaceful after that, though Nie Cheng takes a look back at the open for every once in a while. When Lan Qiren dismisses them, he gathers his notes from his desk, stacking them up into a neat pile.

“Wei Wuxian is so stupid,” Yu Jiaxin says, rolling her eyes. They walk outside into the sunlight, taking in the smell of fresh grass and cool air. “I can’t believe he said that Lan Qiren! He had to have known he would get kicked out!

“I think that was the point,” Nie Huaisang points out. He nods at said man, who was sitting outside on a rock, playing with a stray blade of grass. “Impressive, Wei-xiong.”

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian sing-songs, humming. “If he wants me to get out, then I’ll get out. What else can I do? No matter how I answered, he wouldn’t have liked it, so I might as well say what I want to say. Besides, I was answering properly.”

“To be honest, it’s a viable method,” Nie Huaisang says. “A golden core is hard to form, but gathering resentful energy from fierce corpses is much easier. If it could be taken and used, that would be wonderful.”

“Ge!” Nie Cheng cries just as Yu Jiaxin hisses out a “Huaisang!”. Both of them glare at him, to which Nie Huaisang raises his hands up in surrender.

“You two really do look alike,” Wei Wuxian laughs, pointing at Nie Cheng and Yu Jiaxin. “Especially when you’re upset.”

“That’s because Wanyin is my family,” Yu Jiaxin sniffs, crossing her arms. “Of course we look alike, idiot.”

“If you jump through enough hoops, we’re also family,” Wei Wuxian points out. Yu Jiaxin wrinkles her nose, aggressively shaking her head.

“No thanks.”

“I have notes for you, Wei-shixiong,” Nie Cheng says, holding up his paper. Wei Wuxian’s eyes light up, eagerly taking them from his hands as he flips through Nie Cheng’s writing.

“What about me?” Nie Huaisang whines. There’s a certain glint in his eye, like he’s asking Nie Cheng just exactly what he thinks he’s doing. To be honest, Nie Cheng isn’t sure himself. But there’s this part of his brain that wants to please Wei Wuxian, that wants to impress the boy who shined so bright he left Nie Cheng in the shadows.

“You already know I’ll help you,” Nie Cheng says, rolling his eyes. Nie Huaisang laughs, throwing an arm around Nie Cheng.

“Xiao Cheng is the best,” he coos. “Whatever would I do without you?”

“Fail class and get yelled at by Da-ge,” Nie Cheng replies, elbowing him.

“These are really good notes,” Wei Wuxian notes, handing them back. Nie Cheng takes them into his hand, nearly folding it up before stuffing it into his robe.

“Don’t need them anymore?”

“I already know everything,” Wei Wuxian smiles, tapping the side of his temple. Nie Cheng nods, ignoring the bittersweet feeling settling in his chest.

“Don’t get cocky,” Yu Jiaxin scoffs.

“Yu-jiejue knows how smart I am,” Wei Wuxian replies, grinning. “Besides, I did take notes, you know. Certainly not as good as Wanyin’s, but I still did. Look!”

He empties out his robes, dropping an assortment of random objects onto the grass in front of them. Nie Cheng can honestly say he’s never seen anyone messier than Wei Wuxian, not that Nie Huaisang was far behind in second place.

A stack of parchment and talisman paper falls out and flutters on to the ground. Some are empty, some contain random scribbles and doodles that Nie Cheng can vaguely recognize as characters. One paper, however, particularly stands out: it’s yellowed, the paper soft from being smoothed out over and over again, and folded in half twice over, though the dropping from Wei Wuxian’s sleeve had partially unfolded it, revealing the contents inside.

It’s a drawing. A drawing of what seems to be a little boy, hair pulled up into a bun with a ribbon.

Nie Cheng can’t make out anymore than that; Wei Wuxian snatches it back quickly, folding up the paper and sticking it into his robes. Though his movements are quick, Nie Cheng observes how delicately he handles the paper, and the careful way it gets tucked into the robes close to his chest.

“What kind of notes are these?” Yu Jiaxin asks. Nie Cheng turns his head to watch her glare at Wei Wuxian’s notes, which seemed to be more doodles of their classmates and less proper writings. There is an angry man with peacock feathers coming out from behind him whom Nie Cheng can only assume is Jin Zixuan.

“Wei-xiong, even I have better notes than this,” Nie Huaisang says, shaking his head.

“They’re not that bad!” Wei Wuxian protests. “Right, Wanyin?”

“It looks like a child wrote it,” Nie Cheng says, refusing to help out Wei Wuxian, who pouts. Nie Cheng smiles, enjoying being able to tease Wei Wuxian alongside Nie Huaisang and Yu Jiaxin.

Still, his mind can’t help but wonder around. To the mention of a dead brother, and the mementos Wei Wuxian kept in his pockets. It was strange, really, but old memories never really do die, do they?

Chapter Text

For what it’s worth, Wei Wuxian is really good at getting in trouble.

“Can you believe I have to go to the library again tomorrow!?” he cries, shoulders slumping down as he drags his feet forward. Yu Jiaxin rolls her eyes, raising her boot to kick the back of Wei Wuxian’s leg, shoving him forward.

“You were the one who forced another Jiang disciple to copy your punishment for you,” she says. “Face the consequences of your actions.”

“I didn’t force him!” Wei Wuxian protests. “It was a mutually beneficial agreement; he helped me with my writing, and I helped tutor him.”

“Wangji-ge isn’t a bad supervisor,” Nie Cheng points out. Lan Wangji was fair and kind, so long as you didn’t bother him. As long as Wei Wuxian sat still and did the work he was supposed to do, he would’ve been fine. Plus, since Lan Wangji likes him, he’d probably let Wei Wuxian get away with more than usual. “He’s fun to talk to.”

“Wanyin, if Lan Zhan said he was the second most quiet disciple here, no one would dare claim to be first! Are you sure we’re talking about the same Lan Zhan? He kept shutting me up!”

“I wish I could shut you up,” Nie Cheng scowls. Wei Wuxian gasps, clutching a hand to his chest as if he were an affronted store customer. Nie Cheng leaves him to his own dramatics.

“He used this silencing spell on me!” Wei Wuxian explains, waving his hands around through the air. “No sound would come out of my mouth!”

Nie Huaisang hums from beside Nie Cheng, his hands behind his back. Out of the four of them, he was the most graceful; then again, there wasn’t much competition, what with Wei Wuxian whining like a little kid and Nie Cheng and Yu Jiaxin picking on him like slightly bigger kids. “I know what you’re talking about. Wangji-xiong likes to use it a lot.”

“Ge is exaggerating,” Nie Cheng says, rolling his eyes. “He’s only used it on me a few times before. It’s not that bad, although I guess Wei-shixiong doesn’t know how to stop talking.”

“Not true,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. He changes moods abruptly, eyes lighting up as he shoots a smile startlingly similar to one of Nie Huaisang’s. “Hey, guess what else I did? I lent Lan Zhan some of those books you showed me, Huaisang.”

“Those yellow books?” Yu Jiaxin asks, shaking her head. Her hairpieces sway with the movement; today, she’s wearing one with a gray lotus dangling from the end, a golden center peeking past the petals. “Wei Wuxian, you sure have no desire to live.”

“I agree,” Nie Huaisang adds, raising his hand. “Should we start the mourning period for you now, Wei-xiong?”

“It’s better if you live, Shixiong,” Nie Cheng says. Wei Wuxian grins, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Nie Cheng wills himself not to tense up, his footsteps lagging behind ever so slightly before returning back to normal.

“Wanyin treats me the best as usual!” Wei Wuxian says.

“No, it’s just that I don’t have time to attend your funeral, nor money to waste burning joss paper for you.”

Laughter breaks out amongst the other two as Wei Wuxian pouts, turning away with a sniff. Nie Cheng hesitates, letting his eyes flutter shut for just a moment longer before placing a hand on Wei Wuxian’s arm, patting him in consolidation. “You can die later if you want when I have more free time.”

“I’ll have the grandest funeral ever and all of you will be forced to attend and cry at my feet,” Wei Wuxian boasts. “It’ll be talked about for centuries. I’ll become a legendary figure!”

He’s about to say more but spots a Jiang disciple in the distance, to whom he runs to with his arm stretched out over his head. “Hey, Kang Huli! What punishment did you get from Old Man Lan? It can’t be as bad as mine, right?”

“What an idiot,” Yu Jiaxin scoffs, crossing her arms. Her lips purse together, the rogue on her lips thinning out into a small line across her face before popping back as she opens her mouth to speak. “Could he at least bother to say goodbye?”

“You know how the Jiangs are,” Nie Huaisang shrugs. His eyes scan the distance, at last landing on a lone figure standing under the shade of a large willow tree, the branches dancing around in the wind. “Speaking of Wei-xiong’s funeral, I think I see Lan Wangji.”

Nie Cheng’s eyes light up; the only times he sees Lan Wangji is in class or when they eat together, and while he does enjoy their silent time spent together, he also likes actually talking to the boy, unresponsive as he may be. Besides, Nie Cheng didn’t lie: Lan Wangji was fun to talk to, so long as you knew where to look.

“Wangji-ge!” Nie Cheng says, running over to greet him. Nie Huaisang and Yu Jiaxin follow after him at a much slower pace.

“Why does he seem more excited to see Lan Wangji than he does to see you?” Yu Jiaxin asks Nie Huaisang. Nie Huaisang scowls, crossing his arms as he shoots Lan Wangji a dirty glare. Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow in response, giving Nie Huaisang no more attention as Nie Cheng reaches his side, clasping his elbow to stop Nie Cheng from running into the tree,

“Where have you been?” Nie Cheng asks, beaming. “I feel like we never get to spend time together anymore, you’re always busy supervising Wei Wuxian!”

“So Xiao Cheng does know where I went,” Lan Wangji replies. Nie Cheng shrugs, leaning back to look at Lan Wangji’s face. His expression was impassive as always, though Nie Cheng swears the area around his eyes are redder than usual. Maybe it was because of the growing cold, though Nie Cheng has his doubts.

“How was it?” Nie Cheng asks.

“Yeah, you didn’t end up spontaneously confessing to him, did you?” Yu Jiaxin adds. When Lan Wangji shoots her a glare, her eyes widen, hands coming up to cover up her mouth. She adds on in a muffled voice: “Was I not supposed to know that? Blame Huaisang, he’s the one who said it out loud in public.”

“Which I then told you two to keep a secret!” Nie Huaisang argues. “Look at poor Wangji-xiong, he doesn’t even know how to function anymore. Poor thing is too flustered to-- mhpm, mmh!”

Lan Wangji frowns at him, eyebrow twitching. “Do not spread gossip.”

“Wei Wuxian said you did that to him,” Nie Cheng says, pointing to Nie Huaisang’s mute mouth. Lan Wangji flushes, a soft pink traveling from the tips of his ears down to his cheekbones.

“He was behaving in an inappropriate manner,” Lan Wangji murmurs. “It was against the Lan rules, and utterly irresponsible of him as Jiang-zongzhu’s ward and a representative of the Jiang sect.”

“Wei Wuxian is always like that, though,” Yu Jiaxin frowns. “Are you sure you like him? I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t.”

“I don’t like him,” Lan Wangji hisses.

“What?” Nie Cheng says. Lan Wangji wasn’t a liar; it was against the Lan rules, for one, but he wouldn’t lie to Nie Cheng, especially over a matter like this where not liking Wei Wuxian would’ve been the better outcome. “But you said you did!”

“I was mistaken,” Lan Wangji says, turning his head away. It only served to give Nie Cheng a better view of his rapidly reddening face. Lan Wangji was always red these days, did no one think to question him on his behavior? “He annoys me. Wei Ying is irritating. His behavior and actions are reckless and utterly ridiculous. He doesn’t-- I don’t--”

“Alright, alright,” Nie Cheng says, patting him on the shoulder so as not to have Lan Wangji combust in front of them. “Wangji-ge doesn’t have to think about it that hard. Just sleep on it for a few days. And we will pretend that we know nothing, right?”

At this, he turns around to look at Nie Huaisang and Yu Jiaxin with a pointed look. Both of them eagerly nod at him, to which Nie Cheng looks back at Lan Wangji, as if to say: “See? Nothing’s wrong.”.

If Lan Wangji wanted to contemplate and hum over his feelings, let him do so. It wasn’t like Nie Cheng was in a rush to get him to figure it out. Besides, if he doesn’t know, then that just gives Nie Cheng more time to hang out with him before Lan Wangji starts chasing after Wei Wuxian more and more.

The whole notion was ridiculous, honestly.

- - - -

In the next few days, there was to be a discussion conference hosted at Qinghe Nie. All the major sects, alongside additional sects and a few prominent rogue cultivators will be present to partake in festivities and what could be productive conversation, but would most likely be ceaseless bickering. Nie Huaisang and Nie Cheng are expressly forbidden from attending, no matter how much they begged Nie Mingjue to let them skip class to go.

Lan Qiren, however, was expressly invited. Cue the current scene of Nie Huaisang on his knees, hands clasped as he begs Lan Qiren, who was glancing down at him like he was a small insect that had suddenly gained the power of speech but was using it to do nothing but whine like a toddler.

“Please, please, please,” Nie Huaisang whines, bottom lip jutted out in an upset pout. “I want to see Da-ge!”

“Nie Huaisang, are you five or fifteen?” Lan Qiren scolds. “Nie-zongzhu put you two in the care of the Cloud Recesses for the year, and so you two will stay here. Look at your brother, see how much better behaved he is.”

“I also want to see Da-ge,” Nie Cheng murmurs, shifting in his seat. When Lan Qiren let them inside his classroom, this is certainly not what he was expecting, but Nie Huaisang was nothing but stubborn, an unfortunate side effect of being coddled by his brothers for so many years.

“I know you do,” Lan Qiren says, placing a cup of hot tea in front of him. “But this conference is for formal matters. It is a gathering for sect leaders and their men to discuss plans that will affect the future of the cultivation world as a whole. It is not a place for children to attend, especially since you two are still students of the Cloud Recesses.”

“I thought it was just a place for people to drink and for Jin Guangshan to pick up more women,” Nie Huaisang murmurs, swirling around his tea before throwing his head back and swallowing it one go, just in time to miss the way Lan Qiren’s face turns purple for a split second.

“Nie Huaisang!” he barks. “Do not say such disrespectful things about Jin-zongzhu! Need I remind you of the rules of the Cloud Recesses?”

“No, thank you!” Nie Huaisang says, shaking his head. One day his head was going to screw right off, with all the head-shaking he was doing. “I don’t need to know anymore! Have fun, Lan-qianbei!”

“Will you at least bring Da-ge back our letters?” Nie Cheng asks, reaching into his robe and pulling out a stack of papers, some from him and some from Nie Huaisang. He would’ve sent them off, but knowing that Lan Qiren would be returning back to Qinghe Nie made him hesitate, just in case.

“Of course,” Lan Qiren nods, taking the papers Nie Cheng handed him and placing them in his qiankun pouch. “I’m sure your brother will be delighted to hear from you two.”

He clears his throat, placing his hands in his lap. Nie Cheng refills his cup, and he nods, tapping two fingers against the wooden table, the noise reverberating a dull echo. “When I am gone, lectures will be on hold. The disciples will have some free time; I hope it will be spent wisely. Xichen will be in charge, as well as a few Lan elders.”

“You already said this in class,” Nie Huaisang whines. Lan Qiren’s eye twitches; Nie Cheng wonders if he should go visit a doctor to get that checked out. It happened at a concerning rate.

“How many of you were actually listening and not just daydreaming about what trouble you’ll get up to while I’m gone!” he says. “Nie Huaisang, don’t think I don’t see you napping in my classes!”

“I’m sure Da-ge will lecture him about it,” Nie Cheng assures him, standing up and pulling Nie Huaisang up with him as well. “Lan-qianbei, we’ll be leaving first. Have fun at the discussion conference.”

“Thank you, Wanyin,” Lan Qiren nods. “Enjoy your time off as well.”

“He’s much nicer to you,” Nie Huaisang complains as soon as they're outside, pouting as he hooks his arm around Nie Cheng’s. “I just wanted to go home for a bit.”

“You only wanted to go home to stir up more trouble,” Nie Cheng retorts.

“Can’t I be homesick?”

“You’re just sick of the Cloud Recesses.”

Nie Huaisang hums, leaning his head towards Nie Cheng. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes, but indulges him nonetheless, holding Nie Huaisang’s arm tight to make sure he doesn’t fall as he’s walking down the steps with his weird posture. They walk that way back to the dorm, passing by a few other disciples who glance at them for a second before turning away uninterested, long since used to Nie Huaisang’s antics.

“Get off,” Nie Cheng says, dropping Nie Huaisang down onto his bed with an ungraceful thud. Nie Huaisang whines, turning over and burying his face in the pillow resting at the head of his bed.

“How do you think Da-ge’s doing without us?” he asks, voice muffled as he kicks his legs back and forth in the air, looking like an overgrown child throwing a tantrum. Which he technically was, to be fair. Except for the overgrown aspect: Nie Cheng was still taller than him, as he’s been for as long as they’d known each other. “I bet he’s suffering, and his paperwork’s a mess and the sect is in utter disarray.”

“You never helped him with any of the sect paperwork while you were there,” Nie Cheng points out. “In fact, I think you distracted him from getting more work done. Plus, maybe now Da-ge will be able to find someone to court now that we aren’t hanging by his side.”

“That’s even worse,” Nie Huaisang groans. Silently, Nie Cheng has to agree with him, but he chooses to roll his eyes instead, unwilling to go along with his brother.

“What if the Wens get to him?” Nie Huaisang asks, suddenly shooting up and twisting his body to stare at Nie Cheng. “They’re attending the Discussion Conference at home, aren’t they?”

“There are also Wens here,” Nie Cheng murmurs. A smaller group compared to the other major sects, but they still outnumbered some of the other sects. Around the number of disciples the Yu sect had brought, though Nie Cheng thinks the Yu sect might even have brought more than the Wens. Or perhaps he only thought so because he was around them so much; he tried to ignore the Wens ambling about, keeping them out of his mind.

The only disciples directly related to the Wens were a sibling pair, children of one of the sect leader’s cousins. Not a particularly strong tie to be sure, but any connection was a thread that could be used; Nie Cheng had seen it happen firsthand with Wang Junmei, their old nanny. Nie Cheng hadn’t bothered to learn their names; so long as they didn’t come to him, he wouldn’t come to them. They had no pleasant words to exchange with the Wens, influential as they might be. The cut of their father’s death still stung on his skin.

“I suppose so,” Nie Huaisang replies, humming. He lays back down, though he shifts his neck so as to still be looking at Nie Cheng. “It’ll be alright, Xiao Cheng.”

“Weren’t you the one who was just worried?” Nie Cheng retorts, snorting. Don’t try to push your worry onto him, Ge, it won’t work. Nie Cheng was strong! Besides, with them staying at the Cloud Recesses, what could the Wens possibly do?

- - - -

Nie Cheng is aimlessly loitering bout the disciples’ pavilion, flipping through one of Nie Huaisang’s books that aren’t those stupid yellow books of his. He thumbs the corner of a page, about to continue reading when an overhead shadow darkens his view.

Looking up, Nie Cheng smiles, setting his book down to the side. “Wangji-ge!”

“Xiao Cheng,” Lan Wangji nods. “Are you busy?”

“Not currently, why?”

“If you are able, there’s a disturbance that I’ve assigned to investigate; I would prefer your presence there.”

“A disturbance?” Nie Cheng asks, standing up. Pulao hums against his waist, eager to fight. “What kind?”

“The waters have been acting up in town, it’s suspected to be because of a water ghoul,” Lan Wangji says. Nie Cheng nods; he would’ve said yes to anything, but it’s nice to know what he’s getting himself into. He had gone on a hunt with Nie Mingjue just before he arrived at the Cloud Recesses, but even that was too long ago for him. Most of his time now was spent studying or chatting with other disciples, which he didn’t mind, but he was craving for some action that didn’t consist of petty fights between Nie Huaisang, Yu Jiaxin, and Wei Wuxian. Investigation and hunting are vastly different things, of course, but any interaction with a potential monster was welcome at this point.

Speaking of…

“A water ghoul?”

Wei Wuxian stands behind Lan Wangji, close enough to lean over his shoulder to grin at Nie Cheng. “You should bring me along!”

“Have you dealt with one before, Wei-shixiong?” Nie Cheng asks. Wei Wuxian simply grins, raising an arm to point at himself.

“Of course, I know how to catch water ghouls! I grew up in the Jiang sect; I know my way around water,” he boasts. Nie Cheng nods; the lakes and ponds surrounding Lotus Pier were always full of disciples splashing around in their free time. It was where Nie Cheng had learned to swim, back when he was another man’s son. “Trust me, I can help.”

“Wangji-ge?” Nie Cheng asks. It was technically his mission; Nie Cheng was just tagging along on his request. He couldn’t pull random people into their group, especially people who Lan Wangji had debatable feelings of romantic affection for.

Lan Wangji lets out a stilted nod, gripping Bichen before turning to the side and walking off. Nie Cheng trails after him, with Wei Wuxian by his side.

“That was a yes, right?” Wei Wuxian asks. Like the other two, his sword is also hanging off his waist, Suibian swinging around in its sheath as he jogs to keep up with Lan Wangji’s rapid walking away from them.

“Of course, it was a yes,” Nie Cheng says, rolling his eyes. “Do you nod to say no?”

“Lan Zhan is funny sometimes,” Wei Wuxian replies. Nie Cheng simply shakes his head; Wei Wuxian was the one who said Lan Wangji wasn’t funny, and now he’s backtracking. Not that Nie Cheng expected any less; with all the time Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were spending together, they were bound to get closer. Then again, detention probably wasn’t the best time to be forming any positive bonds. “Hey, this is the first time I’ve seen you without Huaisang hanging around!”

“When we first met Ge wasn’t with me,” Nie Cheng reminds him. It was technically true, in a myriad of different contexts. Wei Wuxian hums, stepping closer to sling an arm around Nie Cheng’s shoulder. It raises up to scruffle the top of his head, Wei Wuxian refusing to let go even as Nie Cheng grumbles.

“Yeah, but after that, you and Huaisang were practically conjoined!” Wei Wuxian laughs. “If I didn’t know any better I would’ve assumed the two of you were twins. I think the only siblings who can compete for the stickiest pair against you guys are Wen Qing and Wen Ning. I don’t even stick around my family’s Shijie that much!”

“Ge’s a bit overprotective,” Nie Cheng admits. Wei Wuxian wasn’t wrong: he was close with all of his brothers, but Nie Huaisang had the advantage of being closer in age to him and not carrying the responsibility of managing the sect like Nie Mingjue had to do. Nie Huaisang was as sticky as honey candy, starting all the way back from when he declared Nie Cheng to be his brother upon their first meeting. “Plus we’re both men, so of course, it’s easier for us to stay together than for you and your shijie.”

“I guess that’s true,” Wei Wuxian sighs. “That sounds nice, actually. It gets kinda lonely when you’re by yourself. I wish I had a cute little brother like Xiao Cheng!”

“Don’t call me that,” Nie Cheng grumbles. Wei Wuxian simply laughs at him, ruffling his hair. The ribbon Nie Huaisang gifted him stirs, batting a bit at Wei Wuxian’s hand before dropping back down.

“Still, I’m excited to spend more time with you,” Wei Wuxian continues. “After all, you and I are the original duo; a pair of maiden-saving heroes!”

“You’re so prideful,” Nie Cheng smiles. If only Wei Wuxian knew of the weight behind the words he had just said. “Wei-shixiong really doesn’t know how to keep his ego in check.”

“It’s because I’m an ace, after all,” Wei Wuxian boasts. “They call me the Pride of Yunmeng.”

“Ridiculous,” Nie Cheng scowls. Those Jiangs, did they really have no shame in inflating Wei Wuxian’s ego? Then again, he was the beloved ward of the sect leader, and terribly talented. The only person in Lotus Pier that Nie Cheng can think of who would have any animosity against Wei Wuxian would be his mother, but Nie Cheng hasn’t heard any news of her in years, and it’s not as if she held much real power within the sect. Nie Cheng wonders what she would’ve been like had she stayed a Yu disciple, perhaps turning out to be a cultivator like Yu Jiaxin. That wouldn’t have been so bad.

“You sound like Lan Zhan when you say that, Wanyin,” Wei Wuxian teases, poking the middle of his forehead. “Where’s your ribbon?”

“I had one, actually, as a child,” Nie Cheng recalls. He wrinkles his nose, batting at Wei Wuxian’s hand that was continuously nudging him. “It was made of grass strands, though. Right, Wangji-ge?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji replies. He stops in his tracks, turning back to look at Nie Cheng and Wei Wuxian. In front of him stands a few other figures waiting by the entrance. “This is our group.”

“Zewu-Jun,” Wei Wuxian says, bowing. Nie Cheng follows suit, though he casts a curious glance at the disciples next to Lan Xichen. He really needs to start talking to more people, rather than just the brats he chooses to call friends.

“Hello,” Lan Xichen smiles, ever amicable. “Wangji said he would bring you along, Wanyin, though I wasn’t expecting Wei-gongzi as well.”

“He was a last-minute addition,” Nie Cheng explains. Wei Wuxian nods, giving his explanation for tagging along to Lan Xichen, who nods in agreement as he speaks. Lan Wangji looks almost offended that they’re getting along, though that could be because of the strange look Lan Xichen gives him.

Lan Xichen, as the sect heir and oldest among them, naturally took the lead. “Let’s get going. We’ll have to pass through town first.”

During their journey, Nie Cheng mainly sticks with Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, who surround him on either side. Lan Xichen was in the front directing them, and Su She stuck by himself to the side, not particularly close but also not looking like a separate entity from the rest of the group.

Wei Wuxian amuses himself by buying two jars of rice wine, one of which he hands over to Nie Cheng. “Don’t tell Lan Zhan, hmm? I don’t mind buying him one as well, but the last time we met with alcohol he ended up wasting all my money!”

“They’re not allowed to drink,” Nie Cheng says, taking a sip. From right beside Nie Cheng, Lan Zhan is static, but it’s obvious he’s listening in on their conversation. Goodness, who told Lan Zhan to be so shy? If you wanted to speak, then speak!

“I know that,” Wei Wuxian sighs, swirling around his jar. “But he didn’t have to ruin my fun.”

They boarded a few boats to make their way deeper into Biling Lake, passing by fewer and fewer houses with every row of the paddle. Wei Wuxian pushes his boat over to Nie Cheng’s, tapping on the side of Nie Cheng’s boat with his oar.

“Want to race?” he asks, smiling.

“In your dreams,” Nie Cheng snorts, knocking on his boat in retaliation. “You obviously have more experience than me, you rotten Jiang disciple. You literally said that you knew your way around water, and yet you’re still trying to scam me?”

“Lan Zhan, do you want to race?” Wei Wuxian calls out.

“Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji scowls.

Once they arrive at the depths of the lake, they set up a multitude of net formations, hoping to catch the water ghouls. Lan Xichen had already done so the day before, and while he had caught more ghouls than expected, none had been claimed by any locals. Water ghouls tended to haunt near the places they drowned, so it was strange the bodies were unrecognizable.

“Zewu-Jun, these ghouls are really clever,” Wei Wuxian says. “Will we have to sit here and wait for them to come out? What if they continue to stay underwater?”

“We’ll just have to wait and use the nets,” Lan Xichen says. “Does Yunmeng Jiang use any other methods?”

Wei Wuxian laughs, a familiar Nie Huaisang-esq smile appearing on his face. “No, but it would be convenient if there was something like fishing bait that could attract water ghouls, or a compass to point in their direction.”

He leans over towards Nie Cheng, lowering his voice so that others can’t hear. “Truthfully, at home I usually dive straight into the water and catch them that way, but I’m afraid if word gets back to Old Man Lan about my methods he’ll eat me.”

“The Lan sect doesn’t practice cannibalism, and you wouldn’t taste good anyways,” Nie Cheng replies. “Just look down at the water like the rest of us, don’t let your imagination run so wild.”

“Cultivation and flying on swords were also a part of someone’s imagination once,” Wei Wuxian sulks. He quickly regains his energy, going so far as to splash and tip over the boat of Lan Wangji, who looked about a moment away from feeding Wei Wuxian to the water ghouls himself. Much to their surprise, however, Wei Wuxian actually revealed a set of water ghouls that were clinging to the bottom of the boat.

“The displacement of the boat was off, simple,” Wei Wuxian explains as the water ghouls were exterminated.

“You’re indeed experienced,” Lan Xichen says. Wei Wuxian simply smiles, paddling over to Lan Wangji’s new boat to coax him.

“Lan Zhan, I really didn’t do it on purpose, they would’ve heard and swum away if I said anything!” Wei Wuxian says. “Hey, don’t ignore me. Why don’t you look at me, Lan er-gongzi? I’m here to help, I really am.”

Sensing Lan Wangji’s growing irritation, Nie Cheng chooses to redirect Wei Wuxian’s attention, lest they have to deal with a snappy Lan Wangji. “Stop chattering and come here, Shixiong! The net’s moved!”

“Finally!” Wei Wuxian cries. Hands start gripping the edges of their boats as long black hair floats up to the top, like pools of oil spilled into the water. They have no trouble knocking the water ghouls off, cutting their wrists off from their bodies to separate them. Wei Wuxian’s sword flashes red, and he knocks off the water ghouls on the right of Lan Wangji’s boat.

“What’s the name of your sword?” Lan Wangji asks Wei Wuxian.

“Wangji-ge, you really don’t want to know,” Nie Cheng warns him, groaning. He had a feeling Lan Wangji was not going to be impressed with Wei Wuxian’s creativity. Even Nie Cheng, when he first found out, wanted to shake Wei Wuxian on the shoulders and ask him just exactly what he was thinking at the time. The answer, obviously, was nothing: his mind was completely empty, as it so often seemed to be.

Sure enough, once provided an answer Lan Wangji was speechless before erupting out into a hiss of words Nie Cheng felt adequately described Wei Wuxian. As for the boy himself, he just laughs off Lan Wangji’s anger, recalling a story of how Suibian got his name. Nie Cheng had already heard it before, but the reaction he had to it was the same as before: a quiet contemplation, the thought that Wei Wuxian must really be loved, for Jiang Fengmian to gift him as high quality a sword as Suibian and let it be named that. Or maybe the Jiang sect was just used to Wei Wuxian by now; his strength and prowess made up for the incredibly stupid life decisions he choose to make.

“There are more coming!” a disciple yells. However, the shadow swarming underneath them didn’t seem to be typical. By Wei Wuxian’s warning, Lan Zhan stabs down onto the water next to him but comes up with nothing. Someone else does, however. Nie Cheng hears a yelp from behind him and turns around to find a Lan disciple’s hands empty, and a sword being pulled into the water.

“Su She, we haven’t discovered what the creature is yet, how could you lose your sword like that?” another disciple scolds.

The Lan disciple, Su She, flushes, eyes narrowing as he points to Lan Wangji. “Lan er-gongzi did it too, he--”

Nie Cheng thinks he’s seen the boy before, sitting in front of him during class amongst the other Lan disciples. To be honest, he didn’t stand out much in Nie Cheng’s eyes; one look and you could tell he wasn’t the son of a sect leader, or really any important figure. He didn’t have much of a recollection about him, except perhaps that Su She was a bit brasher than other Lan disciples. Then again, not everyone could be like Lan Wangji, as evidenced by Su She’s absent sword.

Nie Cheng examines the water, which was slowly growing darker and darker. They were drifting closer to the center of the lake, though it felt less like natural circumstances and more like they were edging closer and closer to their doom, though perhaps it was just his paranoia.

“We need to return immediately,” Lan Wangji calls out. “The creatures were luring the boats to the center of the lake.”

Or not, or maybe they really were just lambs being led to the slaughter.

As it turns out, it was a waterborne abyss. And, as it turns out, Wei Wuxian is really good-- no, next to none in getting in trouble. The Lan disciple, Su She, ends up getting stuck in the waterborne abyss’ whirlpool, and Wei Wuxian decides to jump in and save him but ends up unable to get him and Su She out. Nie Cheng hovers above them, unsure of what to do. If he tried pulling them out, Pulao would surely be unable to hold their combined weight, and he would only drop into the water alongside them and drown a sad, pathetic death.

Just as he contemplates telling Wei Wuxian to let the other boy go, Lan Wangji picks up Wei Wuxian by the collar, holding onto him until they’re back in town to dump him onto the ground.

“Not that I’m not grateful, Lan Zhan, but why pull onto my collar?” Wei Wuxian asks, rubbing his head. Nie Cheng kneels down next to him, helping him stand up. Su She gets surrounded by the other disciples and is longer any of his concern. Good thing, too, because just a moment ago he was considering sacrificing him for Wei Wuxian. Not that he would’ve ever enacted on those thoughts, but still, Su She meant very little to Nie Cheng compared to who else was on the line.

Strange. When did he and Wei Wuxian get so close?

“I don’t touch others,” Lan Wangji says to Wei Wuxian, frowning. Paying him no more attention, he turns to Nie Cheng, grasping his elbow. His tone is considerably warmer, going so far that even Nie Cheng feels a bit embarrassed for Wei Wuxian. “Xiao Cheng, warm up before you fall ill.”

Nie Cheng nods, pulling out a heating talisman from his qiankun pouch. Part of it was to continue the farce of a once-ill boy, and part of it was because Nie Mingjue was constantly worried, and always made sure to stuff their bags with an excessive amount of supplies just in case anything were to happen. He supposes he has to thank his Da-ge now, as he activates the talisman and feels the water on his robes drying off.

“We’re so familiar with each other, how can I be considered as part of this ‘other’?” Wei Wuxian whines. “And don’t you think you’re being a little hypocritical? I saw what you did with Xiao Cheng!”

“I told you not to call me that,” Nie Cheng sneezes.

“We are not familiar,” Lan Wangji replies. Wei Wuxian pouts, clasping his chest in mock offense. Lan Wangji, as always, ignores him. “Xiao Cheng is my brother. It is only natural that our reservations are different.”

“Wanyin, you have so many brothers?” Wei Wuxian asks, continuing to clutch at his chest. “And yet you won’t even let this lowly one spoil you with his affections!”

“Who wants your rotten spoiling? You sound like a leecher,” Nie Cheng says, rolling his eyes. One day, they would get stuck up there from Nie Cheng performing the action so much, but it wasn’t his fault his natural reaction to Wei Wuxian’s foolishness was as such. “And I told you, no one calls me that. Really, you’re just too acquainted with the only exceptions.”

“Can I call you Nie Cheng, then?” Wei Wuxian asks. “You can call me Wei Ying!”

“As if,” Nie Cheng scoffs. He, unlike some people, still had a sense of piety. Would he be able to stop Wei Wuxian from doing as he pleased, however? Definitely not. “Do whatever you want, I don’t care.”

“Nie Cheng, Nie Cheng,” Wei Wuxian calls as if testing it out, like breaking in a new pair of boots. He blinks, eyes fogging over for a split second. Almost unconsciously, he slides a hand into his robes, patting his chest. “How nostalgic!”

“Stop acting so weird,” Nie Cheng says, hitting Wei Wuxian on the top of the head with the sheathed end of Pulao. “You’re not even that much older than me.”

“I’m wise beyond my years,” Wei Wuxian sniffs, crossing his arms. “Ah, Xiao Cheng, you youngsters wouldn’t understand. Being burdened with such knowledge and such good looks is actually a curse, truly.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Nie Cheng retorts. “And what did I just say about calling me that!? Not even Xichen-xiong calls me that!”

Ah. Speaking of, he suddenly remembers why they came to shore. Looking over, he sees Lan Xicheng discussing something with Lan Wangji, who seems to be growing more and more flustered the more they speak. Nie Cheng sticks his head into the conversation, tugging on Lan Wangji’s sleeve.

“So what’s up with the waterborne abyss?” Nie Cheng asks.

“Recently, have there been any places that have suffered from a waterborne abyss?” Lan Wangji asks. Lan Xichen doesn’t say anything, but his wrist turns, directing the point of his sword vertical, up toward the sun shining down on them from the blue sky.

The Wens.

Nie Cheng feels a chill run down his back, quickly overtaken by molten hot anger sprouting from his core. Those damn Wens! Didn’t they know that if the waterborne abyss grew further that it could cause serious damage to Caiyi Town? Do they have no honor, pushing their problems onto others? What if someone had gotten seriously injured? What if people had died?

“Settle down, settle down,” Lan Xichen says to the crowd. “Let’s go back into town first.”

They row back into the more inhabited part of town, retracing their steps. Nie Cheng opts to sit in Lan Wangji’s boat this time, mind racing. Lan Wangji, who can tell something’s wrong, pauses for a moment before taking off to place a hand on his shoulder. “Xiao Cheng, we’ll deal with the waterborne abyss. It won’t reach town.”

“Mhm,” Nie Cheng nods, settling into his seat. Even with so little words, and despite being nearly the same age as him, Lan Wangji could still comfort him. He lets Lan Wangji row them back, skimming his hand over the clearer water.

“Nie Cheng!” Wei Wuxian calls, tossing him something. Nie Cheng catches it, staring down at the loquat in his hands. Wei Wuxian grins, waving another loquat around in his hand. “Qinghe Nie-shidi, you know how to eat these, right? A pretty lady by the waterside gave me some for being so handsome! Well, it was for me and Lan Zhan, but I think you’ll like these more, hmm? Hey, do you know how to curse in the Gusu dialect?”

“As if I would tell you,” Nie Cheng snorts, picking at the loquat. He breaks it in half with his nail, holding up one piece to Lan Wangji. “Wangji-ge, eat.”

“Don’t want it,” Lan Wangji says. His ears are red once more; Wei Wuxian really does a number on him. Nie Cheng sighs, popping both pieces into his mouth.

“If you want to eat loquats, should we buy a basket?” Lan Xicheng asks his brother.

“No,” Lan Wangji hisses, and if it weren't for the fact that he was ferrying someone else right now, Nie Cheng has a feeling he would jump off onto another boat. Wei Wuxian laughs, slowing his pace to match Lan Wangji and knocking the side of his boat, occasionally splashing Nie Cheng and serving to anger Lan Wangji even further, until Wei Wuxian opens his mouth and nothing comes out, silencing spell put in place. Nie Cheng sighs, relaxing further into the boat as he lets the sway of the water tune out Wei Wuxian’s muffled whines.

Really, what a bunch of idiots, the whole lot of them. If he could, he would break all their legs.

Chapter Text

They return back to the Cloud Reccesses generally unscathed by the Waterborne Abyss. Despite being the one who nearly died, Wei Wuxian insisted on playing around until Lan Qiren returned.

“Nie Cheng, Huaisang, do you want to come?” Wei Wuxian asks, gesturing to the room next to theirs. He had going around all day advertising his little get together, chatting up any male disciple who would bother to listen. Which was a lot, either because he was the ward of Jiang Fengmian, or simply charismatic. “It’ll be fun! We’ll play some games, and I have snacks from Caiyi Town that I’ll share.”

“Snacks?” Nie Cheng asks, lifting his head up from the book he was reading. “I’ll come.”

“Such a glutton,” Wei Wuxian teases, ruffling his hair. Nie Cheng grumbles, snapping his book shut to use it to hit Wei Wuxian on the leg. People needed to stop patting his head! He was a grown-up, alright!?

“I’ll come too!” Nie Huaisang grins, raising his hand. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“Of course it’ll be fun; I’m the one hosting it, after all,” Wei Wuxian boasts, patting himself on the chest. Nie Huaisang and Nie Cheng follow him outside, the dark sky and quiet air a sign that the rest of the sect had long retired. However, from the light seeping out of Wei Wuxian’s door and the chatter that was getting louder and louder, Nie Cheng could see that they had no plans of sleeping early tonight.

He gets shoved into the fray, sitting between Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian as they drank and played dice. Eventually, someone pulls out a book with a familiar looking cover, and that’s when Nie Cheng takes his first drink of the night, trying to avert his attention. While the rest of the boys crowd around the book, ooh-ing and aah-ing, Nie Cheng nurses a bottle of Emperor’s Smile in the corner, watching the room with half-lidded eyes. Nie Huaisang had gotten tangled up somewhere in the crowd, eagerly showing off the rest of his goods. What an idiot.

“Having fun?” Wei Wuxian asks, scooting over to sit next to Nie Cheng. He throws a casual arm over Nie Cheng, pulling him in to whisper in his ear. “Your ge sure knows how to market himself! If cultivation doesn’t work out, he could make great money as a merchant.”

“Tell that to him, not me,” Nie Cheng mumbles, settling besides Wei Wuxian. The body next to him is warm, a welcome contrast from the bite of winter that’s managed to sneak in. He blinks at Wei Wuxian, watching how his unkempt ponytail falls down one of his shoulders, the red ribbon tangled through the dark strands. “He’s just got a silver tongue, is all. You guys are the ones who are too dense and get fooled by him.”

“Ah, Nie Cheng,” Wei Wuxian sighs, and Nie Cheng can practically get drunk from the amount of alcohol he can smell on Wei Wuxian’s breath. “You’re so mean! So fierce!”

“Whatever,” Nie Cheng says, rolling his eyes. “I see you didn’t invite Jin Zixuan to your party.”

“Who wants that peacock here,” Wei Wuxian scowls, his expression darkening. “Nie Cheng, let me tell you something: that man is absolutely no good. He’s stuck up and selfish and I just know he’s going to do something terrible to Shijie.”

“How are you going to survive being in such close vicinity with him for so long?” Nie Cheng asks. Wei Wuxian and Jin Zixuan seemed to constantly be at each other’s throats, whether competing for first in grades and competitions, to making childish faces and shooting insults at each other during freetime. Nie Cheng’s only glad he doesn’t have any mortal enemies; it seems like a lot of work to maintain. Then again, he was willing to do it if he thought someone might harm one of his brothers, so he sees where Wei Wuxian is coming from.

“One day I’m going to punch him in the nose and it’s going to be so satisfying,” Wei Wuxian grins, swinging his fist through the air with half-hearted force.

“Shixiong, you’re drunk,” Nie Cheng says, shaking his head. “Don’t let Lan-qianbei hear you say that, or he’ll have your head for daring to fight within the Cloud Recesses.”

“He’s not here,” Wei Wuxian says, waving a hand through the air. “What can Old Man Lan do all the way from the Unclean Realm?”

As it turns out, Lan Qiren can’t do a lot, ignorant of Wei Wuxian’s actions. Lan Wangji, however, can, evident as he bursts into Wei Wuxian’s room the next morning and drags him out. Nie Cheng peeks his head out from his room, following after Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. He had opted to return to his room after a few shichen, not quite comfortable with sleeping in the same room as so many people. He had been a recluse ever since he was younger, preferring to cling onto people he already knew. Perhaps it was something Nie Huaisang had conditioned him into, constantly dragging him away from the bigger crowds to they could play together.

“What’s going on?” Nie Cheng asks Lan Wangji, catching up with them.

“Punishment,” Lan Wangji replies. “For being out past curfew.”

They enter the front of the Lan ancestral hall, Nie Cheng staying behind outside. Wei Wuxian is made to kneel, older Lan disciples holding discipline rulers above him. What’s shocking is when Lan Wangji starts to kneel as well, settling down besides Wei Wuxian. They both get hit, Wei Wuxian crying out while Lan Wangji is silent.

For a moment, Nie Cheng is scared one of them will pass out, especially as Wei Wuxian’s punishment concludes and Lan Wangji’s continues on for another fifty strikes. Though Lan Wangji is silent, Nie Cheng can make out the way his chest heaves up and down, laborious breathes coming out of his mouth. Unpleasant memories fill his mind, of looking down at the floor and watching his blood stain the wood grain. Nie Cheng watches with bated breath, but a ruler is not a whip, and a teenage cultivator is much stronger than a child without a golden core. Once it is over, Lan Wangji rises and all but runs away, disappearing to presumably go heal his wounds. Nie Cheng rushes over to Wei Wuxian’s side, helping him stand up. Wei Wuxian leans against him with a keen whine.

“I’m in pain!” he cries, dropping his head down onto Nie Cheng’s shoulder with an uncouth groan. From a distance, Nie Cheng can make out Nie Huaisang and Yu Jiaxin making their way over as well, Yu Jiaxin peering at Wei Wuxian with a curious eye.

“What happened?” Nie Cheng asks. “It’s understandable that Wangji-ge punished you, but why did he receive a punishment too?”

“What do you mean understandable!” Wei Wuxian protests. “I’m a good student, alright?”

“Didn’t you sneak out of the Cloud Recesses last night?” Yu Jiaxin asks, crossing her arms. Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows, grinning at the Yu heir.

“Jiejie even knows this?”

“Who are you calling Jiejie!?” Yu Jiaxin scowls. “How could I not know, I watched as you ran across the disciples pavilion and towards the border of the Cloud Reccesses. It’s obvious you were trying to get into Caiyi town!”

“And what was Shijie doing up so late at night?” Wei Wuxian teases. “Don’t you know curfew is at 9?”

“And yet I’m not the one being punished,” Yu Jiaxin sniffs.

“What happened after you went into town, Wei-xiong?” Nie Huaisang asks. “Did you get caught by Wangji-xiong?”

“What else? Just my luck, too,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “I’m starting to think he watches me everyday--”

Nie Cheng snorts. He wonders how much of Lan Wangji’s attention towards Wei Wuxian was his maybe-affections for the boy, and how much of it was true wariness that Wei Wuxian was going to break yet another rule. Yu Jiaxin rolls her eyes, mumbling something along the lines of “not everyone has time for your nonsense” under her breath.

“--And then he tells me that if a guest disciples breaks curfew too many times that they’re required to receive punishment at the Lan ancestral hall! So I said he should just let me go, since we’re so close to each other, and instead he chooses to throw our friendship to the side and attack me!”

“Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang laughs nervously. “Do you really value your life so little?”

“It gets better,” Wei Wuxian grins. By now, a small crowd has formed around him, hanging onto his every word. “I asked him if he really wasn’t going to let me go, and he refused. Fine! So I stopped dodging and threw myself at him, then plummeted outside the Cloud Recesses. Serves him right!”

“He didn’t try to break free?” Nie Cheng asks. Though, he supposes Lan Wangji might have been too flustered for that. That, or he would’ve shoved Wei Wuxian off immediately.

“I’d like to have seen him try!” Wei Wuxian says. “With me locking him in with my arms and legs, there was no way he could break free. I told him that since we were both outside of the Cloud Recesses past curfew, that if he was going to punish me, he would have to be punished as well! I didn’t think he would actually follow through!”

“And he even got more lashes than you,” Nie Cheng murmurs. He has a feeling Lan Wangji was punishing himself for other things as well, or perhaps had lessened Wei Wuxian’s punishment in favor of him. Whatever the case, he wanted to go find Lan Wangji; not that he could currently do much, with Wei Wuxian clinging onto him.

“Lan Wangji got 50 more strikes than you and still managed to walk off by himself!” Yu Jiaxin says. “Do you really need to act so pathetic, Wei Wuxian? You’re going to break Wanyin’s back!”

“But Jiejie, A-Cheng is hurt,” Wei Wuxian whines. Nie Huaisang comes up besides Wei Wuxian, helping Nie Cheng support him as well. The weight on Nie Cheng’s shoulder lessens, much to his relief. Yu Jiaxin can’t help much, but she barks at the other disciples to clear the path, though it isn’t much help once they bump into Lan Xichen.

“What’s going on?” Lan Xichen asks, looking up and down at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian explains the situation, not forgetting to exaggerate how pitiful he was, going so far as to collapse onto Nie Cheng, who is quick to roll his eyes, though he quickly stops himself. It wouldn’t look good in front of Lan Xichen if it looked like he didn’t care about Wei Wuxian’s injuries.

“Zewu-jun, your brother is so cruel,” Wei Wuxian sighs. “I can’t even walk!”

“The swelling might not go down for another three or four days,” Lan Xichen agrees. Nie Cheng startles; that long? Surely Lan Qiren would be back by then. And if Wei Wuxian’s injuries were this bad, then Lan Wangji’s must be even worse! “However, there is a way for Wei-gongzi’s injuries to be healed in just a few hours. Allow me to take you there.”

Nie Cheng learns just exactly what this way of healing was when Lan Wangji bursts into his room later, front of his hair wet as he slams the door behind him. Nie Huaisang doesn’t even bother looking up from his calligraphy, waving a flippant hand through the air to welcome him in. Yu Jiaxin and Nie Cheng, who were in the middle of a round of weiqi, make space of Lan Wangji to sit down between them with a huff.

“Wei Wuxian again?” Yu Jiaxin asks, placing down her piece onto the board. Nie Cheng curses: while she wasn’t good enough to outsmart Nie Huaisng, Yu Jiaxin had no trouble dealing with Nie Cheng, who was nowhere as good at strategizing as his brother.

“Insolent,” Lan Wangji scowls. Nie Cheng nudges him with his game piece, and Lan Wangji taps a spot on the board with his finger, after which Nie Cheng places his piece there. Yu Jiaxin lets out a noise of protest, so which Nie Cheng sticks out his tongue. “Xiongzhang let him use the cold spring to heal his injuries.”

“Oh?” Nie Huaisang suddenly looks up, placing his brush down. “Did Wangji-xiong and Wei-xiong have an intimate time together?”

“Nie Huaisang,” Lan Wangji hisses. Nie Cheng blinks, not understanding what his brother meant. After a moment, however, his face darkens, and he desperately tries to erase any suddenly conjured images from his mind. Gross!

- - - -

Once Lan Qiren returned, he spent just about all his energy lecturing Wei Wuxian out in public. Wei Wuxian took it all with a smile; it seems he’d much rather endure public humiliation than spend another second at the library. Figures, his face is so thick that Nie Cheng was sure all of Lan Qiren’s words bounced straight off of him.

After the issue with the Waterborne Abyss, Lan Qiren had to spend a lot more time dealing with that, so classes became shorter and shorter. Lan-zongzhu was still in seclusion; Nie Cheng had never met the man, in all his years of visiting the Cloud Recesses. Nor had he ever heard of Lan Wangji or Lan Xichen meeting with him, or with their mother. They grew up a little like Nie Cheng, he muses: having parents who weren’t dead, but they may as well be orphans, with how distant they were. At least Nie Cheng had his brothers, and the Lans had Lan Qiren. They were making it through just fine.

With class time becoming less and less, it feels more like Nie Cheng was simply here on an elongated visit to Lan Wangji, or perhaps a large festivity surrounded by many strangers. Important strangers to be sure, but strangers nonetheless.

While they were in class, however, it was the same as always. Lan Qiren seemed to be growing ever more irritated with Wei Wuxian. After an incident involving rabbits, of all things, he seemed to be even more paranoid that Wei Wuxian was going to corrupt Lan Wangji. He moved both Lan Wangji and Nie Cheng, for some reason, to the other side of the classroom.

“Shufu originally told me to stop attending class,” Lan Wangji tells him, frowning. “But he seems to have decided that it would be alright as long as Wei Ying is far enough away.”

Nie Cheng has a feeling nowhere is far enough away for Lan Qiren, but he simply grins, happy that Lan Wangji got to continue studying with them. Wei Wuxian sat with Nie Huaisang, and the two of them seemed to be having a grand time slacking off together, given the way Nie Huaisang constantly begged Nie Cheng for his notes.

Despite their separated seating arrangements, that never seemed to stop them from reconvening. Either by not so discretely passing notes to each other, which Lan Wangji only allowed Nie Cheng to read after class was over, or by sneaking over to Yu Jiaxin’s desk, which the girl barely allowed, taking the opportunity to hit them over their heads each time. Nie Cheng never got hit too hard anyways, and it seemed more like she was patting his head, so he didn’t mind.

It was during one of these get togethers that everything went to hell.

“Who knew that the Lan founder was a monk!” Wei Wuxian says. “Lan Zhan, you’re one of his descendants, right? No wonder you’re so stuck up! But what I don’t understand is how he could leave everything behind to follow a girl, and you’re so unromantic!”

Lan Zhan chooses to ignore him, flipping to the next page of his book. He accompanied them sometimes, at Yu Jiaxin’s table, though he never said much. Personally, Nie Cheng thinks he gets lonely by himself, but doesn’t want to say anything. It’s okay; he’ll let his Wangji-ge keep his face for now.

As they’re chatting, Nie Cheng can’t help but overhear someone else’s conversation, the disciples’ voice ringing throughout the room. “Zixuan-xiong, who do you think is the best girl?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrow, and he immediately shuts up to listen. A once in a lifetime miracle, if you ask Nie Cheng.

“It’s best if you don’t ask Zixuan-xiong,” someone else says. “He’s already got a fiancée, so his answer would definitely be a fiancée.”

Jin Zixuan’s face gets dark, and upon seeing his reaction, Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrow as well. Though the general conversation was cheerful, the atmosphere around Yu Jiaxin’s table was tense, mostly due to Wei Wuxian.

“Really? What sect is she from? She must be extremely talented!”

“Forget it,” Jin Zixuan scoffs.

“What do you mean by ‘forget it’?” Wei Wuxian snaps. There’s an air of hostility around him, his shoulders drawn up and fists clenched. Nie Cheng had never seen him this upset before; Wei Wuxian was always smiling, laughing off anything someone would say about him.

“Is the phrase ‘forget it’ too difficult for you to understand?” Jin Zixuan sneers.

“The phrase isn’t difficult to understand,” Wei Wuxian gives a smile full of teeth, eyes cold. “What’s difficult to understand is how you could possibly be unsatisfied with my shijie.”

“His shijie?” Yu Jiaxin whispers to Nie Cheng, who’s sitting beside her. She all but presses her mouth against Nie Cheng’s ear to ask, not wanting Wei Wuxian to overhear. “Jin Zixuan’s engaged to Jiang Yanli?”

Nie Cheng nods, watching Jin Zixuan wrinkle his nose. He had heard from Wei Wuxian that Jin Zixuan hadn’t been pleased with the engagement, finding someone like Jiang Yanli too average for him. It was often followed by a thousand curses to Jin Zixuan’s name, and a few creative threats leaving Wei Wuxian’s lips. It was entertaining to listen to Wei Wuxian’s foul words, and even more entertaining to watch him get caught and lectured for it by Lan Qiren or Lan Wangji.

Jiang Yanli was… nice, from what he can remember. Jiang Cheng adored his Jiejie. Nie Cheng has no particularly strong feelings on Jiang-guniang, having never met her before. Wei Wuxian loves to gush about Jiang Yanli; Nie Cheng supposes he can think of her in a positive light, based on all Wei Wuxian has said. Still, despite his neutrality Nie Cheng can’t help but pity the poor girl, stuck with a fiancée and crush, from what Wei Wuxian said, who seems to hate her.

“Why don’t you ask me how I could possibly be satisfied with her?” Jin Zixuan says.

Wei Wuxian stands up, pushing the paper he was drawing on aside. His hands are clenched by his side, and Nie Cheng knows if he had his sword, Suibian would’ve been drawn by now. “You sure think you’re all that, huh? Where did you get the guts to be picky here?”

“If she’s unsatisfied, tell her to get rid of the engagement! I don’t care a bit for your shijie!” Jin Zixuan snaps. “If you care so much, ask her father about it! Doesn’t he treat you better than his own son? Isn’t that why he’s dead or something?”

Nie Cheng stiffens. Both Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji nearly stand up alongside Wei Wuxian, though Nie Cheng pulls them down in time.

“Ge,” he hisses, calling out to both of them. The Nies have no business being interested in matters outside of the sect, especially in an engagement that didn’t involve them at all. Lan Wangji stills, but Nie Huaisang is shifting around, looking like he’s about to jump at any moment.

He’s too busy getting Nie Huaisang to calm down to notice Wei Wuxian punch Jin Zixuan. He does, however, notice when Jin Zixuan strikes back, the two disciples getting into a fist-fight in the middle of class. No one moves to stop them: the Jiangs and Jins are all but willing to let their shixiongs fight, and the Lans and Nies were looking towards their own heirs for insight on what to do. Unfortunately, Nie Cheng was a bit preoccupied making sure they didn’t start a fight or get caught, so there wasn’t much they could do. The Wens just didn’t care. The rest of the sects were too scared to get involved with matters of the great 5 sects, thus leaving Wei Wuxian and Jin Zixuan to fight it out.

Wei Wuxian’s cheek was red, and there was swelling around his eye that was certain to form a black eye if not treated properly. Jin Zixuan, however, looked much worse: bearing the same injuries as Wei Wuxian, but with an additional swelling on his nose and chin. They glare at each other, Wei Wuxian clutching his arm and Jin Zixuan favoring his right side.

When Lan Qiren walks into his classroom to this sight, Nie Cheng just knows they’re absolutely doomed.

- - - -

Classes had been canceled for the week. They had Wei Wuxian and Jin Zixuan to thank for that, Nie Cheng supposes. He was on his way to the infirmary, seemed the representative of their group to check up on Wei Wuxian. Jin Zixuan was being treated elsewhere, his father demanding nothing but the best for his son. Nie Cheng thinks it’s a bit ridiculous to not trust the Lan Sect’s healers, but as if it kept the two disciples separated, it was probably for the better.

“Wei-shixiong,” Nie Cheng says, pushing the door open to the infirmary. “Shijie told me to tell you that Lan-qianbei’s just waiting for you to get better so he can send you straight back to the infirmary. I told her he might as well just do it now. Are you okay? I brought you spicy peanuts to—“

Nie Cheng stills, shoulders locking up as he stares at Wei Wuxian and the man beside him. The sect leader beside him, sitting by his bedside with his hand on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.

Unblinking, Nie Cheng is suddenly much too aware of the way he’s breathing, chest falling up and down in rapid motions. A chill runs down his back, and his legs are seemingly stuck to the ground, freezing him in place. He wants to flee, but all he can muster up is a twitch in his finger, and Nie Cheng can’t move, can’t breathe—

“Food?” Wei Wuxian asks, eyes lighting up. He lifts up his arms, making grabbing motions with his hands. “Ah, Xiao Cheng really does love me the most!”

‘Don’t call me that’, Nie Cheng wants to say. But everytime he talks back to his Gege, A-Die gets mad and A-Cheng doesn’t want him to get mad, he promises he’ll be good, he’s a good kid—

“Let me tell you, I didn’t think this was even possible but the food here is even more bland than the food in the dining hall!” Wei Wuxian says, groaning as he buries his face in his hands. “How am I supposed to recover if I’m losing my taste buds in the process!?”

“Are you not satisfied with the food?” the man asks. “Shushu can buy something in town for you.”

“Really?” Wei Wuxian says. “Then can I have lamb leg?”

“Whatever A-Xian wants,” the man chuckles. Wei Wuxian grins, sitting up in his bed.

“Thank you, Shushu!” he says. Remembering Nie Cheng, he beckons him over, tugging the bag of spicy peanuts out of Nie Cheng’s hand. Nie Cheng stands on the other side of Wei Wuxian. He feels like a puppet, being pulled to and fro without being completely conscious of it. “Ah, Nie Cheng, this is my uncle! Shushu, this is my friend, Nie Wanyin; he’s Nie-zongzhu’s youngest brother.”

“Hello,” Jiang Fengmian greets, smiling at Nie Cheng. Nie Cheng feels like he’s underwater, the voices around him muffled. “It’s nice to meet A-Xian’s friends. I’m glad he’s been getting along with the other disciples here.”

Nie Cheng’s mouth is glued shut; he nearly uses his own hands to pry it open, but instead runs his tongue across the slit of his lips, forcing them to open. “Mn.”

Even so, he can’t muster up enough courage to say much. He turns to face Wei Wuxian, trying to ignore Jiang Fengmian in his peripheral. “I’ll talk to
Lan-qianbei.”

“Please!” Wei Wuxian says, popping a handful of peanuts into his mouth. “Lan-qianbei likes you, I’m sure he’s bound to listen if you vouch for me.”

Nie Cheng nods. He jerks himself away from the bedside, all but rushing to the door before turning around. Remembering the manners Nie Mingjue had instilled in him, he bows, dipping his head down before pushing open the door and leaving. Nie Cheng sucks in a deep breath once he escapes, gasping as he brings up a hand to cover his mouth.

“What an interesting boy; quite shy, isn’t he?,” Jiang Fengmian muses. He takes the snack bag from Wei Wuxian, placing it on his own lap. “A-Xian, don’t stain your robes.”

“He’s usually a bit more prickly,” Wei Wuxian smiles, looking out the infirmary window. “Maybe he’s not used to talking to another sect leader. Hey, Shushu, did Shijie come with you?”

“Your sister was a bit preoccupied at home,” Jiang Fengmian says. “But she was awfully worried when we got the news. You must be more cautious, A-Xian.”

“It’s not my fault that peacock is such a prick,” Wei Wuxian grumbles, crunching on his peanuts. “He doesn’t have a single honorable bone in his body, and his mind is filled with nothing but hot, senseless air.”

Jiang Fengmian simply sighs, indulging Wei Wuxian as always as the boy goes on yet another tangent about how Jiang Yanli was too good Jin Zixuan. The atmosphere in the infirmary is harmonious, a sense of familiarly filling the room.

Nie Cheng, on the other hand, is sitting across the table from Lan Qiren, calming his numb hands by wrapping them around a cup of hot tea. Lan Qiren frowns, holding a report in his hand.

“You want Wei Wuxian to stay?” he asks, eyebrows drawing together. “What good could possibly come from that insolent boy remaining here?”

“He was only defending his shijie’s honor,” Nie Cheng defends. The steam rolling up from the tea warms his face, wetting his eyes with the damp air. “Jin-gongzi was also wrong in this respect.”

“Jin Zixuan has not acted out previously,” Lan Qiren says. “Besides, it brings you no benefit if he stays.”

The words between the lines go unsaid, of course.

“If Wei-shixiong leaves you’ll never be able to correct his behavior,” Nie Cheng says. Lan Qiren waves this off, already having deemed Wei Wuxian a lost case. Nie Cheng frowns, taking a sip of his drink. The bitter tea slides down his throat, warming him up from the inside.

“I’m sure he’s just missing his shijie,” Nie Cheng reasons. “And Jin-gongzi had been bothering him ever since he came. He’s very confrontational; when I first met him he was cornering Ge with the rest of his sect mates. It’s only natural that Wei-shixiong would grow tired of him. No one wants to hear their family members slandered so publicly.”

“I suppose so,” Lan Qiren murmurs. “I could assign punishments to both of them, to copy the wall of rules and learn some self-discipline. Xichen will be the one supervising, of course; Wei Wuxian cannot be kept in the same room as Wangji. And I’ll move up the visitation week; I’ll have to send out invites as soon as possible.”

“What week?” Nie Cheng asks.

“You were too young at the time to partake in it while your Da-ge was here,” Lan Qiren says. “Family members are invited to visit their children at the Cloud Recesses for a period of time. Normally it isn’t for so long, but I’m currently preoccupied with the matters of the Waterborne Abyss. I can only hope that having parental figures around will reign in these children some.”

Nie Cheng nods, fingers tightening around his teacup. “Are all family members invited?”

“Of course, though some choose not to attend,” Lan Qiren says. He hums to himself, placing down the report on the table. “Yes, I think I’ll start sending out invites to the sects. The sooner the children are left under adult supervision, the better.”

“Then… Wei-shixiong and Jin-gongzi are free to stay?” Nie Cheng asks. Lan Qiren nods, left eyebrow twitching at the thought.

“Wanyin, fetch me my ink stone and brush from that shelf,” he says. “Then you’re free to leave.”

“Thanking Lan-qianbei,” Nie Cheng says. He does as Lan Qiren says, finishing his tea before standing up. When Nie Cheng leaves he smiles to himself, pumping his fist in the air. At the thought of visitation, however, his lips drop. Perhaps he had been a little too successful in his debates.

It feels like an empty victory.

- - - -

“Lan-qianbei said our family is coming?” Yu Jiaxin asks, choking on her tea. “My mother’s going to kill me once she gets a hold of my grades! I’ve been avoiding her questions about my studies all month!”

“At least your grades are better than mine,” Nie Huaisang moans, collapsing onto the tabletop. “Da-ge’s already been chewing me out in all his letters! It doesn’t help that he sees Xiao Cheng’s grades as well!”

“That’s because you don’t study,” Nie Cheng says, rolling his eyes. He pours out more tea for Yu Jiaxin, filling her cup. “Shijie, are your mother and father both coming to visit you?”

“A-Niang definitely will,” Yu Jiaxin grumbles. She pats Nie Cheng on the head, stroking through the strands of hair. Nie Cheng allows her to, ducking her head down to give her better access. His hair is let down, the gray ribbon he usually wore wrapped around Pulao’s hilt. “You can meet her then. A-Die might follow, though he’s a bit shy. Is your Da-ge coming?”

“Probably,” Nie Cheng replies. Nie Mingjue was often busy, but surely he could make some time to come see them. He missed being able to talk to his brother in person, and seeing his face. Letters just weren’t the same.

“I heard the Jins and Jiangs are all coming,” Nie Huaisang says conversationally, tapping on the table. His nail echoes against wood; Nie Cheng would have to cut them soon, lest he accidentally scratch someone with them.

“Isn’t it just because they’re afraid Wei Wuxian and Jin Zixuan are going to fight again?” Yu Jiaxin snorts. “I don’t know if having Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan in the same place is a good idea; he seems like he’s willing to push her into a pond just to break their engagement.”

“If he did, Wei-xiong would end up pushing him into the pond as well,” Nie Huaisang says. “Perhaps that’s how the two of them could finally develop some positive relations.”

“You would never force an engagement upon me, would you?” Nie Cheng teases. Both Nie Huaisang and Yu Jiaxin look scandalized at the thought.

“I’ll fight for your honor if he does!” Yu Jiaxin declares, banging her fist on the table. The flowers in her hair swing around, like blossoms on a particularly windy day. “Wanyin is too young to get married!”

“I’m not the one who’s in charge of that!” Nie Huasing protests. “That’s Da-ge’s responsibility!”

“I remember once claiming I was going to marry Xichen-xiong when I was younger,” Nie Cheng muses. It was all for the purposes of becoming family with Lan Wangji, of course. Not that Yu Jiaxin, who promptly chokes on her tea once more, knows that. Nie Huaisang, who does know that, scowls.

“You are not marrying a Lan,” Nie Huaisang says. “Absolutely not!”

“I’ll be the one to arrange a marriage for you,” Yu Jiaxin sniffs. She wasn’t actually allowed to, of course; Nie Cheng was still the son of the Nie clan. But it was fun to see what Yu Jiaxin would come up with. “Seen as Huaisang can’t do it properly. The Yu sect makes good matches; my aunt married into the Jiang sect if you’re looking for power, and A-Niang found a love match for one of my cousins last year. But only when you’re of proper age!”

Nie Cheng chooses not to point out the fact that Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan had been engaged since they were children; besides, that relationship was quickly crumbling to the ground. He also chooses not to say that they were all basically the same age, despite him technically being the youngest. How much of a difference did a few months make, anyways? Surely not that much!

“Xiao Cheng will just have to remain a monk,” Nie Huaisang concludes. Yu Jiaxin nods in agreement, causing Nie Cheng to groan and lean back, falling into the ground. These two disciples, so ridiculous!

He didn’t need a marriage; he saw the downfall of his mother as she tied herself forever to Jiang Fengmian’s side. His father wasn’t married while Nie Cheng was with him, and he was the best. Nie Mingjue and Lan Qiren didn’t ever seem like they would marry, and though they seemingly needed a more calming figure by their side, they were still fine.

It would be nice for Nie Mingjue to visit; he could introduce his Da-ge to all his friends. And, like Yu Jiaxin had offhandedly mentioned, Nie Cheng could meet his friend’s parents as well. It would do him good to start introducing himself to the other figureheads of the cultivation world. Briefly, Nie Cheng wonders if he’ll meet the rest of Wei Wuxian’s family as well. He then shoved the thought aside; that was a matter to be dealt with at a later time, in the dark of midnight with only Nie Huaisang’s soft snores keeping him company.

For now, all Nie Cheng needed he already had.

Chapter Text

“Da-ge!” Nie Cheng grins, running over to his brother to jump onto him. Nie Mingjue easily catches him, allowing Nie Cheng to wrap his arms around Nie Mingjue’s neck and pull him into a hug. Nie Mingjue was warm and large, like being wrapped in a heavy goose-feather blanket in the midst of winter. It was nearly that time, anyways; the ripening of the leaves in town showed the changing of seasons, even if it was evergreen in the Cloud Recesses.

“Xiao Cheng!” Nie Mingjue rests a hand on his head, pulling back to observe Nie Cheng. Satisfied, he nods, rubbing his knuckles against Nie Cheng’s scalp. “Have you grown again? Little rascal!”

“Just a little,” Nie Cheng boasts. From behind him, he hears the shuffling of footsteps. Hiding a smile, he looks up at Nie Mingjue, tugging on his robes. “Da-ge, y’know who’s really grown? Ge! His ability to slack off in class has progressed by leaps and bounds!”

“That’s not fair!” Nie Huaisang whines. Nie Mingjue fixes a heavy stare on him, causing Nie Huaisang to wilt and hide behind Nie Cheng. “I just wanted to make some new friends…”

“By passing notes in class and failing your tests?” Nie Mingjue asks, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s actually doing better than before,” Nie Cheng notes. “You should’ve seen the grades he was getting in the first week.”

“That’s true!” Nie Huisang frantically nods, head bobbing up and down. “I went from very much failing to just barely failing. That’s an improvement, De-ge!”

“You—” Nie Mingjue is simply left speechless, reaching over to tug on Nie Huaisang’s collar. “Pay better attention, or I’ll ask Lan-qianbei to assign you more work!”

“I’ll get Xiao Cheng to do it for me,” Nie Huisang grins.

“Like hell you will,” Nie Cheng snorts. He was willing to help Nie Huaisang, but there were still some things he had to do on his own. He indulges his brother too much, anyways; between the two of them, you wouldn’t even be able to tell who was older at first glance. “You’re on your own, Ge.”

He wraps his hand around Nie Mingjue’s wrist, pulling him along the path. “Da-ge, come meet the other disciples.”

“That’s right, you made some friends, didn’t you?” Nie Mingjue muses. “Wangji, of course, the two of you are inseparable once you meet. Yu Jiaxin, the brazen girl with nice hair accessories. And Wei Wuxian.”

And Wei Wuxian, whose name in and of itself speaks a thousand words. He needed no introduction, especially after his fight with Jin Zixuan. And especially to Nie Mingjue, who had been the one to open an investigation on Nie Cheng’s past when he was a child.

“Let's go see Yu-shijie first,” Nie Huaisang suggests, leading them over to the female disciples’ pavilion. The air is getting cooler and cooler, and Nie Cheng shivers, shaking out his arms. As the year came closer to the end, so too did his birthday draw nearer. He was excited to spend it at the Cloud Recesses; not that he didn’t enjoy the festivities of the Unclean Realm, but a change of scenery was always nice.

Yu Jiaxin was chatting with two adults, presumably her parents. Her back was turned to face them, and so Nie Cheng cups a hand over his mouth, raising his voice. “Shijie!”

His voice ends up bleeding into someone else’s, and Nie Cheng follows the voice to look over and see Wei Wuxian. He has the widest smile Nie Cheng’s ever seen on him, running past Nie Cheng and his brothers to meet up with someone. Nie Cheng can only assume it’s Jiang Yanli, though he doesn’t have much time to ponder over it, as Yu Jiaxin was quickly making her way over, her parents in tow.

“Wanyin, Huaisang!” she smiles. She blinks up at Nie Mingjue, giving him a bow. “This one is Yu Jiaxin; greeting Nie-zongzhu.”

“I’ve heard about you,” Nie Mingjue replies. Nie Cheng likes to talk about his day-to-day activities in the letters he sends Nie Mingjue. More often than not, it’s about some situation he’s found himself in with his friends. Nie Cheng makes sure to write about his educational progress as well, to balance everything out. Mainly to assure his Da-ge that e isn’t getting into that much trouble. “It’s nice to meet you, Yu Jiaxin. Thank you for looking out for A-Sang and Xiao Cheng for me.”

“Wanyin is easy to take care of,” Yu Jiaxin huffs, though her chest puffs out. “Huaisang is… um, he’s trying his best. Nie-zongzhu, you look really strong!”

“A-Xin,” her mother hisses, tugging on Yu Jiaxin’s ear. The girl yelps, clasping her hand over that side of her face.

“What?” she protests. Her mother shakes her head, which Yu Jiaxin interprets to be a silent scolding. “Ah, this is my mother and father. A-Niang, see, I didn’t lie! Wanyin looks like us!”

“Greeting Yu-zongzhu,” Nie Cheng says, bowing. Yu Jiaxin’s mother narrows her eyes, leaning in close to Nie Cheng. She uses her thumb and pointer finger to lift up Nie Cheng’s chin, tilting his face from side to side. Up close, she looks an awful lot like his mother, even more so than Yu Jiaxin. Nie Cheng meets her eyes, unafraid; though manhandling him around, her touch is gentle, and he knows he could easily break out of it at any time.

“Who’s your mother, Nie Wanyin?” she asks, her eyes traveling down from the grays of his slides to the slope of his nose, and finally to the cupid’s bow of his lips.

“A rogue cultivator, Zongzhu,” Nie Cheng replies, easily retelling the story he had crafted all those years back. He ignores the ache in his chest, the fact that his mother might be here right now, walking through the same lands and breathing in the same air as him. It was a terrifying thought, to disgrace his mother’s name with her so close by. “My father said she died giving birth to me.”

Yu-zongzhu’s lips purse, saying nothing. She removes the crown on her head, placing it atop Nie Cheng’s instead. Nie Cheng can see where Yu Jiaxin got her personality from.

“I see,” Yu-zongzhu murmurs, taking back her crown and refixing it onto her head. She steps back, giving Nie Cheng and his brothers a smile. “It’s nice to finally meet the pair of brothers A-Xin won’t stop talking about. Nie-zongzhu, I understand our A-Xin has been accompanying them, but really it’s I who has to thank your brothers for taking such good care of her. I was afraid she’d get into trouble as soon as she arrived.”

“I had the exact same worries,” Nie Mingjue laughs. “It’s a good thing they found each other! Perhaps their energies cancel each other out. I certainly wasn’t this well-behaved or harmonious with my peers during my time at the Cloud Recesses.”

“Me neither,” Yu-zongzhu grins. She places an arm on Yu Jiaxin’s father, a quiet man who had lurked in the background while Nie Mingjue and Yu-zongzhu were speaking. “My husband, he was the courtliest disciple in my year. So sweet, my A-Fan, always making sure I had finished my assignments and was in my dorm by curfew. A pity A-Xin turned out more like me.”

“I’m very courtly,” Yu Jiaxin murmurs, crossing her arms and pouting.

“Shijie is the best,” Nie Cheng reassures her. Yu Jiaxin sniffs, tossing her hair back as if to say ‘obviously’, though her shoulders relax. They watch their guardians talk, speaking in a manner only parents can, both bragging and complaining at the same time. Though Nie Mingjue wasn’t technically their father, he had stepped into such a role for Nie Huaisang and Nie Cheng for many years by now, so it still counted.

It was surprising how well they got along, though Nie Cheng wasn’t against it. He liked Yu Jiaxin, and it would do them better if their families got along. Plus, it strengthened sect relations; though the Yu sect wasn’t part of the great 5, they still held a substantial amount of power on their own and had ties to the Jiang sect.

“I know the Nie clan is patriarchal,” Yu-zongzhu says, placing a hand on her chest. “But A-Xin was right; Nie Wanyin’s mother must have been a member of the Yu clan. The three children are such good friends, and Wanyin is part of our family, so if there’s anything we can do for you, just let me know.”

“Thank you, Yu-zongzhu,” Nie Mingjue says, dipping his head down. “I look forward to our partnership, though my only hope is that Yu Jiaxin will continue to look after my brothers.”

“I’m not that much trouble,” Nie Huaisang argues. Nie Cheng would disagree, and he does so by elbowing Nie Huaisang. The boy whines in return, crossing his arms in a dramatic fashion. Such a big baby! “What have I done wrong?”

“Nothing that’s polite to speak of in front of company,” Yu Jiaxin replies. “Huaisang, have you already forgotten about your reading habits?”

“That’s a business venture,” Nie Huaisang says. “I’m being innovative and exercising my merchandising abilities!”

They split ways from their guardians, leaving the adults to discuss sect matters amongst themselves. They eventually decide to head to the entrance, watching as disciples file in and out with their families. The three of them sit atop a pile of rocks, on a small hill above the rest of their peers. Nie Cheng breathes in the clean air, feeling the wind rustle his hair against his shoulders.

“Is that Jin Zixuan’s father?” Yu Jiaxin asks, squinting at the distant flock of gold. “Why does he look like that? The Jins sure did bring a lot of people; you’d think this was their own sect if you saw them now!”

“There’s Jin-furen,” Nie Cheng says, lifting a hand to point at the madam below them. She was talking to her son, a hand on Jin Zixuan’s arm as he looks away and frowns. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

“The engagement, probably,” Nie Huaisang replies, resting his chin in his hands. He sighs, eyes squeezing shut as his nose scrunches. “Ah, just looking at those Jins hurts my eyes! I want to take a nap!”

“It’s still morning,” Yu Jiaxin frowns. “You just woke up; if you sleep now, will you be able to at night?”

“You underestimate my ability to laze around, Shijie,” Nie Huaisang grins, placing a hand over his chest. Nie Cheng roll his eyes: Nie Huaisang had no shame in falling asleep at any moment. Whenever Nie Cheng accompanied him, he seemed all too content to drape himself against Nie Cheng’s side and pass out, snoozing his way through class, training, and even dinner. Truly, Nie Cheng had never met another man as shameless as Nie Huaisang in this regard.

“Make sure to attend the banquet,” Yu Jiaxin says. She leans back on her arms, tilting her head up to look at Nie Huaisang who was standing up. Nie Huaisang gives a noncommittal hum, hopping off the rocks to make his way to the disciple's pavilion, leisurely pulling out his hand fan and flipping it open.

“Let’s go down too, Wanyin,” Yu Jiaxin says, tugging on his robe sleeve. She pinches his robes between her fingers and pulls him up before joining him, dusting off her clothes. “Let’s go take a better look at all these other people. I’m sure there’s someone fun to meet.”

“Okay,” Nie Cheng agrees, following after her as she weaves her way through the multicolored crowd. Elegant, heavy robes surround him, and his face is constantly looking at thorough embroidery and elaborate guans. Eventually, he gets separated from Yu Jiaxin, spinning around in a circle to look for her. He can’t make out much, surrounded by too many people. The noisy chatter around him certainly doesn’t help, dulling his other senses until all he can focus on is someone else’s chatter about their child’s schoolwork and how they brought back snacks from home. Nie Cheng would love some food from Qinghe Nie right now; he’ll have to ask Nie Mingjue if he brought any.

“Wanyin!”

Nie Cheng’s neck aches with how fast he turned, but he’s already pushing past the pain and pushing himself up on the tips of his foot, looking for where Yu Jiaxin’s voice came from.

“Shijie?” he calls out. “Shije!?”

“Over here!” A hand reaches out and grabs his, pulling him over to a less crowded area. She frowns, pursing her lips in a manner similar to her mother. “You would think these people would start dispersing after a while. Anyways, I found Wei Wuxian a while ago; he wanted to introduce us to his Shijie. Don’t let go of me while we’re looking for him, alright?”

“He wanted to what?” Nie Cheng asks, but Yu Jiaxin is already walking off, keeping her tight grip on him. It’s highly improper, but Nie Cheng doesn’t think Yu Jiaxin has much regard for proprietary at the moment. He allows himself to be dragged along, mind too busy racing with a million thoughts. Wei Wuxian wanted them to meet his shijie. His beloved shijie, Jiang Yanli, the eldest daughter of the Jiang clan and the fiancee of Jin Zixuan.

He wonder what she looked like, after all these years. How he was going to react to her; even while still at Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng had spent his last days there alone. He hadn’t seen his sister in weeks before leaving, not to mention the years between then and now. And the fact that Jiang Cheng was dead. That was definitely important. Nie Cheng raises his free hand to feel his hair, the bumpy texture of the braids weaving throughout bringing him some solace.

“Where is he?” Yu Jiaxin murmurs. Nie Cheng spots them before she does, Wei Wuxian standing next to a group of other Jiang sect members. He averts his gaze, but not before Wei Wuxian can lock eyes with him, grinning as he raises his hand in greeting. It’s not long after that Yu Jiaxin sees him, what with him sticking his hand up like a human pole. She takes Nie Cheng over, the two of them standing in front of Wei Wuxian. Nie Cheng keeps his head ducked low, moving his hair to surround the sides of his face like a curtain.

He feels a chill in his body, freezing his arms and legs in place. Nie Cheng takes in a deep breath, pushing the air out through his mouth. He can’t afford to freeze up in a time like this; not when he was so close. Yu Jiaxin’s grip is warm and though she lets go of his hand, she places it on his shoulder like Nie Mingjue liked to do. He can all but feel the eyes on him, their stares boring holes into his head. Nie Cheng continues to look away, letting Wei Wuxian lead the conversation.

“Jiejie finally found me,” Wei Wuxian grins. He looks off to the side, where the other Jiang members where, and clears his throat, lips curling up into something more awkward. “Ah, I meant Yu-shijie. Yu-shijie, nice to see you again.”

Yu Jiaxin gives him an unimpressed stare. Nie Cheng is tempted to as well; since when was Wei Wuxian ever this formal?

“Why’d you move away?” Yu Jiaxin says. “I thought you were going to wait for us to come back.”

“We were looking for the others,” Wei Wuxian replies. “You didn’t have too much difficulty finding me again, though, did you? I mean, you’re here now!”

“I guess not,” Yu Jiaxin grumbles.

“A-Xian, are you going to introduce us?” Jiang Fengmian says. Nie Cheng recognizes his voice from a few weeks ago when he was visiting Wei Wuxian in the infirmary. He tries to imagine what that voice sounds like angry, and is surprised to be able to picture it so vividly. Low pitch and an almost roar to his tone, like having your head bashed into a gravel path, the rocks scraping against each other and delicate skin.

“This is Yu Jiaxin,” Wei Wuxian says. Yu Jiaxin bows, her hair falling down to the front of her shoulders when she straightens. The gold pins in her hair are still neat as ever, swaying against her buns.

“Greetings to Jiang-zongzhu,” she says, a polite smile on her face. “Biaojie, Xiao-yi.”

“Since you’re already familiar, then I won’t bother introducing them to you,” Wei Wuxian says. Nie Cheng tenses up, feeling a sense of dread and anticipation. It was like he was a child on the first day of school all over again, waiting for the teacher to call out his name. “This is Nie Wanyin. Shushu, you’ve met him before.”

“Ah, yes, I remember your friend,” Jiang Fengmian says. Nie Cheng would rather he didn’t.

“This is my uncle and his wife,” Wei Wuxian says to Nie Cheng, gesturing to them with his hand. Nie Cheng nods, still not lifting up his head. Wei Wuxian smiles, his eyes impossibly fond. “And this is my shijie, Jiang Yanli.”

Nie Cheng forces his mouth to open, his voice inexplicably hoarse. He ducks down even lower to bow, though he is forced to rise and finally look them in the eyes once he stands. “Greeting Jiang-zongzhu and Yu-furen. Greeting Jiang-guniang.”

He lifts his eyes, taking in the sight of old memories coming back to life. Jiang Fengmian and his mother stand apart from each other, with Jiang Yanli between the two. Wei Wuxian stands by Jiang Fengmian’s side; Nie Cheng expected nothing less. He observes their faces: Jiang Yanli looks nothing like Yu Jiaxin, unlike what he had previously thought. Perhaps there were echoes of each other, but Jiang Yanli’s gentle smile was nothing like Yu Jiaxin’s brash grin. It made him uneasy, to think that he had once compared the two. He really did have nothing to go off of when thinking of the Jiangs, having forgotten their faces; this, of course, had just been resolved.

His mother…well, she’s a surprise to see. Stern as he remembered her, with her face pulled into an expression that told everyone there she did not want to be present. She looks young, her cultivation keeping her from aging the way mortals did. It’s like not a day has passed by, despite the way Nie Cheng’s shot up in height and strength. No, the surprising part was her robes.

Gone were the vicious violet hues he knew. She was dressed in pure white, just as violent with the bright fabric resting against her pale skin. The only purples that remained were the storm in her eyes and the amethysts on her ring. If Nie Cheng didn’t know better, he would’ve thought she was in mourning. If she was, she was certainly doing it in an unusual way; it almost seemed like she wanted everyone else to mourn alongside her, like her grief could only be comforted if everyone else took notice as well.

Just who was she so passionate about, to air out her sorrows to the world and force them to listen?

“Shouldn’t you call her Jiang-furen?” Yu Jiaxin asks. Nie Cheng stills; perhaps he had been thinking of Yu Jiaxin too much. But there was something that told him otherwise, something that told him he had spoken correctly.

“I am to be referred to as Yu-furen,” his mother says, narrowing her eyes. Her gaze cuts the deepest into Nie Cheng, and he desperately tries not to meet her eyes. He chooses to stare at Jiang Yanli instead, a safer choice than her two parents. She was shorter than he was, Nie Cheng realizes with a startle. He didn’t know what he was expecting; perhaps for a figure to loom over him as always, an older sister and a monster who haunted his dreams all in one. His Da-ge always towered past him, a steady pillar for Nie Cheng to look up to. Nie Huaisang, well, it’s his fault for not eating his vegetables when he was younger.

“Yu-furen prefers her maiden surname,” Wei Wuxian explains, that awkward grin still on his face.

“As expected of Xiao-yi,” Yu Jiaxin nods, approving.

“It’s nice to meet you two,” Jiang Yanli smiles. She was ever smiling, like Lan Xichen. Ever smiling, ever neutral, not one for confrontation or rebellion. In all the time Jiang Cheng was with her, she hadn’t spoken up to her parents once, not for anything or anyone.

“I wanted you to meet Huaisang as well, but…” Wei Wuxian looks around, at last slinging an arm around Nie Cheng. Nie Cheng doesn’t flinch, long since used to the touch, but he resists the urge to squirm around, feeling extra pairs of eyes on him. What do they see, he wonders? “Xiao Cheng, where’s that cheeky brother of yours?”

“Xiao Cheng?”

“Don’t call me that,” Nie Cheng grumbles under his breath. He ignores Jiang Yanli’s questioning, choosing to focus on Wei Wuxian instead. “Ge’s taking a nap. He decided the commotion was too much.”

“A-Xian, what did you say your friend's name was?” Jiang Yanli asks. Wei Wuxian looks up, tilting his head to the side.

“Huaisang? Nie Huaisang?”

“No, ah, his brother.”

“Oh! That’s simple.” Wei Wuxian nudges Nie Cheng forward, who looks behind to shoot him a betrayed look. Shixiong, don’t you know he was trying to avoid talking to them? This is why you always get punished by Lan Qiren!

“You can introduce yourself,” Wei Wuxian says, patting him on the back. “I suppose it makes sense; they’re more familiar with Yu-shijie than with you. Well, that’s a simple fix!”

Nothing about this was simple. Nie Cheng wants to run away, to never have to look at them again and face his past. Even after all these years, after thinking he had gotten past it, they still managed to haunt Nie Cheng. Perhaps this was his punishment, retribution for being so confident as to shed his past off like it was as simple as shedding skin. They still cling to him, sticky remnants that couldn’t be scrubbed off with time.

“This one is Nie Wanyin,” Nie Cheng says, trying to keep his voice stable. “My given name is Nie Cheng. I’m Nie-zongzhu’s youngest brother.”

“Nie Mingjue is an only child,” his mother says, scowling.

“Half-brother,” Nie Cheng corrects. “We share the same father.”

“Wanyin’s mother was a cultivator from the Yu sect,” Yu Jiaxin says. Nie Cheng nods; it was impossible to reject the similarities he shared with Yu Jiaxin, not helped by the fact they spent so much time together. He could plausibly deny looking like anyone so long as they weren’t in the same room as him, but Yu Jiaxin stuck to him like honey. Nie Cheng likes her company, but it certainly raised questions about his mother. Most people just chalked it up to the late Nie-zongzhu having a taste for stronger women, similar to Nie Mingjue’s mother. Of course, it also helped that she was “dead”; it wouldn’t be respectful to gossip about the dead, especially when her son was Nie-zongzhu’s beloved younger brother.

So the story helped; not that it wasn’t true. Nie Huaisang had tried to stop it at first before realizing it was more helpful than harmful. Then he just let it spread and evolve as it pleased, relaxing when people looked at Nie Cheng and Yu Jiaxin and just assumed they were distant relatives of some sort.

“It’s nice to meet you, Wanyin,” Jiang Yanli smiles. At the corner of her lips is another emotion other than polite courtesy, though Nie Cheng can’t make out what it is. Her eyes run over his face, from the straight, thin lines of his eyebrows to his sharp eyes, down the narrow curve of his nose, and to the lips Nie Cheng was trying to stop from trembling. “You… ah, I’m glad you and A-Xian are friends.”

“Thank you, Guniang,” Nie Cheng says. Jiang Yanli nods, her hands clasped in front of her. Her delicate features give her an air of mildness. Nie Cheng wonders how much he looks like her, and which of his features are different. He wonders if they look enough alike for him to get caught. For a moment, the thought of disfiguring his face so as not to get caught flashes before him, but he is quick to catch that thought and throw it away. Besides, if it ever came to that, surely Nie Mingjue or Nie Huaisang would have a plan ready.

“Nie Cheng and I are best friends!” Wei Wuxian declares, throwing his arms over Nie Cheng. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes; so dramatic! “Isn’t that right, Xiao Cheng?”

“Wei Wuxian,” his mother hisses. She looks furious, her eyes sparking to life. She runs her thumb over the ring on her middle finger, the violet gems crackling with lightning. “Get your arms off of him.”

Wei Wuxian lets go like Nie Cheng was on fire, leaving him feeling, quite ironically, cold. Nie Cheng is a bit lost at the sudden loss of touch, looking to Wei Wuxian for answers. When Wei Wuxian answers only with a sheepish grin and a shrug, Nie Cheng gives up, shifting closer back to Yu Jiaxin. Jiang Fengmian laughs, though there is something about it that unnerves Nie Cheng. It sounds like a warning, and for what he does not know. His mother seems to pick up on it as well, by the way her glare sharpens.

“Why don’t you lead us to our rooms, A-Xian?” Jiang Fengmian says. Wei Wuxian nods, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

“Wait,” his mother says. She crosses her arms, sharp nails resting against her white robes. “I wish to speak with Lan Qiren first. I’ll find the room later. You--”

She tilts her chin up at Nie Cheng, who freezes. “--Bring me there.”

“I can help, Xiao-yi,” Yu Jiaxin offers. Nie Cheng nods; it would make more sense for Yu Jiaxin to be the one to guide her around. His hopes are crushed when his mother shakes her head, eyes narrowing onto Nie Cheng.

Jiang Fengmian nods, clearly unconcerned about his wife’s activities. He quickly turns back around, placing a hand on Jiang Yanli’s shoulder. “Let’s go, A-Li.”

Wei Wuxian is quick to hurry to the front, though he tugs on Nie Cheng’s robe, passing by him in a quick dash. He whispers in Nie Cheng’s ear, his breath warm compared to the chilly air. “Sorry about Yu-furen, she kind of hates me, and by extension the people I like. Except Shijie, but everyone likes Shijie.”

“I figured,” Nie Cheng comments, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, Shixiong, it’ll be fine.”

Lan Qiren’s office was nearby; he could guide her there and quickly leave. Perhaps he’ll go find Nie Mingjue, or Nie Huaisang if he was awake. After today, Nie Cheng could definitely relate to his brother’s need for a nap. Wei Wuxian squeezes his shoulder, stepping ahead to lead the pack of Jiangs. After a moment, Yu Jiaxin joins them as well, speaking to Jiang Yanli with wide eyes. That just left Nie Cheng and his mother.

“Yu-furen,” he says, gesturing in the direction of Lan Qiren’s office with an open palm. “This way, please.”

Nie Cheng squares his shoulders, taking in a deep breath as he readjusts the collar of his robes. It was simple; just a few more meters, and he would’ve gotten away with everything. If even the Jiang clan couldn’t recognize him when he was right in front of them, no one would. At the very least, he would have the testimony that he had met with Yunmeng Jiang and had no strange happenings occur. That would stave off any rumors for at least a few days.

The Cloud Recesses was tranquil as always even with the increase in guests, and the further they walked, the fewer people they passed. Nie Cheng tries to focus on the gently swaying trees, the dancing clouds, and the hum of the frost-bitten air, and not on the way his mother’s gaze was seared into his back as if she could carve a symbol onto it with her eyes.

He wonders if he should say anything; perhaps give a tour of the place he’s learned to call his second home. His mother would fit in pretty well with the Lans right now, he muses, dressed in her pure white robes. They’d turn their noses up at her intricate hair crown and silver rings, of course. The Jiangs were a better fit for her, though that wasn’t saying much.

“Stop.”

Nie Cheng turns around, lips tugged down in a frown before smoothing out into a more neutral expression. It wouldn’t do well to disrespect a sect leader’s wife, even if she was as disgraced as he remembers. His father never married after taking Nie Cheng in, but he still has general knowledge of how a sect leader’s spouse was meant to be treated, and when comparing his expectations to his memory, Nie Cheng cannot find that his mother and Jiang Fengmian were a shining example of love. “Is something the matter, Yu-furen? Should we change course?”

They were alone, he realized with a startle. Somehow, along the way to Lan Qiren’s office, they wandered off onto a quieter path. His mother did always prefer silence to the noisy chatter of others, and Nie Cheng knew the Cloud Recesses like the back of his hand: of course he had shortcuts and alternate routes to take.

“What do you think you’re doing? Tell me!” his mother demands, crossing her arms with a scowl. “What kind of game are you trying to play?”

“I’m…not?” Nie Cheng says, pulling his eyebrows downward. Perhaps she was confused; the path they were taking wasn’t usual, after all. “Furen, we’re still on our way to Lan-qianbei’s office. I was worried there might be too much noise, so I brought Yu-furen to a more secluded area.”

“That’s not what I was referring to,” his mother says. Nie Cheng slowly nods, not quite understanding. He can’t imagine what he’s done to displease her; they’ve only been acquainted for a few minutes, and he hasn’t said much, and certainly nothing that could offend her.

“Yu-furen—”

“You will address me properly,” his mother snaps. Her eyes flare to life, and Nie Cheng unconsciously takes a step back, away from her growing anger. The Violet Spider, they referred to her as. At this moment, she seemed to live up to her name and more.“Or you will not speak to me at all.”

“...Jiang-furen?”

“Insolent brat!” She raises her hand as if to strike, and Nie Cheng can only look on as his mother trembles in place, like she was being held back by an invisible force. “Have I taught you nothing!? You dare?”

Nie Cheng doesn’t understand; she hasn’t taught him anything, not like Huo-shifu who makes him run laps till he drops to the ground with exhaustion, or Lu-ayi who taught him to how to make the custard buns Nie Huaisang likes so much. The only thing she’s taught him is that purple robes were a heavy weight to shoulder but that he has to bear it, that he was born a Jiang and will die a Jiang. That there was a boy, that street rat Jiang Fengmian liked so much, liked more than he liked her son, their son--

Oh.

Nie Cheng blinks up at his mother, eyes wide. His mother, who was glaring at him as if he were the sole bane of her existence. Her hand is still raised, and she looks frozen in place, a moment in time that had been captured and put on display. Nie Cheng leans back, hunching his back as his shoulders tense up, pulling them up to his ears.

His voice comes out in little more than a whisper, but it seems to carry for a thousand meters, through the wind and past the dancing leaves of the forest, brushing against the flexible willow vines and sturdy tree trunks. It feels like a curse on his tongue, like broken promises and shredded relief, breaking fast after years of starving, and gorging himself sick.

“Muqin?”

Chapter Text

Nie Cheng had never deluded himself into thinking that a reunion with his mother would be met with a warm embrace and the shedding of tears. He hadn’t even deluded himself into thinking that there would be a reunion; the Nies and the Jiangs have no reason to meet, and especially with the Nie-zongzhu lacking a wife, there was no way Nie Cheng would’ve come into contact with his mother.

Sometimes he allows himself to indulge and wonder about the thousands of possible futures where they would orbit into each other’s life once more. Perhaps her eyes would pass right by him, denouncing him as a friend of Wei Wuxian’s and nothing more. Or perhaps they would lock eyes at a cultivation-wide event, a sect leader’s wife and a sect leader’s youngest brother. Maybe the Jiang sect would try and seek closer relations, and one day Nie Cheng would be able to confess his secret to his mother. Maybe he would take it to the grave, allowing her to believe that her son truly was dead.

Never in his life did he imagine their fateful reunion would be at the Cloud Recesses, in the middle of a secluded forest, the tranquil air of the Lan sect blowing around them. Nie Cheng stares up at his mother, unblinking as he searches her face for a reaction to his call.

“Stupid boy,” she hisses. “After all these years, you dare? You dare!?”

“How did you figure it out?” Nie Cheng asks. Yu Ziyuan’s hand has lowered, now thrown across her chest as she crosses her arms. It doesn’t detract from the fact that the air around her says she’s about to strike at any time. “Does anyone else know?”

“As if those fools have any measurable amount of intelligence needed to unearth the truth,” his mother scoffs. “Those Jiangs, always so blind to what’s right in front of them.”

“But, but you—”

“I am not one of them,” she snaps, narrowing her eyes. “As you should know by now. How could I not see? Do you think I would not recognize the nose you have stolen from me, the eyes that mirror my own? You are mine, no matter whose son you claim to be. Ha! A rogue cultivator, is what I’ve heard from the rumors? A young miss from the Yu sect? Even as you try to hide, you cannot run far enough.”

Nie Cheng cannot help but pick up the resentment in her tone, her hatred for him, standing in front of her with his spiritual sword and gray robes. There is an edge to her voice, grating on the edge of stone and sparking to life, fury and a taste as bitter as those terrible vegetables Da-ge makes him eat.

“I’m not…” he stammers, unable to piece his thoughts together. All of a sudden he feels like he is eight again, sitting on the edge of his mother’s bed as she tends to his injuries, a play repeated over and over again. He is helpless, and desperate, and searching for a flicker of approval in his mother’s sharp eyes, for a brush of comfort or warmth. “I’m not that boy anymore, Furen. He’s dead. I’m Nie Wanyin.”

“And yet you still bear the name I gave you,” she argues. Nie Cheng, Jiang Cheng, had been identified by his mother. It was a story he had heard multiple times when he was younger, that she had grasped him into her arms, a small babe with strong lungs crying out, though her voice rang louder. Nie Cheng had never bothered changing his name; not enough people remembered the name of a sect heir long dead, let alone the specific character to his name. There were too many dead, whether through accidents or successful assassination plans from extended family and enemies alike. Jiang Cheng was simply another tragedy, but the Jiang family still had their eldest daughter engaged to the Jin heir, and that ward they had taken in a few years back. They would be fine. The Jiangs were simply expected to try for another son; when that didn’t happen, that’s when they started talking. But by then, Jiang Cheng’s name was long erased from the mouths of street gossip.

“Nie Wanyin,” she mocks, spitting out the name like it was poison. “This is what you gave up your life for? You’re nothing more than a spare, boy. You could’ve been a sect leader, had all the luxuries and beauty you could’ve desired. This is what you threw it away for? To play house by that street rat’s side? You are better than this!”

“Wouldn’t I have done that either way?” Nie Cheng cries. “You know how he is, you know Jiang-zongzhu wouldn’t have put me at the head without making sure there was a spot for Wei-shixiong. Is that what you wanted for me, to be whispered about by the elders about how I never truly had his favor, that the real sect leader might as well have been Wei Wuxian? That I was nothing more than a figurehead for their schemes, that I wouldn’t do anything but listen to what others say?”

“You could’ve gotten stronger!” his mother says, stepping forward. “You could have pushed forward and fought to the top, then kicked that street rat out of the sect like he deserves! No one would dare question you after that! If only you hadn’t been so weak, you could’ve had everything you could ever want in the palm of your hands.”

Nie Cheng wants to get on his knees and beg, ask her how exactly she expected him to do that. Didn’t she think that he was weak, that he was a useless son? How could she expect so much and so little from at the same time? He wasn’t a hero who could overcome any odds, or some villain who would rise up from the ashes with a lust for power. He was just… A-Cheng. Jiang Cheng. He wasn’t special. How could he compete with someone like Wei Wuxian, who shined as bright as the sun in the noon sky?

Now, Nie Cheng couldn’t care less; Wei Wuxian wasn’t his issue to deal with. Let him be as brilliant as he wanted to; Nie Cheng was more concerned with getting Nie Huaisang to pass class and making sure Nie Mingjue didn’t overwork himself to death. But what if he had grown up with Wei Wuxian, with a brother he both loved and envied in spades? Would be able to, as his mother so desperately wanted for him to do, climb over his brother and push him down, all so Jiang Cheng could reign as sect leader of Lotus Pier?

“I like Wei Wuxian,” Nie Cheng whispers. He anticipates the way his mother’s fingers pinch at his ear, the warmth of her fingers burning against him like a sear. “I liked him when he was Wei-gege, and I like him now, as my shixiong.”

“Shut your mouth,” Yu Ziyuan hisses. She is furious at the mention of Wei Wuxian, as always. Nie Cheng never understood why she hated him exactly. He’d have to ask Wei Wuxian sometime. “Look at what he has done to this family! To you!”

“It’s not his fault,” Nie Cheng says, closing his eyes. He says this, he means it, really. But it still feels like sand in his mouth to say, and even after all these years, he cannot get the bitter feeling out of his heart when thinking back to his time at Lotus Pier. “You don’t have to concern yourself about me. I’m not your son anymore.”

This time, she really does hit him, a surprisingly light slap on his wrist that transitions to her gripping his arm tight, as if she wanted to rip it off. “Say that again, I dare you!”

“You were the one who said it first!” Nie Cheng protests, trying to break out of her grip. He fails, of course, and she continues to hold onto him like he was a frightened prey who might bolt if she loosened her grip.

“Do you think Jiang-furen would dare bear any children who weren’t Jiang Fengmian’s heirs?” she asks, tugging on Nie Cheng’s arm to get him to stand still. “Being a sect leader’s official son means having privilege otherwise ungranted! Privilege that you threw away!”

“You aren’t Jiang-furen, though!”

“I am in every way that matters, foolish brat,” she snaps. His arm is hanging limply by his side; his mother lets go, stepping back to cross her arms. “It is all the same. You are not my son, but you are mine.”

Nie Cheng doesn’t even pretend to understand. But he remembers, when Jiang Cheng was young, how his mother tended to his wounds. How she was always the first one to find him, to carry his unconscious body back to her room and nurse him back to health. How she and he were the most similar in his last moments alive, with their lack of a clarity bell and lack of power in their household. Nie Cheng thinks he knew, when he was younger, just how much his mother loved him, for all her harsh words and stinging touches. A love shown not through gentle motions but rather a lack of violence, aggressive hostility dragging him up from the lowest pits and depositing him on a ledge higher. Not quite at the top, but not at the bottom, either. It was easy to spot her love when the rest of the world seemed to be against him. Now, after years of receiving true affection from his brother and his sect, Nie Cheng’s eyes aren’t as keen.

But he can see it, he thinks, through the muddy haze of verbal blades and sharp nails. A small flash of light, as white as the robes his mother had worn for over half a decade. He sees her love in the way she pinches him like Yu Jiaxin does, in the way her stern tone matched Nie Mingjue’s when he couldn’t find Nie Cheng, mad with worry. Nie Cheng sees, and yearns, and tries to understand, just a little bit.

“I’ll take you to see Lan-qianbei,” Nie Cheng says, bowing his head. “Muqin.”

- - - -

Lan Qiren is not amused, to say the least. Especially when Yu Ziyuan has her whip out, violet lightning sparking around the leather as she holds it up toward Lan Qiren.

“You knew!?” she roars. “How dare you, how dare you!”

They hadn’t even said anything, Nie Cheng simply knocked on Lan Qiren’s door and announced their presence. Lan Qiren had welcomed them in, giving Nie Cheng a warm greeting-- as warm as a Lan can be, at least-- and instructing him to pour some tea. Perhaps it was the inflection in his tone, or the way he looked at Nie Cheng and his mother, but Yu-furen wasn’t known for being a fool, and somehow managed to figure it out.

“Calm yourself, Yu Ziyuan,” Lan Qiren says, flipping the page of his book. Nie Cheng stands at the doorway, pressing himself against the wall in an attempt to take up less space. He keeps an ear out for any wandering disciples, just in case his mother’s voice managed to travel past Lan Qiren’s silencing wards and into the ears of children with nothing better to do than gossip.

“Who else?” his mother demands. “Tell me who else.”

“It’s not my place to say,” Lan Qiren hums. He doesn’t bother looking up anymore, raising a porcelain cup to his lips in order to take a sip of his tea. “Why don’t you ask Wanyin himself?”

Immediately, his mother’s gaze turns towards him, Nie Cheng wincing at the burn of it.

“Only a few,” he says. He lists them off on his fingers, sticking one up for each person who knows. It was mainly people who either found out through sheer necessity or through an accident that happened when he was younger; as the years went by, people had less reason to dig into his past or suspect that Nie Cheng wasn’t who he claimed to be. “Da-ge, Ge, Lan-qianbei, and Wangji-ge. And now you. That’s all there is.”

“No one else?” his mother asks, raising an eyebrow. Nie Cheng picks up on what she really wants to know: if Wei Wuxian is aware. He shakes his head, and that’s when she truly relaxes, though the grip on her whip is still tight. Nie Cheng wonders if she’ll ever be able to loosen up, take a break, and relieve herself of the stress she seems to always be carrying.

“Is there something you needed from me, Yu Ziyuan?” Lan Qiren asks. “Wanyin, you’re dismissed. Go find your ge; I’m sure he’s been looking for you.”

“Ge’s been asleep,” Nie Cheng confesses, rubbing the back of his head. It’s not his fault Nie Huaisang was tired! All these new people crawling around the Cloud Recesses made it exhausting to walk around, needing to make sure he was on his best behavior and be aware of his surroundings at all times.

“All the more reason to go find him,” Lan Qiren sighs, long since used to Nie Huaisang’s behavior. If there was only one good thing about Wei Wuxian’s attendance of the Cloud Recesses’ lectures, it would be that he made Nie Huaisang seem like an angel in comparison to him.

“You will dine with me tonight,” Yu Ziyuan demands from him. With such a vicious scowl on her face, Nie Cheng doesn’t know if he can refuse without getting attacked.

“My brothers—”

“Bring them over for all I care,” she says, scoffing.

Nie Cheng silently nods, not wanting to argue. “Then, um, I’ll leave first.”

He slinks his way outside, gently shutting the door behind him so it closes with a quiet ‘clink’. Lan Qiren’s office isn’t that far away from Lan Xichen’s, and so Nie Cheng chooses to visit him, wanting a place nearby to take a breather and process his thoughts. He doesn’t think he’d be able to make it back to the dorms in this state.

Nie Cheng was content to just settle amongst the shrubbery outside Lan Xichen’s office, but then the door slides open and Lan Wangji steps out, frowning down at Nie Cheng’s curled-up figure. Nie Cheng simply raises an eyebrow, to which Lan Wangji quietly hums in disapproval, holding out his hand to help Nie Cheng up. Nie Cheng brushes off his robes, picking off a stray twig that had gotten caught on gray thread.

“What is on Xiao Cheng’s mind?” Lan Wangji asks. Nie Cheng didn’t often find himself near Lan Xichen’s office; the reason why he sought out the place wasn’t even related to Lan Xichen himself. When Nie Cheng was younger, he had gotten into an argument with Lan Wangji and ran off, finding himself in front of a tranquil building with plenty of pebbles lining the pathway for Nie Cheng to throw around. He only found out it was Lan Xichen’s office once the man found him, taking a nap amongst the leafy bushes. When Nie Cheng stubbornly refused to leave until Nie Mingjue came to pick him up, Lan Xichen was quick to reassure him that he could stay for however long he wanted but won’t he please go talk to Wangji, the boy must surely be devastated that he can’t find his Xiao Cheng. Nie Cheng eventually agreed, not wanting to upset Lan Wangji, but sometimes he finds himself back amongst the nature, relaxing in the quiet ambiance of the singing trees and welcoming shrubbery.

“Nothing much,” Nie Cheng says. Lan Wangji, of course, does not believe him. He’s always been good at picking up on Nie Cheng’s lies, even when they were children. Perhaps it was a hidden Lan technique; Lan Qiren seemed to know every time he was bluffing as well.

With Lan Wangji giving that look that spelled out the fact he was growing more and more disappointed with Nie Cheng’s deceptive silence, Nie Cheng had no choice but to sigh and fess up. “I just bumped into Wei Wuxian’s family.”

It speaks to how infatuated Lan Wangji was with Wei Wuxian that he didn’t immediately react. Seriously, Wangji-ge, Wei Wuxian of all people!? That delinquent? After a moment, though, Lan Wangji startles, eyes widening for a split second. “When?”

“I just finished walking Yu-furen to your shufu’s office,” Nie Cheng replies.

“How is Xiao Cheng?” Lan Wangji asks, placing a hand on his arm. Nie Cheng shrugs, allowing Lan Wangji to guide him along the path and towards a more public space, passing by others as they walk towards the disciples' pavilion. Nie Cheng wonders if Lan Wangji feels left out, having to sleep with the other Lan disciples rather than his friends. Then again, Lan Wangji always liked his peace and quiet during the night.

“Are you worried?” Lan Wangji asks after a period of silence between them. Nie Cheng, once again, doesn’t have a good response.

“Not really,” Nie Cheng mumbles. “I mean, she’s figured it out, so what can I do?”

“She has?”

Right, Lan Wangji wasn’t omnipotent, even if he sometimes seems like it. Nie Cheng gives a short explanation, omitting the way he had basically been hacked into a corner to respond. He doesn’t think Lan Wangji would appreciate that part.

“So now I’m to eat dinner with them,” Nie Cheng shrugs. “And that’s about it.”

“Xiao Cheng doesn’t have to do as she wishes,” Lan Wangji frowns. They’re standing by the edge of the pavilion, on wooden boards that echo their trailing footsteps. Nie Cheng grounds his boot into a small opening between the boards.

He knows that he doesn’t have to, technically, but he wants to please his mother. An instinct he thought he had long since gotten rid of, but apparently not. “She’s scary.”

“Who?” Nie Cheng blinks, turning around to find Wei Wuxian right behind him, peeking his head in between Lan Wangji’s and Nie Cheng’s. “Are we talking about Yu Ziyuan?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. A million different meanings could be found in his tone, but Nie Cheng chooses to ignore them and roll his eyes as Wei Wuxian beams, calling back to Lan Wangji. Gross. Wei Wuxian throws an arm around Nie Cheng, leaning in to rest his chin on Nie Cheng’s shoulder. From an outside perspective, it looks like the three of them are whispering about some devious plan, huddling amongst themselves in a corner.

“Sorry about that,” Wei Wuxian says to Nie Cheng. He’s already apologized once, but he seems sheepish as he does it once more. “She doesn’t really like me. I don’t know why she focused on you, but I hope she didn’t cause you any trouble.”

“It was fine,” Nie Cheng assures him. Wei Wuxian shakes his head like he knows it wasn’t but won’t push. “Why does she have such a grudge against you?”

“It’s a long story,” Wei Wuxian sighs. Nie Cheng tilts his head, silently asking for him to continue. He wonders if it’s something that happened while he was still with them, or perhaps a past grudge that his mother was insistent on keeping alive. Lan Wangji seems curious as well, staring unblinkingly at Wei Wuxian. Or maybe that was just how he always looked at Wei Wuxian; Nie Cheng tried not to look at Lan Wangji too much when he was making faces at Wei Wuxian.

“I think she doesn’t like my parents,” Wei Wuxian confesses. “My father was a servant of the Jiang sect, and my mother was a rogue cultivator. She doesn’t believe I should’ve been taken in by Shushu and given as many resources as I have.”

“That’s it?” Nie Cheng asks. It didn’t seem that serious, to be honest. It didn’t seem to fully explain the furious hatred his mother had of Wei Wuxian.

“Well, she also believes that Shushu was--” Here Wei Wuxian clears his throat, wincing like it physically discomforted him to continue speaking. “--in love with my mother.”

Ah. That would do it, it seems.

“Weren’t Jiang-zongzhu and Jiang-furen a love match?” Lan Wangji asks. Nie Cheng scrunches up his nose; if that was a love match, he would rather be married off for political reasons. He thinks his mother must’ve loved Jiang Fengmian at some point, perhaps. There had to be a reason she’s stayed after all these years. As for the sect leader, well, Nie Cheng doesn’t know what his love looks like.

“I told you it’s a long story,” Wei Wuxian says. “Apparently my father and Shushu were both courting my mother when they were younger. Then my parents got eloped, and Shushu married Yu-furen. My father left the sect to follow my mother, since she was a rogue cultivator. Hey! Xiao Cheng and I have that in common.”

“Don’t call me that,” Nie Cheng mumbles. Wei Wuxian pats his shoulder, fiddling with the collar of his outerrobe. Nie Cheng doesn’t think his mother would appreciate being compared to Wei Wuxian’s mother, especially after what he just learned. Still, he just quietly hums in vague agreement, allowing Wei Wuxian to believe whatever he wanted. “How did you find out all this, Shixiong?”

“You can’t help but learn a lot when Shushu and Yu-furen are yelling at each other,” Wei Wuxian admits. Lan Wangji frowns, the corners of his lips ticking down into a shallow curve.

“Eavesdropping is frowned upon.”

“It’s not eavesdropping if they were doing it right in front of me,” Wei Wuxian refutes, shaking his head. His hair tickles against Nie Cheng’s jaw, so Nie Cheng knocks his head against Wei Wuxian’s, getting him to stop moving. “I think that’s why Yu-furen doesn’t like me all that much. I probably remind her of my mother.”

Nie Cheng must have inherited his jealousy from his mother; he can relate to her anger, he thinks. Anger and paranoia and grief all in one, the thought of being unloved and having to raise the living proof of your rejection make Nie Cheng’s teeth ache. He wonders why his mother never left Jiang Fengmian, but perhaps that would’ve only served as salt on the wound; it doesn’t matter if she leaves, after all, if Jiang Fengmian doesn’t react or care. Leaving him alone with Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli would not send the message she wants.

“Her hatred of you seems unjust,” Lan Wangji frowns.

“It’s fine,” Wei Wuxian says. “I’m used to it, and besides, it’s not like I don’t deserve it.”

“What do you mean?” Nie Cheng asks. No one should have to pay for their parent’s choices; Jiang Cheng didn’t deserve to, and neither should Wei Wuxian. At least, that’s what Nie Cheng tells himself. His heart screams otherwise, but he pushes down that feeling for something more rational. It’s not anyone’s fault. And he was better for it, now.

“It’s nothing.” Wei Wuxian shakes his head. He sighs, the sound piercing through Nie Cheng’s lungs and settling in the darkest recesses of his chest. It was a heavyb push of air, like an anchor sinking to the bottom on the sea, never to be seen again. Wei Wuxian smiles, grinning he as ruffles Nie Cheng’s hair, much to the boy’s protest.

“Hey!”

“Let’s go play around town for a while!” Wei Wuxian says. “I need to buy some supplies for today’s get together.”

By get together, Wei Wuxian means one of those parties he likes to throw where everyone is invited and gets way too drunk according to Lan standards, which is any measurement of drunk. Nie Cheng blinks up at Lan Wangji, who is of course frowning in dissaproval and no doubt thinking of ways to punish Wei Wuxian yet again. Detention doesn’t work, lashes don’t work, at this point the only way to stop his madness is to fully kick out the boy from the Cloud Recesses.

“Shixiong,” Nie Cheng not so subtly reminds him, rolling his eyes when Wei Wuxian laughs. Lan Wangji is not as amused.

“Alcohol is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses.”

“I know, I know,” Wei Wuxian says. “You Lans are always so boring! Lan Zhan, can’t you stop assuming the worst in me? What happened to our treasured friendship? Our close bond? We’re not just ‘others’ to each other, you know!”

“I do not,” Lan Wangji replies, huffing and walking away. He pauses, turning around slowly to look at Nie Cheng, who has already found himself in a silent wrestling match in the few seconds Lan Wangji has turned his back. Nie Cheng freezes, chuckling as he waves hello to Lan Wangji.

“Xiao Cheng,” Lan Wangji says. “Do not forget about dinner.”

Nie Cheng knows it’s Lan Wangji’s way of supporting him, that he was telling Nie Cheng in his own Lan Wangji way that Nie Cheng didn’t have to worry about appeasing his mother. That he could do what he wanted to and that he could just ignore the Jiangs and Lan Wangji would deal with it for him. Lan Wangji was always like that, a silent pillar of constant support; you could tell he cared in the way he would wait for you as you climbed up the stairs, the way he held onto your paper lion while you waded into the water. The way he stuck by your side even after you told him your identity was one of thievery and lies.

Still, for all Nie Cheng trusts and respects Lan Wangji, he can’t help but think that his words sound more like a threat. Enough so that Wei Wuxian pulls him in, pinching at his cheeks, pulling the flesh back and forth to make Nie Cheng smile and frown.

“Is Lan Zhan bullying you?” Wei Wuxian asks. “I’ll beat him up for you!”

“You’re the one more likely to bully me than Wangji-ge is,” Nie Cheng scoffs, batting away Wei Wuxian’s hands. “If you want to buy your supplies, you better hurry up before the shops run out of stock. There are a lot more people in town today, after all.”

“You’re right!” Wei Wuxian gasps. He tugs on Nie Cheng’s wrist, dragging him towards the entrance of the Cloud Recesses. “Let’s go! You’ll help me budget my allowance, won’t you?”

“What makes you think I’d be willing to help you--”

“I’ll buy you a bag of roasted melon seeds,” Wei Wuxian offers. Nie Cheng huffs: he’s not someone who can be easily bribed! Who does Wei Wuxian think he is, bartering with Nie Cheng like he was one of the street vendors in town?

“Two bags.” One for him and one for Nie Huaisang. Nie Mingjue doesn’t really like melon seeds; Nie Cheng will make sure to buy him some meat skewers before he leaves.

“Deal!” Wei Wuxian grins. “Nie Cheng is the best.”

“Of course I am,” Nie Cheng replies, tossing his hair over his shoulder. Honestly, what would these people do without him? Wei Wuxian simply laughs, throwing his head back to smile at Nie Cheng. He’s bright and fierce and warm like a summer day in Lotus Pier and Nie Cheng grins back with his teeth, eyes crinkling into the crescent moons that hung in the night sky of the Unclean Realm, shining like the stars twinkling against the dark splash.

They fit well like this.

- - - -

Dinner is as awkward as Nie Cheng expected it to be. He drags Nie Mingjue over to sit next to Wei Wuxian, ignoring the way Nie Mingjue places a hand on Nie Cheng’s shoulder and tries to guide him away. Nie Huaisang stumbles in late, dragging his feet over to drop into the seat next to Nie Cheng. He leans his head against Nie Cheng’s side, wrinkling his nose at the way Nie Mingjue piles loads of steamed vegetables onto his brothers’ plates.

It’s as quiet as it can be with so many different sects present, which is to say not quiet at all. The Lans don’t speak-- Nie Cheng can feel the way Lan Wangji’s eyes follow his movements as he bows and smiles at Jiang Fengmian and his mother-- but everyone else acts as if there are at a discussion conference. Nie Cheng tries to stay silent out of respect, but it’s hard to when everyone around him is talking over steaming dishes and earthy tea.

“Shijie should try this!” Wei Wuxian says, placing a spoonful of braised lotus roots onto Jiang Yanli’s plate. Jiang Yanli is sitting across from Wei Wuxian, next to Nie Mingjue. She should’ve been eating beside Jin Zixuan but rumor has it they broke off their engagement. Good for her, Nie Cheng thinks; he would not wish being married to Jin Zixuan on even his worst enemy. “It’s not as good as Shijie’s pork and lotus root soup, of course, but it’s still one of the better dishes at the Cloud Recesses.”

“They were made in different ways, how can they be compared?” Jiang Yanli smiles, picking up a piece of lotus root with her chopsticks. “Thank you, A-Xian.”

Nie Huaisang pauses in the middle of his chewing, blinking up at Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian with a look in his eyes that may seem like innocent curiosity at first glance, but that Nie Cheng knows actually means he’s about to be unabashedly nosy. Nie Cheng can only hope he won’t have to pull Nie Huaisang out of the mess he’s bound to make. “Were Wei-xiong and Jiang-guniang always this close?”

“Since we were children,” Jiang Yanli confirms. “A-Xian’s like a younger brother to me.”

Nie Cheng chews on his bamboo shoots, reaching out to fill up Nie Mingjue’s cup of tea. He wonders if Nie Mingjue would hunt down a boar to roast for him; the gamey taste of prey was something that he had to get accustomed to, but now Nie Cheng finds himself craving it. It was a taste that the Lan sect would just never be able to recreate. Nie Cheng likes the way his Da-ge cooks it the best, the way he would season all sides and turn it around on the spit with the flick of his wrist.

Yu Ziyuan is not pleased with Jiang Yanli’s answer by the way her chopsticks bang against the table. Yu Jiaxin, who is sitting diagonally from her and across from her own mother, startles. They made up a strange table, Nie Cheng muses, though he supposes everyone was related to someone else in some way. It wasn’t a good look to have two of the four major sects openly sitting next to each other, but the Lans were hosting and had their own leaders sitting at the head, and the Jins took up so many spots they basically had an area that was just a sea of gold. So it wasn’t really questioned when Nie-zongzhu choose to sit with Jiang-zongzhu and his family; besides, Wei Wuxian and the Nie brothers were known to be close friends.

“How was Wei-xiong as a child like?” Nie Huaisang asks, leaning in closer to Jiang Yanli.

“He came to stay with us when he was around eight, so I can’t speak much on how he was beforehand, but A-Xian’s always been very cheerful and kind,” Jiang Yanli says. Wei Wuxian beams at her praise, and Jiang Fengmian laughs, patting Wei Wuxian on the back. Yu Ziyuan is silent. “He especially liked swimming around in the lakes, and picking lotus flowers and eating their pods.”

“It’s like he was born to be in the Jiang sect,” Jiang Fengmian boasts. Nie Cheng nods politely, taking a sip of his tea. The liquid is too hot and scorches his throat, but the fleeting burning sensation is somewhat comforting. Nie Huaisang passes off his unwanted vegetables onto Nie Cheng’s plate, who rolls his eyes but obliges nonetheless.

“Aren’t we meant to be quiet during meal times?” Yu Ziyuan snaps. His mother is visibly upset, a deep scowl embedded into her facial features. Yu-zongzhu places a hand on her sister’s arm, whispering something Nie Cheng can’t pick up from the distance between them.

“The children are getting to know each other, Furen,” Jiang Fengmian grits out. They must have already been arguing earlier that day, because the air around them is tense despite this being the first thing they’ve spoken to each other all dinner. “Let them have their fun.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to join in,” Yu Ziyuan hisses. Jiang Fengmian clears his throat, smiling as he blots his mouth with a napkin. Nie Cheng feels like he’s watching two panthers growl at each other. His mother narrows her eyes, gripping her chopsticks tight like she wanted to stab something with them.

“What about you?” Jiang Yanli asks Nie Huaisang, trying to divert their attention. “How was it like growing up in Qinghe Nie?”

“It was fun,” Nie Huaisang hums. “It got better when Xiao Cheng got better and I could play with him. Our father used to take us into town and let us run up and down the streets. Da-ge would have to chase after us to make sure we didn’t get lost or stumble into any dark alleyways.”

“I’m sure Nie-shixiong was always concerned about you,” Jiang Yanli laughs.

Nie Huaisang nods in agreement, raising his free hand to point at Nie Cheng, who was currently in the process of finishing off Nie Huaisang’s unwanted leftovers. “Definitely. Especially Xiao Cheng, since he was always making trouble.”

“Between me and you, who was the one making more trouble?” Nie Cheng asks, elbowing his brother. “I’m not the one who always got yelled at by shifu and had to run extra laps around the training field. Plus, I always finished my assignments and turned them in on time; you just copied off me.”

“I’m just utilizing the resources around me,” Nie Huaisang argues. “Xiao Cheng is the one to blame for indulging me. Ah, Jiang-guniang, he’s always so sweet to me even if seems grumpy on the outside. Xiao Cheng, Xiao Cheng, I’m your favorite, right?”

“Disagree!” Wei Wuxian says, raising his hand. Yu Ziyuan eyes his raised hand with suspicion, though she doesn’t say anything; her sister must have said something to placate her. “I’m obviously Nie Cheng’s favorite.”

“It’s neither of you,” Nie Cheng says, rolling his eyes. “Wangji-ge’s my favorite, obviously.”

Wei Wuxian deflates, whining as he wraps his hands around Nie Cheng’s arm. Nie Huaisang scowls, wrinkling his nose at being defeated by Lan Wangji. Their little one-sided rivalry has lasted through the years, even as Lan Wangji is one of the people Nie Huaisang goes to when he’s bored. His brother was so hypocritical sometimes. Nie Mingjue simply laughs, long since expecting Nie Cheng’s response. Nie Cheng continues eating like Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang weren’t protesting from both sides around him, proclaiming their own good traits.

“It seems you’re quite favored?” Jiang Yanli asks him, giggling behind her sleeve.

Not favored enough to be chosen by you, Nie Cheng thinks. It’s a thought that takes him by complete surprise, and one that he promptly shoves out of his mind. Jiang Yanli is beautiful, with her delicate features and ever-present smile, braided hair coiled up in buns against the sides of her head, the rest flowing down her shoulders and back. She looks like a goddess, sitting above the clouds on her throne of lotuses. Watching her kingdom from above, but never raising a hand to step in. Never interfering.

Passivity is never neutrality, Nie Cheng has learned.

“I’m the youngest,” he explains to Jiang Yanli, trying to shove off Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian when he feels the once-again familiar sear of his mother’s eyes. He can almost imagine her branding him with her mark, showing off their bond with such a public declaration. It was something he had never dared to imagine before, of revealing his true ties to the people he was dining with. “Even though it’s only by a few weeks with some of them. They like to tease me.”

“A-Xian’s birthday is coming up,” Jiang Yanli notes. Nie Cheng nods; the growing chill in the air and the ripening of the leaves alerted them to the incoming autumn when Wei Wuxian’s birthday was held. It was also nearing Nie Cheng’s birthday, and Jiang Cheng’s day of passing. He wonders if they remember when he died. “Is yours as well?”

“Somewhat,” Nie Cheng replies. He doesn’t know if they remember Jiang Cheng’s birthday, but it was never bad to be extra careful. He had only told Wei Wuxian all those months ago because Wei Wuxian had never been around to celebrate Jiang Cheng’s birthday; Wei Wuxian’s birthday was too close to Jiang Cheng’s, and festivities for his birthday were still happening by the time Jiang Cheng was around. He stopped having parties after Wei Wuxian moved in. But that was okay; Jiang Cheng had gifted himself the greatest present on his ninth birthday, taking his first independent steps out of Yunmeng Jiang and towards the great unknown.

“We’ll have to celebrate soon,” Nie Mingjue says, reaching over to ruffle Nie Cheng’s hair. “We’ll have to take some pointers from your family, Jiang-shimei. Teenagers are so finicky now; what does Wei Wuxian like?”

“Ah, we don’t really hold big gatherings anymore,” Jiang Yanli explains. Her smile strains for just a moment as she clears her throat. “A-Xian prefers a smaller celebration. I usually make him his favorite dishes and Fuqin takes him into town to play.”

“And Yu-furen?” Nie Huaisang asks. Nie Cheng elbows him, though Nie Huaisang doesn’t seem to register it. Why was he stirring up trouble with the Jiangs? Nie Huaisang could clearly see the strained relationship between Wei Wuxian and Yu Ziyuan, especially after watching their lack of interaction at dinner. Wei Wuxian laughed with Jiang Fengmian and traded dishes with Jiang Yanli, but didn’t say a word to Yu Ziyuan, who seemed all too eager to return to favor, doing nothing but silently scowling at Wei Wuxian. Honestly, Nie Cheng didn’t understand his brother sometimes. What was he trying to get out of this?

“Muqin is always busy this time of year,” Jiang Yanli says. Her smile looks more like a grimace, and perhaps it is from the way Yu Ziyuan finally speaks up.

“I’m busy dealing with your mistakes,” she snaps, her glare directed at the rest of her family members. “I have no time to spare to celebrate Wei Wuxian’s birthday.”

His mother spits out the last word like it was poison in her mouth. Jiang Fengmian simply purses his lips, the look in his eyes telling Nie Cheng there would definitely be yelling later on. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli are silent; Jiang Yanli is still smiling, even as the look on her face is vacant. Nie Huaisang laughs, his delightful tone cutting through the tense atmosphere like a sharp sword. Nie Cheng shakes his head, urging his brother not to push any further. Nie Huaisang finally chooses to listen to him, clasping his hands together in front of him.

“Yu-furen is quite busy!” he exclaims. “I hope to learn from her work ethic one day. But before that, I do believe dinner is over. It was so lovely to talk to Wei-xiong’s family; he talks highly of you all. I’m only disappointed I couldn’t meet you earlier.”

Nie Huaisang, with his silver tongue, guides them all out of the dining room and onto their separate ways. He’s like a magician at times like these, Nie Cheng thinks; you don’t even notice as the world changes around you, blindly following Nie Huaisang’s instructions and gentle nudges in the direction he wants you to go. Yu Ziyuan and Yu-zongzhu leave together, with Jiang Yanli and Jiang Fengmian trailing after them from a considerable distance. Yu Jiaxin rejoins their party, shaking her shoulders as she tilts her head to look back at her mother and aunt.

“That was terrifying,” she declares. Nie Cheng had watched as her eyes followed whoever was speaking, darting back and forth between her mother and his mother in the silences in between. “Why did it feel like a fight was about to erupt?”

“That isn’t even one of the worst dinners I’ve had,” Wei Wuxian laughs. He perks up, leaning in to conspiratorially whisper. He leans onto Nie Cheng for support, as he always does. He was not your armrest, okay!? Just because Nie Cheng was shorter doesn’t mean anything at all! One day he’ll climb onto Wei Wuxian’s shoulders just to show him, give him a taste of his own medicine. “Are you all ready to have some real fun?”

“Should I be concerned?” Nie Mingjue asks.

“I promise to take extra care of Huaisang and Nie Cheng, Zongzhu,” Wei Wuxian swears, placing a hand over his chest. “You have my word!”

Nie Cheng rolls his eyes. He doesn’t need anyone’s protection, all right? He could handle himself just fine!

He was quickly proven wrong when, just a few shichen later, he stumbles out of Wei Wuxian’s dorm, gulping in huge breaths of air as he tries to regain his balance. God, just what did Wei Wuxian buy? Nie Cheng hadn’t been paying much attention at the store, too busy trying to make sure they didn’t get caught by any Lan disciples who were all too familiar with Wei Wuxian’s reputation. Whatever it was, it was strong, and Nie Cheng hadn’t quite realized that until he was a few cups in and the world was absolutely spinning around him. It was a good thing he had eaten beforehand.

Nie Cheng wobbles around the outside for a while, eventually settling on a small grove of trees behind the disciple dorms. He uses the time of relative peace to sober up, soaking in the distant chirps and rustle of leaves. The cold breeze helps cool his flushed face, though it makes him shiver and curl up into a ball to try and preserve his body heat. When did he take off his outer robes? And where was his hair tie? So many questions he couldn’t answer. Well, whatever; Nie Cheng simply huddles in on himself further, settling his chin on his knees.

It was a nice night; certainly not a quiet one, but a nice night nevertheless. Nie Cheng looks up at the sky, trying to count the number of stars. He tries to link them together, but the constellations seemed to be hiding from him tonight. Nie Cheng spots the North Star and grins; well, at least he can always rely on one thing.

“Nie Cheng?”

Nie Cheng looks up to find Wei Wuxian standing over him, a frown on his face as he takes in Nie Cheng’s sorry state. Wei Wuxian slides down next to him, tugging off his outermost layer to wrap around Nie Cheng. “Where are your robes?”

“That’s what I was just asking as well,” Nie Cheng mumbles, clutching at the warm fabric around him. Wei Wuxian snorts, joining him in his silent contemplation of the night. Together they sit, like a pair of frogs on a single log, side by side, pressing their shoulders against each other. Wei Wuxian ran hot; perhaps he had managed to absorb some of the sun’s rays from his time at the Lotus Pier. The thought makes Nie Cheng laugh.

“Won’t Xiao Cheng tell me what’s got his mind in such a tickle?” Wei Wuxian teases. Nie Cheng bats his hands around at Wei Wuxian, eventually returning his hands to his side as he feels the robes around him slipping off his shoulders.

“Don’t call me that,” Nie Cheng mumbles half-heartedly. “You should visit sometime, I think you’d like the Unclean Realm. And you can take me swimming at Lotus Pier. I’m a good swimmer.”

He actually doesn’t know if that’s true. Nie Cheng hasn’t gone swimming since he was eight years old. The spend the other half of his life with his feet decisively on the ground, stomping through forests or running through the halls of the Nie sect. Perhaps the most time he spent off the land was when Nie Mingjue picked him up, spinning Nie Cheng around like he weighed nothing. It felt different from flying on his sword, but still like flying nonetheless. Nie Cheng would stick out his arms and pretend he was a dragon soaring through the air, chasing after his own tail.

“Come visit!” Wei Wuxian beams. He looks delighted at the thought of Nie Cheng in Lotus Pier, placing a hand on Nie Cheng’s shoulder and shaking him around. “I’ll show you around everywhere. I’m sure Shushu will be glad to host you. And Shijie always likes meeting new guests, though I guess you aren’t new anymore since she’s already met you. But she’ll still welcome you! She likes everyone, and everyone likes her.”

“Mhm,” Nie Cheng murmurs. He picks up on the name absent from Wei Wuxian’s mouth. A glaring hole missing from the family tree, like its branches had been burned and sawed off. “Yu-furen should be nicer to you. I don’t understand; it’s not your fault your mother didn’t choose Jiang-zongzhu. You hadn’t even been born! Imagine if you were Jiang-zongzhu’s son instead.”

“From Yu-furen or from my mother?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“Your mother,” Nie Cheng replies, slipping his arms into the robe. He realizes, then, that he’s covered in purple, in the violet shade that represents the Jiang clan. It is a sobering thought, but it is cold, and his mind is not putting out its best work at the moment, so he keeps it on.

“I think Yu-furen would have my head if I was the child of Shushu and my mother,” Wei Wuxian laughs. “It’s like how Jin Guangshan has all those illegitimate children. Doesn’t Jin-furen hate them all? The same would be said for me; it would only give Yu-furen a reason to hate me even more than she does now..”

“Sometimes you feel like Jiang-zongzhu’s real son,” Nie Cheng mumbles, leaning against Wei Wuxian. He was such a warm presence beside Nie Cheng, heat radiating from his arm. “Maybe that’s why she’s always so cruel to you.”

“Ah. that’s--” Wei Wuxian laughs awkwardly, digging his foot through the dirt in front of them. “That’s certainly part of it.”

Nie Cheng hums, closing his eyes.

“...Xiao Cheng? Xiao Cheng?”

“Don’t call me that.” Nie Cheng sticks out his tongue, cracking opening one eye to stare up at Wei Wuxian. “What, Shixiong?”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Wei Wuxian asks. He’s frowning in a way that makes Nie Cheng stop and pause, sitting up to properly look at Wei Wuxian. The boy has lost all of his mischievous air, instead looking more like a vandal in the midst of the darkness.

“Of course,” Nie Cheng says. “Shixiong can tell me anything.”

“You might hate me afterward,” Wei Wuxian says. It sounds like a warning and a plea all at once. Nie Cheng doesn’t like the sound of that tone; it especially looked out of place coming out of Wei Wuxian’s mouth. “I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me.”

“I already hate you,” Nie Cheng assures him.

“I’m serious, Nie Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice dull at the edges. He’s looking into Nie Cheng’s eyes as if he would stop talking as soon as he saw any hint of hesitation. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this, but after today, I just can’t get this off my chest. I need you to know. I need you to see me.”

“I know who you are, Shixiong. You can’t lie to me,” Nie Cheng says. He’s picked up a few things from Nie Huaisang, and though he can’t read people as well as his brother, Nie Cheng can still tell when someone is lying to him. Most of the time, at least: for people like his mother, whose words never seemed to match her thoughts or actions, he was completely clueless. “Whatever it is, I promise I won’t think any differently of you.”

“You should,” Wei Wuxian whispers. He sounds miserable, like a confession is being forced out of him. Nie Cheng doesn’t quite know how to comfort him, so he just settles for placing his head on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. That seems to help a bit as Wei Wuxian places a hand on his knee, fingers digging into Nie Cheng’s pants. “I’m a terrible person, Xiao Cheng. Yu-furen hates me for a reason, after all.”

“This is about Yu-furen?” What could Wei Wuxian possibly have to say to Nie Cheng about his mother that Nie Cheng hasn’t already heard?

“I told you about her relationship with my parents, right? About how Shushu was courting my mother a time ago, and that Yu-furen hates being reminded of that?” Wei Wuxian says. Nie Cheng nods, enough of a sign for Wei Wuxian to continue on. “Well, there’s another reason she despises me. You said it didn’t make sense for her to dislike me so much just based on my parentage? That’s because there’s something else, something worse than that could ever be.”

“Just tell me, Shixiong,” Nie Cheng presses him. The alcohol was making him impatient, just as it seemed to be making Wei Wuxian mopey. “I’ll help you atone for whatever crime you committed.”

“This is something you can’t help with,” Wei Wuxian says, and he sounds so helpless, so angry that Nie Cheng can nearly taste his feelings in the air, like the salt of tears sliding into his mouth. Nie Cheng wants to disagree with Wei Wuxian but keeps silent to let him process his thoughts. Wei Wuxian clutches at Nie Cheng’s knee, holding onto it tight as his lips part open to speak once more.

“I’m a murderer,” he whispers to the dead of night, to the birds chirping and the leaves rustling. To Nie Cheng who sits there, frozen. “That’s why Yu-furen hates me so much. I killed her son. My brother, my A-Cheng, he’s gone and it’s all my fault.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, no humor detectable in his voice. It sounds resentful, a pebble of self-loathing and guilt tumbling down into an avalanche that was crushing him down. “There’s blood on my hands, Nie Cheng. And for that, I’ll be paying for the rest of my life.”

Chapter Text

Perhaps it was the alcohol running through his blood, or the chill of the night, but Nie Cheng can’t quite understand what Wei Wuxian was trying to convey.

“I think I would know if you were a murderer, Shixiong,” Nie Cheng says. News travels fast, and Nie Huaisang always seemed to know gossip about one sect disciple or another. Nie Cheng knew everything even if he wasn’t seeking out the information himself. There was also the fact that, well, he wasn’t dead. And even though Jiang Cheng was, he certainly didn’t die by Wei Wuxian’s hands. If the situation wasn’t so grim, Nie Cheng would scoff at the fact that Wei Wuxian thinks he could kill Jiang Cheng as a child. Him! He didn’t even have a golden core at the time, not to mention Wei Wuxian had just spent months on the street starving and weak.

“You don’t understand,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. Nie Cheng thinks he understands better than anyone else in the cultivation world. “Do you remember when it was announced that the Jiang heir had gone missing? It might have been before you had recovered, but he’s about the same age as you. He was only eight at the time. I don’t know, he might have been nine by the time he actually passed, but they told us to choose the date we had last seen him, and I—”

Wei Wuxian chokes, hand grabbing his hair to tangle his fingers through the strands. His ponytail is a mess, nearly about to fall out of the ribbon it was tied up in. “I saw him the morning of my birthday. We shared a room; I was the one who woke first, and I had just turned around in bed for a few moments before getting up. Then he woke up and he was smiling, and he wished me a happy birthday. He always grinned with all his might, you could see the gaps in his teeth. And then-- and then I left.”

“You didn’t see him after that?” Nie Cheng asks. Wei Wuxian shakes his head, dropping it down to rest on his pulled-up knees.

“Shushu gifted me my own room for my birthday,” he says, voice muffled. Still, it doesn’t hide the way his tone sags, like wilting leaves desperately trying to stay alive, slowly losing their waxy shine and making way for dry, brown ash. “After that everyone kept pulling me around, wanting me to meet this person or receive this gift, I couldn’t get away. I was too caught up in everything that I never noticed he hadn’t left his room. No one noticed, not until Yu-furen came back from her travels. She went looking for him and came up with nothing, and Shushu couldn’t help her either. I’d never heard Yu-furen so angry before, but no matter how much she insisted, Shushu believed A-Cheng was dead. I’m sure you know the rest; your family attended his funeral.”

Jiang Cheng’s funeral, Nie Cheng remembers the day clearly as if it was just recently occurred. The first time he had been left by himself at the Unclean, not yet Nie but not quite Jiang either. The nameless boy wandered the halls, asking himself if Nie Mingjue would find enough evidence at Lotus Pier to convince his father to let that not-quite orphan, not-quite son stay in their residence. He asked himself if he would ever deserve, if he would ever find another place in the world to belong, one that wasn’t stained with the mistakes of a past generation. The answer, of course, was no: his childhood would follow him to till the day he died, inhabiting the corners of his eyes and the scars on his back. But he had found his home, no longer a nameless boy but Nie Cheng, someone’s son, someone’s brother.

Jiang Cheng had often wished that Wei Wuxian had stayed on the streets, if only so his father would treat him with indifference rather than impatience. But Nie Cheng, after having known what an upbringing of both hate and love could do, is glad Wei Wuxian got to experience a good childhood. He hoped he grew up well, in the place that could’ve-- but probably never truly would’ve-- been Jiang Cheng’s. In his brightest moments, when it felt like he had grown past everything that had occurred, Nie Cheng hoped that Wei Wuxian grew up safe, and loved, and happy.

That, evidently, did not happen.

“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault, Shixiong,” Nie Cheng says. Part of him, the part that clung to the past and refused to let go, the childish pettiness that was too busy protecting eight-year-old Jiang Cheng to ever mature, screamed that it was his fault. The more rational part of Nie Cheng’s brain banished that thought immediately. “You were a child.”

“I was a catalyst.” Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “My arrival set off a chain of events that eventually led to A-Cheng’s death. Even worse, I didn’t do anything when I saw how he was being treated. I thought I would be kicked out if I had interfered, but even so, I should have done something to fix it. But I was too much of a coward.”

“How could you have stood up to a sect leader?” Nie Cheng argues.

“How could I not?” Wei Wuxian replies, lifting up his head to the head. His eyes are glossed over, wet with tears from the alcohol and his heart. “How could I have just let that happen, standing aside like some audience member enjoying a show? How could I have let that happen to him when he was so young? I traded his future for mine; and for what? How could I ever have been worth more than him?”

Nie Cheng puts his hand on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, getting the boy to look at him. Or, at least, look at him to the best he could. Wei Wuxian’s eyes stumbled around, avoiding his gaze but roaming all across Nie Cheng’s face and curled-up body. It feels like feathers brushing against his skin, like someone looking for something in him and not finding it.

“I’m a failure,” Wei Wuxian sighs. His eyes droop, fluttering shut as he tries to shake off Nie Cheng’s hold. “When I first arrived at Lotsu Pier, I promised Shushu that I would take care of A-Cheng. He was the first person I ever had the responsibility of taking care of.”

“You were barely older than he was,” Nie Cheng scoffs. It was stupid to think that any child could look after themselves, much less another person. Isn’t that what his parents were for? Why push that burden onto another child?

Wei Wuxian reaches into his robe, pulling out a thin bottle of alcohol. Before Nie Cheng can stop him, he pops the top off and takes a sip, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows the wine. Nie Cheng tries to pry the bottle out of Wei Wuxian’s hands, but he simply waves aside the younger boy, setting the bottle down between his knees. The bite of the night is cold, but Wei Wuxian’s cheeks are flushed red, and his hand is warm as it clutches Nie Cheng’s like he was the rock anchoring Wei Wuxian to the land, standing amidst the roaring waves.

“Shixiong?” Nie Cheng asks.

Wei Wuxian sighs, a sunken exhale seeping into the hollow of Nie Cheng’s chest. “I see him sometimes. In my dreams, in the children that like to run around the Lotus Pier, in the summer air that helps the lotus blossoms grow. I wonder what he would look like now; we’d be the same age. He must look like Yu-furen, he did even then. But softer, perhaps, like Shijie. His teeth would’ve grown in, and when he smiles you can see them all lined up.”

Look at me, Nie Cheng wants to say. Look at me and see for yourself, see if I’ve grown up like my mother, watch my grin and smile back. He hates that he made Wei Wuxian feel this terrible, that he had been living with the weight of this guilt for all these years. He never wanted to cause any of this.

“If I could trade my life for his,” Wei Wuxian says, tracing a finger over the rim of the alcohol bottle. “I would take Suibian and slit my throat myself.”

“Shixiong!” Nie Cheng cries, alarmed. He clutches at Wei Wuxian’s arms, shaking them back and forth like it would help, like it would shake out the thoughts that were coming out of Wei Wuxian’s brain. “Don’t say that!”

“If it meant he could grow up and be happy I would do it in an instant,” Wei Wuxian says, his words starting to slur as he spoke faster and faster. “He could’ve stayed at the Cloud Recesses and developed his golden core. He could’ve met you, and Huaisang, and Yu-shijie, and Lan Zhan. He could’ve grown up to be famous, to be a successful sect leader, with his parents and sister, and not a tombstone and an empty grave. If only I wasn’t there, if I hadn’t stolen from him like some kind of thief--”

“Shixiong!” Nie Cheng really does tackle him this time, fingers digging into Wei Wuxian’s shoulders as he kneels above him. “Listen to me, listen.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes are open wide, though still not clear. Nie Cheng doesn’t even know if what he says will get to Wei Wuxian, but it’s worth trying. It’s better than listening to him mope for the next shichen.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Nie Cheng says, looking Wei Wuxian in the eyes even as the other boy tries to avoid his gaze. “Shixiong, whatever happened to Jiang Cheng, it can’t be blamed on you. You were a child, you couldn’t have controlled anything. It wasn’t your fault, so don’t say you’ll go dying for him, alright? I’m sure if Jiang Cheng could hear you, he would be upset. He would want you to be happy, just as you wish for him.”

“And besides,” Nie Cheng continues, taking in a deep breath. “Even if it was your fault, I’m sure he forgives you.”

“How would you know?” Wei Wuxian asks, his voice no louder than a mouse’s whisper. Wei Wuxian is looking up at him like he knew the answer, like Nie Cheng was the one who would be able to fix his broken heart. The true answer lies at the tips of Nie Cheng’s mouth, begging to slip past his lips, but he doesn’t allow it.

“You were brothers, weren’t you?” he says instead. “How could he not?”

Wei Wuxian sucks in a breath, letting out a wet laugh. It sounds empty and relieved all at once, like skipping a stone across a pond only for it to land on the other side of the water. Wei Wuxian looks down, shoulders trembling as he raises an arm to wipe at his eyes. Nie Cheng feels him shake from beneath his hands, though whether it was from the cold or something else he doesn’t know. He gives Wei Wuxian the benefit of the doubt, helping him up to his feet in unsteady steps.

“Let’s go back inside, Shixiong,” Nie Cheng says. “I’m tired.”

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian easily agrees. Nie Cheng helps him back to his dorm; by now, the place is empty, though Nie Cheng can spot a trail of talisman paper and empty bottles leading to his room. Nie Huaisang was going to get it when Nie Cheng gets his hands on the boy. What was he even doing with all those people, collecting gossip? Nie Cheng allows Wei Wuxian to slip out of his hold and collapse into bed. Wei Wuxian knocks into the table beside his bed, but other than that manages to make it out unscathed. He lays there, arms and legs spread out across the mattress with one arm coming up to cover his eyes.

“Thank you, Nie Cheng,” he says. Nie Cheng shrugs off the outer robe Wei Wuxian lent him, draping it over the other boy’s torso. Wei Wuxian’s chest rises and falls, eventually puttering out to a softer breath, evidence of Wei Wuxian’s drifting consciousness. That’s when Nie Cheng takes his leave, softly shutting the door behind him. He looks up at the sky, at the shining stars and the quiet chirps echoing through the air.

That was… well, it was a conversation he never expected he’d have. Even so, Nie Cheng is glad Wei Wuxian confessed what he did. Old secrets, self-loathing, the sting of feeling like a villain, like a robber in the night. How could Nie Cheng not listen to Wei Wuxian and see himself in those words, in those eyes filled with grief and guilt?

“Goodnight,” Nie Cheng whispers. “Wei-ge, I forgive you.”

- - - -

In the morning, as Nie Cheng is mourning the terrible sleep he had from having to spend all night kicking out guests of the impromptu party Nie Huaisang decided to host, he is found by Wei Wuxian. Who looks as if he hadn’t even been partying last night, damn it! This was unfair. How were there no bags under his eyes, while Nie Cheng looked like one of the pandas Nie Huaisang thought would be fun to raise for a few months?

“Good morning, Xiao Cheng!” he chirps, grinning down at Nie Cheng from where he was standing. Who was so happy this early in the morning?

“Don’t call me that,” Nie Cheng grumbles, rubbing his forehead. “What do you want, Shixiong?”

“About last night,” Wei Wuxian starts. Nie Cheng tenses up, looking at Wei Wuxian from the side of his eyes. Wei Wuxian laughs, a nervous ring to his tone. He scratches the back of his head, silent for a moment before opening his mouth to speak. “I don’t remember exactly what I said to you, but I remember some of it, enough of it. I apologize, I got ahead of myself. And, um, if you would like to forget it all, feel free to.”

“Alright,” Nie Cheng easily agrees. He doesn’t want last night’s conversation running through his head anymore either. He leans back, looking up to wrap his hand around Wei Wuxian’s wrist. His fingers meet the purple robe, and Nie Cheng observes the way his skin looks against the violet fabric, before pulling away and holding his own, gray-sleeved arm to the light. “But I meant what I said at the end, Shixiong. He forgives you, I’m sure of it. Does this mean you’re going to stop drinking now?”

“I was just a little over-emotional,” Wei Wuxian says, waving off Nie Cheng’s concerns. He takes a seat next to Nie Cheng, swiping a round grape from his bowl and popping it into his mouth. “You know how it is, my family came to visit and Yu-furen was upset at me as always. She’s always more on edge than usual around this time of the year, since… well, I’m sure you know. I must have spilled my entire life to you!”

Wei Wuxian laughs, fiddling with the collar of his robes like he isn’t quite used to being perceived. Like Nie Cheng’s stare has somehow changed, like he could now see into the depths of Wei Wuxian’s soul, picking at the core with his claws. Nie Cheng understands the feeling: it was how he felt when he first met Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang, how they seemed to be able to figure everything out and connect the dots when Nie Cheng didn’t even know their name. It made him feel naked, like he was putting exposed and put on display like some creature that had mutated in a strange way, his history written on a placard for all to read about. Ironic, now, that it had evolved to become the Nie’s closest guarded secret.

“It’s okay, Shixiong,” Nie Cheng says, fully meaning it. It was relieving, in a way, to learn how Wei Wuxian felt about the situation. Sure, Nie Cheng wasn’t happy about how he felt, but it felt like a resolution, like closing a window that had previously been letting in heavy rainfall. “I felt the same way at first. I thought I was useless to my father, and that he was wasting his time taking care of me. I couldn’t do anything but eat up at his money and time.”

Wei Wuxian must surely be imagining a bedridden child struggling to prove himself, but all Nie Cheng can think of are nightmares invading his mind, monsters clawing at his feet and sinking their claws into his skin. He thinks of his father’s hands, rough with callouses and larger than his own, covering Nie Cheng’s back like a steel guardian, like a heavy shield protecting him from his own subconscious. He wonders if Wei Wuxian had ever been comforted, had ever been assured that his place at Lotus Pier was safe, and deserved, and his for the rest of his life. Nie Cheng wonders if instead, Wei Wuxian had been hissed at and threatened and insulted until he could feel nothing like an overwhelming guilt for the death of a boy who wasn’t really gone.

It must have been his mother’s doing, of course, Nie Cheng thinks wryly. Her love manifested into harsh words and sharp pinches, so of course her hate was even more vicious. She must have been relentless, mad with grief, lashing out at a nine-year-old Wei Wuxian who, for all intents and purposes, was grieving as well. A sorrowful mind was easy to mold, easy to corrupt and fill with thoughts of blame. Yu Ziyuan was looking for a murderer, and Wei Wuxian just so happened to be at the right place, at the right time. And perhaps she was feeling her own guilt as well, for not being there when she was needed. If she had stayed, everything would be different. But millions of possibilities and what-ifs do not change the present, no matter how much one screams or begs.

Still, Nie Cheng finds he cannot blame his mother too much. At yet, if Wei Wuxian were to declare that he hates Yu Ziyuan with all his heart, Nie Cheng finds he cannot fault him either.

“I’m sure your father is proud of you,” Wei Wuxian says. By now, he and Nie Cheng are just sharing Nie Cheng’s fruit, with Nie Cheng reluctantly parts with. He’ll go take Nie Mingjue’s later; the man never finished his fruits, no matter how much Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang pestered him about it, eventually just giving up and finishing it off for Nie Mingjue. “He’d be happy to know how great of a cultivator his son is. And even if you had stayed ill all your life, I’m sure he would’ve loved you all the same. Nie Cheng is the best.”

“Thank you, Shixiong,” Nie Cheng smiles. It’s funny how love and hate clashed, and yet were often intertwined, circling each other like soulmates lashing at each other’s throats. Nie Cheng loves, and hates, and understands the pain ans grief of others, of the guilt haunting their minds and eating at their hearts. He understands, and loves, and forgives. He is forgiven.

Chapter Text

Unsurprisingly, when parents get together, what they like to do most is brag about their own children.

“Zixuan is one of the brightest minds of his generation,” Jin Guangshan says, ornate robes flying about as he boasts. “Not to mention his physical prowess! Why, he’s almost as impressive as I was when I was his age!”

The other sect leaders twitter and mutter amongst themselves. They’ve formed an exclusive circle of sorts, seated at one of the white stone tables littering the courtyards. The other sect leaders hum in vague agreement with Jin Guangshan’s words. At the acclaimed holy table, Nie Cheng can spot Nie Mingjue moving around in his seat, frowning as Jin Guangshan goes on yet another long-winded tangent. Even from a distance, his voice reminds Nie Cheng of the unpleasant sounds of claws scraping against metal, grating on his ears.

Wen Ruohan wasn’t present, nor were any other members of the Wen clan. They hadn’t deemed any of the Wen disciples attending the Cloud Recesses lectures this year important enough to come. Thus, it was truly only four of the five great sects, though none of them seemed to particularly mind. Nie Cheng was glad he hadn’t come: he has no interest in coming face-to-face with his father’s murderer.

As sect leader, Nie Mingjue couldn’t refuse the other sect leaders’ invitation to tea, lest Qinghe Nie be excluded from the discussions. Jiang Yanli however, despite being the same age as Nie Mingjue, was free to do as she pleased, and it was no surprise that she chose to accompany Nie Cheng and his peers, as any sane person would do. She sits beside Wei Wuxian, seemingly content in listening to them play amongst themselves. Nie Cheng has gathered his usual party of friends, and if only they had managed to find a Jin that wasn’t so stuck up, they could’ve had a second coming of the sect leader’s table themself.

“A-Xian has made significant progress in his cultivation,” Jiang Fengmian boasts. “He’s taken to teaching some of the other disciples in his free time. When he isn’t busy experimenting, that is; the talismans he creates are quite potent.”

The effect wasn’t quite the same when the boy wasn’t your son, Nie Cheng thinks wryly. But with how Jiang Fengmian talks about Wei Wuxian, Nie Cheng would’ve nearly forgotten they weren’t related. The other sect leaders seem to have done so, given the way they gush over Wei Wuxian in the same manner they do with Jin Zixuan. Perhaps they expect Wei Wuxian to inherit the Jiang sect one day.

“You cheated!” Nie Huaisang cries, pointing an accusing finger at Yu Jiaxin, who slams her cards down onto the table and grins. Wei Wuxian had acquired a set of cards, and they had spent the last shichen playing through whatever game caught their fancy.

“You’re just a sore loser,” Yu Jiaxin sniffs, crossing her arms. “Give it here!”

Reluctantly, Nie Huaisang slides over a stack of coins, the winning prize he had been collecting since the start. In their last game, it had ended up as a final match between Nie Huaisang and Yu Jiaxin, both of who were insistent on winning. They ended up raising their bet higher and higher until it was all in. And now, Nie Huaisang was coinless.

“Xiao Cheng,” he begs, clinging onto Nie Cheng who had been absentmindedly fiddling around with the jade pendant hanging around his waist while waiting for the game to finish. “Xiao Cheng, won’t you help your Ge out and give me some of your coins?”

“No.”

Nie Huaisang whines, rubbing his cheek against Nie Cheng’s clothed shoulder. Seriously, was he fifteen or five? They were in front of guests, Ge! If you wanted to embarrass yourself, do it in the privacy of their dorm, alright? It was almost like Nie Huaisang wanted to not be taken seriously, the slacker. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes, scooting away from Nie Huaisang and closer to Lan Wangji, who was on his other side silently watching the encounter.

Wei Wuxian laughs, tossing a coin over to Nie Huaisang with the flick of his thumb. Nie Huaisang fumbles the catch, nearly dropping it before Nie Cheng snatches it out of the air and places it on the table in front of Nie Huaisang. “Since Nie Cheng rejected you, I’ll be your financial backer!”

“Thank you, Wei-xiong!”’ Nie Husaing gives him a thumbs up, eagerly shoving his stack of cards toward the middle of the table to shuffle them. “Let’s play again! Jiang-guniang, do you want to play this time?”

Jiang Yanli hesitates before finally nodding. Wei Wuxian grins, giving her one of his coins as well. At this rate, Wei Wuxian was more like a bank than anything else. Nie Cheng wonders if he can scam a few coins out of Wei Wuxian as well. Yu Jiaxin shuffles the card deck, passing them out to each person. Nie Cheng tries to take a peek at Nie Huaisang’s, but his is securely flipped downwards and placed on the table, long since used to Nie Cheng’s sneaky habits. When Nie Cheng turns his head to look at Lan Wangji’s, all he sees are the back of Lan Wangji’s cards and a disapproving stare. Damn it, why couldn’t he have sat next to people who didn’t know how he liked to cheat?

“I’m glad Xiao Cheng and I are attending classes at the same time,” Nie Huaisang suddenly pipes up, sliding a card into the middle pile. “I would not have returned to visit him. I’ll leave that to Da-ge!”

“You’re only saying that because I refused to help you,” Nie Cheng retorts. Nie Huaisang was so petty sometimes. Nie Cheng fears what would happen were he to ever be actually scorned because he was sure Nie Huaisang would burn a sect down from the inside out before he finished getting his revenge. For all that he liked to act stupid, Nie Huaisang liked to plot, scheme, and generally cause mischief in the lives of people he liked, and actual problems in the lives of people he didn’t.

“And because I would be too scared to come back,” Nie Huaisang says. “Whose to say Lan-qianbei wouldn’t have a bounty on my head, and I wouldn’t be hunted on sight?”

“You are already a frequent guest of the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Wangji points out. “Besides, killing livestock within the area is forbidden.”

“I am not livestock!” Nie Huaisang protests. Lan Wangji simply hums, placing his card down. Nie Huaisang grumbles something under his breath, snapping his fan open to hide his face behind. His cards remain face down on the table, Nie Huaisang seemingly having memorized what they were.

“You should visit Lotus Pier when this is over!” Wei Wuxian suggests. “Maybe not in the summertime, I don’t know if you’d be able to handle the heat. But definitely come in the spring or fall! I’ll take you around town, and show you all the best places to play around at.”

“A-Xian doesn’t have a lot of friends from other sects,” Jiang Yanli explains. She and Wei Wuxian had similar outfits, purple robes with ornate details showing off their status as beloved children of the sect leader. The only startling difference was the bright red hair ribbon that Wei Wuxian seemed to always have in his hair. “He’s very excited to be able to show you our home. You all are welcome to Lotus Pier at any time, of course. I’m sure Fuqin would love to host A-Xian’s friends.”

“If you visit Wei Wuxian you have to come see me too!” Yu Jiaxin adds. Her almond eyes that half the group shared narrow, honing in on Wei Wuxian. “Except you. You’re not invited.”

“Yu-jiejie is so mean to me,” Wei Wuxian sulks. Yu Jiaxin rolls her eyes, flipping her hair over her shoulder with the flick of her hand. Nie Cheng laughs, soaking in the joy of the atmosphere. All things considered, he’s had a lot of fun during his time studying at the Cloud Recesses. What was once something he dreaded blossomed into an experience he wouldn’t ever forget. Even if it brought some of his worst memories back to life, it granted him new ones to treasure and the power to forgive.

Perhaps one day, he would truly be able to move past it.

- - - -

A few months later, Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang both return home, proud graduates of Lan Qiren’s disciple studies. Well, perhaps proud wasn’t the best word used to describe their feelings; relieved, Nie Cheng feels is more fitting, given the fact that Nie Huaisang and Yu Jiaxin had barely scraped by, and Wei Wuxian seemed to try to get himself kicked out every day.

Nie Cheng would miss being able to see his friends every day, but they had parted with promises to write and visit. Besides, he missed being able to roam the halls of the Nie sect, intimately familiar with the creak of the wooden floorboards and the shrubbery that stretched up to reach the sunlight. He liked being able to sneak in Nie Mingjue’s office, or teach the younger disciples sword stances, or just lay in the gardens outside and relax, calming his mind after a long day of studies. Nie Mingjue seemed relieved to have his brothers back home as well, sweeping them up into a crushing hug after he made sure they were injured, despite having seem them only a few months ago.

“Things have gotten a bit less stable recently,” he tells them, a hand on each of their shoulders as he leans in. It reminds Nie Cheng a bit of how they gathered together at their father’s funeral, when it was discovered that Wen Ruhuan had taken part in their father’s death. “Look out for each other, and be careful. Watch your backs.”

Nie Cheng understood his Da-ge’s paranoia, but he was already sixteen! He could take care of himself! His birthday had been celebrated with his friends back at the Cloud Recesses, a few days after Wei Wuxian’s. They had exchanged gifts and Nie Huaisang had pulled out the alcohol he had been saving for the occasion. Nie Cheng kept an eye on Wei Wuxian, just in case he decided to say anything else. Wei Wuxian didn’t, but he spent a lot of the time silent, watching the festivities from a corner with a distant look in his eyes.

For Nie Cheng, it’s a decidedly more joyous occasion. The day of his birth and rebirth all in one, of growing older and more distant from the boy who felt unloved and helpless to do anything about it. His joy and Wei Wuxian’s grief were two sides of the same coin, the same event stemming into two different results. With loss came life, and for that Nie Cheng doesn’t regret what he did. He can only thank the stars he got to meet Wei Wuxian again, and let go of the resentment clinging onto him. For the rest of the Jiang family, he’s all too happy to continue to banish their feelings to the recesses of his mind.

As a sixteen-year-old, Nie Cheng grows stronger. He sharpens his bond with Pulao, wielding his sword over and over again until it’s practically an extension of his arm. He still can’t consistently beat Lan Wangji, that sword monster, but he’s getting closer and closer every time they spar. Nie Huaisang has dragged him into more of his activities, claiming Nie Cheng needs to master the four arts if he ever wished to marry. Nie Cheng tells his brother that he couldn’t marry until Nie Mingjue married, and that they both knew that was impossible. Alas, the Nie brothers seemed doomed to stay single forever.

During a particularly slow day, Nie Cheng is sorting through his letters when he recieves one with a red wax seal. Snorting, he breaks it open with a small knife, pulling out a gilded invitation. After reading it over he stands up, running over to knock on the heavy door leading to Nie Mingjue’s office.

“Enter.”

“Qishan Wen is hosting the next discussion conference!?” Nie Cheng cries, not even bothering to fully enter the room before he’s already going off, waving the invitation through the air. He and Nie Huaisang have both been invited to attend alongside Nie Mingjue. Last year it had been hosted at Qinghe Nie; it was the reason why they had class off for a few days. “Do we have to go?”

“It would not be advised to abstain,” Nie Mingjue says. “Besides, your friends will also be in attendance. Don’t worry, the Wens won’t be able to do anything with so many people around. Tell A-Sang as much, I’m sure he’s just as worried as you are.”

“But Da-ge,” Nie Cheng whines.

“I know, Xiao Cheng,” Nie Mingjue says. He looks up and smiles, confident and reassuring, shielding Nie Cheng under a sturdy umbrella. Nie Cheng lowers his arm, frowning as Nie Mingjue tries to mollify him. “It will be okay. I’ll protect you two, alright? Nothing bad will happen to you if I’m here.”

Nie Cheng grumbles. On one hand, he doesn’t want to ever step foot into Wen territory. On the other, if he doesn’t go, Nie Huaisang would surely follow in his steps, and that means leaving Nie Mingjue to attend by himself. And what his Da-ge said was right; with so many other sects in their presence, what could they do?

“Fine.” Nie Cheng reluctantly agrees. “But I don’t like it.”

“Trust me,” Nie Mingjue snorts. “I’m not looking forward to it either.”

- - - -

The Wens were not kind, but they were not overtly cruel either. Sometimes, Nie Cheng thinks it is his own overactive imagination that conjures up the way clan members will sneer at him before their expressions morph into something more passive. Sometimes it seems like they’re strutting around like they’ve already won something, like there was a contest that Nie Cheng didn’t know about.

All things considered, however, perhaps the most embarrassing part of the conference was having to wear the stupid uniforms the Wens had provided, and losing at the archery contest. Nie Cheng vows to practice with his bow more as he watches Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji strike bullseye after bullseye. Unfortunately, Lan Wangji doesn’t stay long enough for Nie Cheng to spend much time with him, though he manages to congratulate the Lan after his shots.

Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, not only stays for the entire discussion conference but makes friends.

“This is Wen Ning!” he says, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Wen Ning immediately flinches, but still manages to give the rest of them a timid bow. Nie Cheng, who had been sitting with Nie Huaisang and Yu Jiaxin, is instantly on edge.

“Hello,” Wen Ning murmurs. His hair is pulled up into a ponytail like Wei Wuxian’s, though some of it still manages to hang in front of his face. His eyes are pitch black, like they contained an endless abyss of midnight sky. He looks almost delicate, like Jiang Yanli had, refined features placed intentionally on his face.

Pretty, Nie Cheng thinks. Pretty and dangerous, like a poisonous flower that lures in animals with its bright petals. The surname catches his ear: Wen, like the clan members who ran the sect with an iron grip. He wonders where in the family tree Wen Ning lays, and if Nie Cheng had even more of a reason to be cautious.

“He attended Lan Qiren’s lectures with us,” Wei Wuxian reminds him. “He and his sister, they’re like a pair of conjoined twins. I told you about them once, Nie Cheng, remember?”

“You did?” Wen Ning asks. Wei Wuxian nods, explaining to him how Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang were just are close as Wen Ning was to his sister. He points them out to Wen Ning, who nods.

“I thought you and her were siblings,” he sheepishly confesses to Nie Cheng, gesturing to Nie Cheng and Yu Jiaxin, who brights, leaning closer to Nie Cheng. She smiles, lifting up a hand to point at her face.

“We look similar, right? Wanyin's mother and my mother are relatives. Hey, Wen Ning, you’re pretty smart.”

“How did you and Wei-xiong meet?” Nie Huaisang asks. He’s staring at Wen Ning, grinning with his teeth. Nie Cheng hooks a finger around the end of Nie Huaisang’s sleeve, blinking up at Wen Ning, who stutters out something about the archery contest and meeting Wei Wuxian in a forest while he was practicing. Wei Wuxian is encouraging him, giving Wen Ning his bow to allow the boy to show off his skills. Wen Ning’s hands are shaking so hard Nie Cheng thought he would have dropped the bow, but to his surprise, Wen Ning makes shot after shot, the arrows cleaning piercing through the middle of the target.

Dangerous. Dangerous. Dangerous.

Wen Ning nearly drops his bow when Wei Wuxian goes to compliment him. He looks back at the three of them seated in the grass, where Yu Jiaxin is already cheering for him as well. Nie Huaisang claps along, though he doesn’t say anything. Nie Cheng looks up at the Wen, at his pale skin and nervous eyes. If he were any less pathetic-looking, Nie Cheng thinks, he would’ve tried to pull Nie Huaisang away and make sure they never came in contact.

“Good job,” Nie Cheng tells Wen Ning, feeling his throat dry. Wen Ning brightens at the praise, slyly ducking his head down. This boy isn’t Wen Ruhuan, he tries to remind himself, he’s just one of their classmates. If Wei Wuxian liked him so much, surely he couldn’t be that bad. Still, he cannot help but keep an eye on Wen Ning, who flusters under all the attention placed on him.

“Nie san-gongzi’s skills were also impressive,” Wen Ning says, fiddling with his fingers. “I was watching you during the archery competition.”

Nie Cheng brushes off his words; he was better with his sword then with any silly bow, and he knew it. There was no need to sugarcoat it, the bow simply wasn’t his best weapon. Wei Wuxian had been the one to place at the top anyways, not him. But Wen Ning was kind. He returned favors, and already clung onto Wei Wuxian despite only knowing him for a few moments. Nie Cheng could learn to put up with him.

And then his sister came, eyes blazing and voice ringing through his ears, and Nie Cheng cannot help the way he puts his arm over Nie Huaisang, the way he clutches Yu Jiaxin as if to pull her along when they run. Wen Qing is nothing like her brother: she is stern, and strong, and protective, and if the situation was any less terrifying Nie Cheng would note with a bit of irony that all older siblings seemed to act the same way. He sees Nie Mingjue’s love in Wen Qing’s actions, and how her hands are quick and precise like a medic’s. That’s all Nie Cheng needs to know to understand that she and her brother shouldn’t be crossed, and that he and his brother should be leaving now.

Perhaps his prejudice ran strong, but Nie Cheng has grown up with the shadow of his father’s death looming over his head. He and Nie Huaisang had nearly been killed themselves, if not for a stroke of luck that Nie Huaisang hadn’t chosen to drink the medicine their nanny usually left out that very day. Nie Cheng walked into the discussion conference uneasy, and untrusting, and as paranoid as Nie Mingjue was when he warned his brothers to stay careful. He can only hope that his fears are unfounded, and that the few years of relative silence they had from the Wens would continue. That the five great cultivation sects could live in harmony, and work together instead of tearing each other apart.

And then the Cloud Recesses burn.

- - - -

Nie Cheng does not know how to hate.

He knows the warm air of love, the stinging pain of rejection, and the all consuming feeling of bitter resentment. He knows how to grieve, and yearn, and dislike, but he does not know true hate. His father had not let him; he always said that hatred would bring ruin, that such a strong negative emotion was dangerous for Nies who already held so much anger in their heart. Even after he was gone, Nie Mingjue had continued his legacy, teaching his brothers to be upset, to detest, but never to hate.

Even as he watched the way Jiang Fengmian started distancing himself away from Jiang Cheng when Wei Wuxian showed up, even when neglect turned to attention that Jiang Cheng did not want, even as he dragged his weakening body away from Lotus Pier. Even as Jiang Cheng died and a new boy rose to life, Nie Cheng does not hate his old family. He is afraid of their wrath, envious of the way Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli were treated better, and angry at the way they mistreated a boy who wanted nothing more than to be loved, but he does not hate. Hate was strong. It was all consuming, an addiction that would take hold of your life and control it like a puppeteer. You will be driven by it, like a devout worshipper on their knees in front of a god that does not love them. It holds power over the lives of many, and Nie Cheng will not let himself be added to that list.

And so, Nie Cheng does not know how to hate. But, as he watches Lan Wangji lay in the infirmary bed, his leg bloody and twisted in an unnatural way, he thinks he is starting to learn how to.

“Where’s Xichen-xiong?” he asks, gripping Lan Wangji’s hand tightly. Nie Mingjue is already speaking to Lan Qiren, assessing the damage the Wens had caused when they stormed in and set the Cloud Recesses ablaze. For Qingheng-Jun’s wrongdoings, they had claimed. Nie Cheng looks at the burnt library, at the fire that has spread and destroyed the fields he had spent his youth playing in, at the buildings he had stayed in when he was a disciple here, and wonders just exactly what Qingheng-Jun’s crimes were that the Wens had to destroy an entire home for it. He wonders if there even were any crimes, or if the Wens were simply finding excuses to partake in their sadistic destruction.

Speaking of Qingheng-Jun, Nie Cheng finally meets the man for the first time, after a lifetime of being friends with his sons. He is lying a bed not too far away from Lan Wangji, eyes closed in a long sleep. His injuries are so grotesque that Nie Cheng cannot stand to look at him for more than a few minutes. In that time, he tries looking for Lan Wangji in his father’s face, and finds he can find some similarities, but not much. Lan Xichen looks more like Lan Wangji’s father than Qingheng-Jun does.

Their mother, Lan-furen, is not present. Nie Cheng learns that she had not been present for some time.

“Gone,” Lan Wangji croaks out, his voice weak. Nie Cheng clutches him tighter; it was unnatural, to see Lan Wangji in such a state. He does not like it, does not like the way it makes his skin crawl with unease. Like it was a premonition for the times to come. “He managed to take some of the library’s scrolls with him and ran. I do not know where he is.”

“We’ll find him,” Nie Cheng promises. Lan Xichen had to be safe, he had to. For Lan Wangji’s sake, for Nie Mingjue’s sake, for the Cloud Recesses’ sake. What a heavy weight he was carrying on his shoulders. Nie Cheng does not envy the man, though he still hopes the great expectations set on Lan Xichen will bring him back to them. “We’ll find him, Wangji-ge. And we can help with rebuilding, once your leg gets better. When you get better, we can— we can fix it.”

“Xiao Cheng,” Lan Wangji says. His tone is gentle, like trying to placate a crying child. Lan Wangji was always gentle with him, despite what others said. He was good, and Nie Cheng did not like seeing someone so dear to him in such pain. “Xiao Cheng, I am fine.”

“No you’re not!” Nie Cheng snaps. He didn’t want to pretend so, didn’t want to brush aside what had happened even if Lan Wangji meant it as a means to comfort him. Nie Cheng would be more comforted if everything wasn’t falling apart before his eyes. “You’re injured, and Xicheng-xiong is gone, and everything is ruined and it’s all the fault of those damn Wens—”

“I will be fine,” Lan Wangji corrects, interrupting Nie Cheng’s rant. He squeezes Nie Cheng’s hand; though his voice is unstable, his grip is still strong, and Nie Cheng clutches to it like it was his anchor. “Time will heal my injuries.”

Lan Wangji does not get his time. No one gets their time, not when the Wens are sending out demands for each sect to send their children to Qishan Wen. One member of each main family must attend. It is a pathetic attempt at indoctrination, and Nie Cheng is starting to dread the red seals that mark the letters written to Nie Mingjue by the clan of the never-setting sun. When Nie Mingjue receives the letter, he immediately crumples it up, throwing it on the floor. It bounces around before finally landing at Nie Cheng’s feet. He picks it up, smoothing it out to read for himself before passing it on to Nie Huaisang.

“Who do they think they are!?” Nie Mingjue roars, slamming his hand on the table. It rattles, though Nie Cheng cannot find it in himself that he is afraid. He does not fear his brother’s anger. Rather, he is worried of what is to come if they follow through with the Wen’s request, and what is to come if they don’t. “Does Qishan Wen think itself so great that they can just demand whatever they want from us?”

“It’s practically a hostage situation,” Nie Huaisang comments, placing the letter on Nie Mingjue’s desk. The innocuous piece of paper sits between the three of them, like a harbinger of doom, a heavy hand bomb just waiting to go off. Nie Cheng takes it back into his hands, examines it, and pulls the pin.

“I’ll go.”

Immediately, he is met with protests from both Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang. But Nie Cheng doesn’t care; it doesn’t make sense to send anyone else. He says as much.

“Da-ge is a sect leader, we can’t give them that,” Nie Cheng says. “Ge can’t defend himself as well as I can. I’ll go, if they kill me Qinghe Nie will still be able to function properly.”

“That is not how it works!” Nie Mingjue snaps. “I’m not letting you sacrifice yourself!”

“I’ll go,” Nie Huaisang volunteers. “Xiao Cheng can stay here and look after the sect with Da-ge. Between the three of us, I’m the more expendable. Besides, I’ll find a way out.”

“If I stay here, who will protect you?” Nie Cheng asks. He’s angry, fury burning bright in his blood at not being able to do anything, at not being able to stop the Wens or stop his brothers from trying to go. He won’t let them die, he won’t, he won’t. “I’m not letting you put yourself in danger.”

“I’m not letting you put yourself in danger,” Nie Huaisng frowns. “Listen to me; I can protect myself. I’m your older brother, Xiao Cheng, it’s my duty to take care of you.”

“Between me and you, I have the greatest chance of surviving,” Nie Cheng argues. “I promise I can make it out alive. I’ll come back.”

“If you go, I’m going with you,” Nie Huaisang says. Nie Cheng feels sick that they’re even arguing about this, that they’re talking about themselves like one would talk about sending lambs out for slaughter.

“Absolutey not.” Nie Cheng shuts that idea down immediately. “I need you here helping Da-ge. You two need to make sure the sect is well guarded against the Wens in case anything happens.”

Nie Cheng needs to know his brothers were safe. He needs to have that peace of mind, or else he’ll be split between trying to keep both himself and Nie Huaisang alive. Nie Cheng could barely cope with Lan Wangji’s broken leg; he wouldn’t be able to handle Nie Huaisang or Nie Mingjue getting injured. Nie Huaisang purses his lips, but doesn’t say anything. Nie Cheng takes his grim victory for what it is.

“There has to be some way we can circumvent this,” Nie Mingjue says. His head is in his hands, braids in disarray as he tries to make sense of the situation they’ve found themselves in. Nie Huaisang shakes his head, and perhaps it is the easy way he gives up that makes Nie Mingjue concede.

“You must stay safe,” he tells Nie Cheng, placing his hands on Nie Cheng’s shoulders. Nie Cheng looks up at his brother’s eyes and does not think he has ever seen so much worry in them. Nie Mingjue is helpless to do anything, and he knows it. “Keep your head down, keep to yourself, don’t say anything that could get you in trouble. You must make it back.”

“I’ll look out for you,” Nie Huaisang promises. He joins their circle, clinging onto one of Nie Cheng’s hands. Nie Cheng opens his mouth to respond, but Nie Huaisang beats him to it. “I’m not going, I’ll stay, promise. But I’ll take care of you, Xiao Cheng. If anything, anything happens, I’ll know. You will stay safe.”

On the day of his departure, Nie Cheng buries himself in his brothers’ arms. He clings to them tight, and prays this is not the last time he will be able to see them.

“I won’t let anything happen, even if they all try,” Nie Huaisang whispers to him. He clings to Nie Cheng, fingers digging into Nie Cheng’s arms. It sounds like Nie Huaisang is threatening the world, cursing the people who seemed to be looking for their downfalls. Nie Cheng doesn’t know what he can do exactly, but if it makes Nie Huaisang feel better, he’ll gladly listen to any words his brother says. “Call for me, Xiao Cheng, and I’ll come. No matter how far you are, I’ll come if you need me.”

“I need you safe,” Nie Cheng says, pulling away. “Please, Ge, promise me.”

“As long as you are as well,” Nie Huaisang replies. He sends Nie Cheng off with enough protective talismans to last a lifetime placed everywhere, stuffed into his qiankun pouches and embroidered into his robes. Nie Mingjue hands him a weapon, a small knife easily concealed in the sleeve of his robes. It feels like he is being sent to war when he leaves, and Nie Cheng does not like what that feeling is predicting.

He leaves with Wu Hujin and Li Guangmu, two senior disciples that Nie Mingjue had personally trained. They flock around him, like bodyguards, alert to the Wens surrounding them as they step into Qishan Wen. Nie Cheng sees the other disciples gathered in a small group at the entrance, and his heart sinks. Wei Wuxian is here, alongside Yu Jiaxin. Most importantly, Lan Wangji is here, despite not being fully healed. For the first time, Nie Cheng wishes he was alone. Wei Wuxian clasps a hand on his shoulder when Nie Cheng approaches, and when he tells them of the debate that happened between the three Nie brothers, Nie Cheng can tell the others are relieved that Nie Huaisang doesn’t have to experience this as well.

Wen Chao meets them at the entrance, accompanied by Wang Lingjiao and Wen Zhuliu. Nie Cheng looks closely at Wang Lingjiao, eyes tracing over her features. She looks like his old nanny, he thinks with a startle. Wang Junmei; Wang-ayi, he had called her, recalling the way he had woken up to seeing her with a knife aimed at Nie Huaisang’s back. Nie Cheng doesn’t think he’s ever been more afraid in his life. He looks away, not wanting to upset Wen Chao for staring at his mistress. It doesn’t seen to matter, anyways, since Wen Chao immediately starts barking out orders for them to hand over their swords.

“Hey!” he says to Nie Cheng, who has a hand over Pulao’s sheath. “Hand it over, cripple.”

Nie Cheng scowls, but stretched out his arm to drop his sword into Wen Chao’s awaiting hands. He feels oddly exposed without his sword, like part of his stone wall had been destroyed and was crumbling down. The other Nie disciples are not as obedient. Wu Hujin in particular, prideful to a fault, argues with Wen Chao, loud enough for Wen Zhuliu to start walking over. That’s when Nie Cheng gets scared.

“Just do it,” he hisses to Wu Hujin. “That’s an order, Shixiong.”

Wu Hujin frowns, but does as he’s told. As soon as his sword leaves his hands, Nie Cheng pulls him back, not releasing his hold until his sees Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu move on to another sect’s disciples. Nie Cheng breathes out a sigh of relief, placing his hand over his chest.

“Wen Chao was going to have Wen Zhuliu take your core if you didn’t obey,” he tells Wu Hujin, whose eyes widen. “Do you want that?”

Wu Hujin’s his hands flies to cover his stomach, where his golden core lies. Nie Cheng feels tempted to do the same, even as he can feel it thrumming under his skin. “No! He can do that? Those damned Wens!”

“So we have to be careful,” Nie Cheng reminds them. Both Wu Hujin and Li Guangmu nod.

“Wanyin,” Yu Jiaxin calls out to him. She holds out her hand, and Nie Cheng takes it, allowing her to drag him forward. Yu Jiaxin looks different without her hair pins dangling around her buns. The look on her face is grim, like she already knows what to expect from the Wens. “Stay close. Huaisang told me he wouldn’t be attending. He asked me to look after you. Ha! As if I wouldn’t have done that already.”

“Shijie needs to be careful too,” Nie Cheng says, squeezing her hand. He doesn’t like the way Wen Chao has been eying Yu Jiaxin, like she was a prey he could hunt down and hang on his mantle like some kind of sick award. Wen Chao’s eyes wandered from disciple to disciple, all female. Nie Cheng can only hope it isn’t Yu Jiaxin he ultimately chooses.

Their stay at Qishan Wen is not pleasant. The Wens are cruel without the influence of the other sects looming over them. Nie Cheng has been beaten more times than he can count. Those nights, he dreams of Jiang Fengmian, though even comparing him to the Wens seems cruel. The indoctrination was just an excuse for the Wens to bully the other sect heirs while making deals with their families. Nie Cheng tries to listen to Nie Mingjue’s advice and keep his head down. Still, he cannot help but interfere, especially when it regards his friends or sect mates.

They depart on a night hunt with the Wen disciples one day, trekking through Dust-Creek Mountain. They’re hunting for some supposed beast, though the details the Wens provided were not clear. Nie Cheng is trying his best not to wince at the way Lan Wangji limps and drags his foot around, and is thinking of a way to get Lan Wangji to accept his help when he hears a scream. It’s loud, a high-pitched noise that hurts his ears and causes his blood to curdle because that voice was familiar.

Nie Cheng’s body acts before his mind can, and he is already dragging Yu Jiaxin away from Wen Chao and pulling her behind him before he can think. Wei Wuxian steps in front of both of them, arm raised as he glares at Wen Chao, who has a bright red mark on his left cheek from where Yu Jiaxin hit him.

“Shijie?” Nie Cheng asks.

“I’m fine, Wanyin,” she says. Her fingers dig into the back of his robes and her breaths come out shaky, but she quickly collects herself, placing a hand on Nie Cheng’s arm to reassure him. Nie Cheng doesn’t want to be reassured. He just wants everyone safe, and right now they were the farthest away from being safe that they could.

Wen Chao doesn’t seem to care about Yu Jiaxin’s rejection, simply moving onto the next female disciple closest to him. A girl from the Jin sect, based on her robes. She flinches, freezing in place as Wen Chao looms over her. He reaches out, hand about to touch her, but gets pushed away by Wei Wuxian, who is once again standing between Wen Chao and the girl.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks Wen Chao. “Can’t you see she doesn’t want you?”

“Step aside,” Wen Chao barks out. “Or you’ll regret it.”

Wei Wuxian refuses to budge, instead straightening his back as he sizes up Wen Chao. Wen Chao takes a step towards him, but before he can do anything Wang Lingjiao comes back with a vicious scowl on her face. Nie Cheng hadn’t even noticed her leaving.

“Enough!” she says. Her eyes narrow onto the Jin girl and Yu Jiaxin, snorting before she looks away to bat her eyes at Wen Chao. “I found the cave we’ve been looking for. Let’s move.”

“Finally,” Wen Chao grumbles. They follow the two Wens into a small cave, the dark and damp atmosphere making the hair on Nie Cheng’s hair stand up. He sticks close to Lan Wangji and Yu Jiaxin. Wei Wuxian was with the Jin girl, who Nie Cheng overheard him call “Mianmian”. No doubt another silly nickname of his. Wen Chao examines the cave, holding his sword up in the air.

“There’s a creature in here,” he announces. “We’ll need to lure it out. Blood will be the best way; A-Jiao, go string up one of those disciples and let them bleed out.”

Wang Lingjiao grins, an ugly smile that Nie Cheng is ashamed to admit gives him relief when it gets directed to Mianmian. He moves to stand in front of Yu Jiaxin, just in case. Wang Lingjiao points at Mianmian, who shrieks, stepping away to avoid Wang Lingjiao’s hand. She hides behind Jin Zixuan, who unfortunately is standing right next to Nie Cheng. Nie Cheng pushes Yu Jiaxin aside, letting her stand behind Lan Wangji. He doesn’t want Wang Lingjiao’s attention unintentionally straying away to catch her as well.

“Move aside,” Wang Liaojiao says. “I need that girl to catch our prey.”

“No,” Jin Zixuan scowls. “You can’t use someone from my sect for your disgusting actions.”

Nie Cheng has to admit, for as much of a jerk that Jin Zixuan was, he had his moments. Wen Chao’s eyes darken, and he pushes past Wang Lingjiao to stare at Jin Zixuan. Nie Cheng finds himself stepping closer to Jin Zixuan, further blocking Wen Chao’s route to Mianmian. The Wen is, unsurprisingly, not pleased.

“If you dont step aside I’ll kill everyone in Lanling Jin and Qinghe Nie,” he threatens. “How would you like that?”

Nie Cheng’s blood runs cold, but he doesn’t move. Partially because of his desire to protect Mianmian, and mostly because his fear response wouldn’t let him. Wen Chao seemed to take it as an act of direct rebellion, though, so it didn’t really matter what Nie Cheng’s true intentions were. Jin Zixuan doesn’t budge as well, going so far as to lean in closer to Wen Chao.

“Didn’t Wen Mao say that those who abuse their power deserve to die a gruesome death?” Wei Wuxian suddenly pipes up, crossing his arms. Nie Cheng desperately wishes for him to shut up, but Wei Wuxian was never one for listening to others. “Wen Chao, don’t you think your great founder would be extremely disgusted with you right now?”

That seems to be Wen Chao’s breaking point as he lunges at Wei Wuxian, grabbing him by the hair and yanking. Wei Wuxian retaliates, punching him in the eye, and raising his leg to kick Wen Chao in the stomach. Someone rushes towards them, and Nie Cheng’s heart drops are he realizes it’s Wen Zhuliu. Luckily, all he does is pull Wen Chao away from Wei Wuxian, though Nie Cheng cannot stop thinking of what if, of all the possibilities that could’ve just happened.

The ground beneath Wei Wuxian starts to shake, and Wei Wuxian himself stumbles as he rises above them. Nie Cheng takes in the creature that seemed to be awakening in front of them; this must have been the creature that Wen Chao had sensed. Wei Wuxian had been standing on its shell, and now he was trying to desperately get off. The creature knocks Wen Chao to the ground, who gets supported by Wang Lingjiao.

“You bitch!” Wang Lingjiao cries, raising her arm as she runs towards Mianmian. There’s a branding iron in her hand, Nie Cheng realizes as he gets shoved to the ground, landing hard enough to cause a bruise to form on his elbow. He can’t slow down, however, as he reaches into his robe and pulls out the knife Nie Mingjue had given him. He had been saving it, but as it flies through the air and embeds itself into Wang Lingjiao’s arm, causing her to cry out and drop the branding iron onto the ground, he thinks now was the right time to use it. Wang Lingjiao shakes her hand around, but all that causes is for the knife to cut through her skin a bit more before falling out, allowing for her blood to freely flow through her wounds.

“A-Jiao!” Wen Chao cries, rushing to her side. He looks up, eyes locking with Nie Cheng’s, but at that moment the creature roars, and Wen Chao chooses instead to run away. In fact, all the Wen disciples are fleeing, and as the last one escapes they block up the exit they just used, leaving the others disciples in the cave with the creature. Nie Cheng picks up the knife Wang Lingjiao had dropped, holding it in front of him as he stares up at the creature.

“Are we doomed to die here!?” one disciples cries. It starts off a chain of reactions, ranging from fearful cries to murmurs of their unfortunate fates.

“Everyone shut up!” Nie Cheng shouts. The cave quiet, though the creature continues to roar. Lan Wangji stares at the water, observing the still water. Nie Cheng stares at his reflection in the mirror; there is a grim look on Lan Wangji’s face, though it is observant, like how he looks when studying texts in the library.

“There are maple leaves in the water. They must have floated down from above,” he says. “There is a second exit.”

“I’ll go look for it,” Nie Cheng says. He hands the knife over to Wei Wuxian, clasping his arm. “Distract that beast, Shixiong.”

“You’re not going alone, are you?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Your brothers would kill me if I let you do that.”

“It’s the best way,” Nie Cheng replies, shaking his head. Too many people would just cause a bigger target to be placed on their backs. “Just make sure that creature’s attention isn’t focused on me, and we’ll be fine.”

With that said, Nie Cheng runs past the creature, darting around its legs. He looks up, desperately searching through the sharp rock formations to look for any sight of an opening. It’s hard to see, and from behind him Nie Cheng can make out the roars of the creature and Wei Wuxian’s voice taunting it right back. The air is damp the further in he goes, and Nie Cheng feels like he is choking on the pressure to locate an entrance, but finally he spots a beam of moonlight shining down on the water below him.

“Over here!” he calls out. “Come over!”

He jumps up, grabbing onto the rocks as he pulls himself up. When Nie Cheng feels the grass prick the skin between his fingers, he nearly cries out of sheer relief. The footsteps of the other disciples splash behind him, and when Nie Cheng turns around he can see them following after him. He quickly rolls out of the way, pulling up the other disciples that are climbing out of the cave. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are near the back, with the creature chasing after them. All of a sudden, something flies through the air. An arrow hits Wei Wuxian, and immediately Nie Cheng is turning his head back to see who did it.

It was a Lan disciple. Shu She, that unassuming disciple who had joined them when they went to hunt the waterborne abyss. Nie Cheng tackles him to the ground, snatching the bow out of his arms. Shu She struggles as the other Nie disciples keep him pinned down.

“It was an accident!” he cries. “I was trying to shoot the creature, but Wei Wuxian was too close!”

Even Nie Cheng could’ve made that shot. Nie Cheng snorts, but the damage has already been done. He can no longer make out the water sitting in the bottom of the cave; the exit had been blocked. All Nie Cheng could see was the shell of the creature.

“Wei-shixiong?” he yells, kneeling down to get his voice through the cave. “Wangji-ge?”

No response.

Nie Cheng freezes. He doesn’t know what to do. How were they going to save Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji? Was there another exit they could find that they could escape through? What if the craeture got to them before they could figure out a way to get to Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji?

“Wanyin.” Yu Jiaxin places a hand on his shoulder. She looks exhausted, her robes in disarray as she purses her lips. “We need to move. The Wens will be after us once they realize we’re not dead. We can go get help from the other sects to rescue Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji.”

“Right-- right.” Nie Cheng tries to stand up, stumbling on his first attempt but managing to do so with the help of Yu Jiaxin. He looks at the other disciples, raising his voice so they could all hear. “We need to leave this mountain. Once we’re out, it’ll be easy to get in contact with our families.”

Going down the mountain was easier said than done. Nie Cheng and the others are nearly ambushed multiple times from the patrolling Wens. They seemed all too determined to make sure no one left alive, but Nie Cheng was even set on going against them. The shrubbery cut through his robes and left scratches on his legs, but it was better than getting shot in the chest with an arrow, so Nie Cheng took what he could. Hidden by the shadows of the night, the group of disciples made their way down.

Once they were out, they still had to travel to their sects to inform their sect leaders of the news. Nie Cheng commanded the Jiang and Lan disciples to head back and inform their leaders as soon as possible, as they were the closest sects, and their heirs were in danger. Jin Zixuan took control of the Jin disciples, though he sends Nie Cheng an approving nod before they leave. Yu Jiaxin nearly refused to leave him, but Nie Cheng convinced her it was better if she went back home to send for reinforcements. Reluctantly, she agreed, but not before stuffing his arms with healing herbs. Now, stuck with his own sect mates, Nie Cheng didn’t quite know what to do. Qinghe Nie was the farthest from the mountain they had just departed from, and he didn’t know if they would be able to make it back in time.

Luckily, his sect mates seemed to know exactly what they needed. Wu Hujin and Li Guangmu take him into town, speaking to an unassuming restaurant worker sweeping the streets. Before he knew it, Nie Cheng was being seated at the table, a cup of tea poured in front of him while Wu Hujin assured him everything would be taken care of. Li Guangmu was now speaking to a small group of people, all of whom left the restaurant soon after, taking off in different directions.

“Qinghe Nie will receive the news in a few days,” Li Guangmu says, sitting down across from Nie Cheng, who blinks. How could news travel that fast? As far as he knew, Qinghe Nie didn’t have contacts this far out of their circle of influence.

“Of course, it will take them time to travel,” Wu Hujin says. “We’ll meet them halfway, near Lanling. Er-gongzi should already be on his way.”

“Ge?” Nie Cheng asks. “What’s he doing near Lanling?”

Wu Hujin and Li Guangmu share a look before Li Guangmu swiftly changes the topic. They discuss their next plan of action, ultimately concluding that there was nothing much Nie Cheng could do. He could only hope that the Jiang and Lan sects manage to go after Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji.

They don’t stay for long in town, instead hitching a ride on the back of a cart on its way to Lanling. Nie Cheng watches as Wu Hujin talks to the farmer driving the cart, waving his hand in various motions before finally pointing to the left. The farmer nods, and once they reach a crossroad he turns the cart onto a path that Nie Cheng is sure isn’t going to Lanling.

“He’s taking us directly to our meeting spot,” Wu Hujin explains.

“Why?” Nie Cheng asks. “Doesn’t he need to deliver his goods to Lanling? Why go off his route for us?”

“This is more convenient for him too.” Li Guangmu says. He places a hand on Nie Cheng’s head, smoothing down his hair in a motion similar to what Nie Huaisang liked to do to get Nie Cheng to sleep when they were younger. “After dropping us off, he will pick up some goods from in town before heading to Lanling. It’s beneficial for both of us.”

“Oh…” That made sense. Maybe. It seemed a bit too convenient, but Nie Cheng wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He settles down, eyes fluttering shut. He was exhausted, after a day of being worked to the bone by the Wens, the night hunt, and having to run off the mountain. His bones feel sore, and his robes are tattered to shreds. Nie Cheng is taken back to the night he ran away from Lotus Pier, how he just kept running and running despite his body screaming at him to stop.

In the background, he can hear Wu Hujin and Li Guangmu whispering something about “Er-gongzi and his men”, but his mind is already drifting off, too tired to process their words. He falls asleep, hoping that this time, his dreams will be empty.

Chapter Text

When Nie Cheng steps into the inn room Nie Huaisang had rented, he’s swept up into the tightest, most bone-crushing hug he’s ever experienced. Nie Huaisang clings to him like a lost child reuniting with his mother, like a parasite latching onto its host. In a more affectionate way, of course.

“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling back to examine Nie Cheng’s face and body. Nie Cheng grips onto Nie Huisang, digging his fingers into the gray robes.

“Ge— Wei-shixiong and Wangji-ge, they’re still in there, I don’t know— they got stuck and there’s this creature in there and we need to get them out, they can’t stay in there— they’re both injured and that creature is terrifying and I don’t know what to do—”

“It’s okay,” Nie Huaisang shushes him, raising a hand to stroke through Nie Cheng’s hair. He buries his fingers through the strands, letting it spill through his hand like an overflowing river. “We’ll help them, okay? But I need Xiao Cheng safe to be able to worry about other people. What happened? Do you know where the Wens went after they left the disciples in that cave?”

“Ge, you even know about this?” Nie Cheng asks, surprised. After all, Nie Huaisang had been in Qinghe Nie all this time. Unless he had somehow disguised himself and snuck in, how could he have such a clear understanding as to what happened?

“I told you I would keep an eye out on you.” Nie Huaisang doesn’t clarify any further, instead leading Nie Cheng to the bed. He sits Nie Cheng down, forcing him to lie down with a gentle nudge. It feels like Nie Cheng is eight years old all over again and being tucked in for bedtime. He sighs as Nie Huaisang pulls the blanket up to his chin, listening to his brother murmur something about lack of quality and stale air. Nie Cheng just lets Nie Huaisang fuss about with the blankets and mattress, knowing that it will make him feel better.

“Xiao Cheng should get some rest first,” Nie Huaisang says, patting Nie Cheng’s head. “I have some business I’ll deal with first. And then once you wake, we can get dinner and start heading back home, alright?”

“But Wei-shixiong and Wangji-ge are—”

“—being dealt with as we speak,” Nie Huaisang says. “I promise they’ll make it out alive. Plus, I’m sure the Jiangs and Lans are already on their way to alert their sect masters as we speak.”

“Promise we’ll help?” Nie Cheng asks. He can’t just leave Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji behind, he won’t let them die if he can help. Surely Nie Cheng can do something to make sure they’re safe.

“Promise,” Nie Huaisang replies, hooking his pinky finger around Nie Cheng’s. Nie Huaisang’s hands are soft, delicate after years of calligraphy and skipping out on sword practice. Compared to Nie Cheng’s rough, calloused skin, Nie Huaisang feels like a domestic cat that has been pampered all its life, staying indoors and being fed only the highest quality meats. And yet a housecat still has its claws, no matter how spoiled it may be. Nie Huaisang places Nie Cheng’s hand down, covering it with his own. “Sleep now, Xiao Cheng. It’s been hard on you.”

Not as hard as it’s been on others, Nie Cheng thinks. Still, Nie Huaisang doesn’t seem to be in the mood to discuss the conditions of others, not when Nie Cheng was about to pass out after all the adrenaline seeps out of his body. Nie Huaisang shuts the door behind him as Nie Cheng closes his eyes, willing his body to take a rest and recover.

Nie Huaisang presses his ear against the wooden door, listening for the telltale signs of Nie Cheng’s unconsciousness. Only once the air behind the door seems to go still and Nie Huaisang can strain to hear soft snoring does he leave, taking the stairs down two steps at a time.

“Er-gongzi,” Wu Hujin says, standing up and bowing. Li Guangmu follows in his stead before Nie Huaisang waves them off, gesturing for them to sit while he slides into the chair across from them. “Is San-gognzi okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Nie Huaisang says, pulling out his fan and flipping it open. The tassel that Nie Cheng had gifted him dangles from the bottom, swinging back and forth. “Once we return, prepare a group of cultivators to start heading towards the Wen sect. Given the distance, they should be able to meet with the Jiang cultivators before they arrive at Dusk-Creek mountain. Have them inform the Jiang cultivators that San-gongzi sent them in concern for his friends.”

“You don’t think the Lans will send anyone?” Li Guangmu asks. Nie Huaisang shakes his head, tracing abstract patterns across the wood grain of the table.

“They’ll be too busy trying to reorganize,” he says, fanning himself. The cool air helps calm him down. Nie Huaisang taps his nail against the table, feeling how to force of the blow travels back up his finger. “The sect leader is in critical condition, and the Cloud Recesses need to be rebuilt and protected before they can even think of doing anything. No, this will be a Jiang mission, and so we must provide our assistance.”

Nie Huaiasng snaps his fan shut, tapping it against the edge of the table. “You two will accompany the rest of the group. I’m sure you’ve made sure to remember the path back to the cave, yes?”

“Yes, Er-gongzi!” Wu Hujin and Li Guangmu chorus in union, Nie Huaisang smiles, his lips curling up like a cat who had successfully caught its prey.

“Good,” he says. “Lets’s finish this as soon as possible. In the meantime, I’ll start looking into Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu. I have a feeling they’ll be causing us trouble very soon.”

- - - -

After a week of healing and anxiously pacing around, Nie Cheng finally hears word that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have been rescued. Nie Cheng all but collapses into his seat once he learns of it; he nearly tried to fly off to the Cloud Recesses to check up on Lan Wangji, but Nie Huaisang had stopped him before his feet could even leave the ground. Ever since the Wen’s camp, Nie Huaisang had seemed clingier than ever, refusing to let Nie Cheng out of his sight. The worst part was that Nie Mingjue was in full agreement with his sentiments, meaning Nie Cheng had not one, but two brothers to try to get off his back.

“They’re starting to get restless,” Nie Mingjue explains to him once Nie Cheng complains for the umpteenth time that he wants to leave the Unclean Realm. “It isn’t safe on the roads anymore; who knows when they’ll attack?”

“But Da-ge,” Nie Cheng whines.

“But nothing,” Nie Mingjue says, firm in his decision. “We were worried sick about you, Xiao Cheng. Give us some peace of mind for a while, alright?”

The only good thing that came out of Nie Cheng’s unofficial house arrest is that the time he normally spent going into town or visiting other sects was now spent with Nie Mingjue, who seemed determined to make more time for his brothers. Even though Pulao is still in the hands of the Wen, Nie Cheng makes sure to practice his sword stances. He practiced sparring with his da-ge, and even though Nie Cheng rarely ever won, he always came out of it feeling stronger. Sore, exhausted, and utterly defeated, but stronger nonetheless, like he can feel his muscles tearing and rebuilding themselves to be stronger from inside his body.

Nie Cheng looks up to Nie Mingjue like he was an all-powerful guardian who had taken Nie Cheng in. Though they were technically brothers, Nie Mingjue had stepped into a more parental role after their father passed away. It helped that he was older— not by much, but by enough— and much more mature than Nie Cheng or Nie Huaisang ever are. Nie Cheng wonders if their father’s passing had forced Nie Mingjue’s hand, had made him grow up faster than he had to. Sometimes he looks at Nie Mingjue and tries to compare him to Jiang Yanli, but the two are so different that Nie Cheng has trouble remembering that they’re about the same age. Nie Cheng tells Nie Mingjue as much at dinner one day.

“The duties I hold and the duties Jiang Yanli hold are vastly different,” Nie Mingjue tells him, placing a hand atop Nie Cheng’s head. He ruffles his hair, almost as if he were petting a small dog. “She may not have to worry about sect funding or recruiting more disciples, but I will never have to worry about sucking up to those haughty Jins, or about providing a son for them. I will never have to leave my home and move into a new sect, and spend the rest of my days trying to secure my position there by appeasing my husband.”

“You still need a son,” Nie Cheng points out.

“That’s what I have you and A-Sang for,” Nie Mingjue laughs. As he’s gotten older, his laugh has started to resemble their late father’s. It was a deep, booming laugh that Nie Cheng had nearly forgotten the sound of. It tugs at his heart, and if heard from a distance it almost sounds like the ghost of their father is lingering nearby, still looking after his sons. Sometimes he tries to mimic the laugh in the privacy of his room, but he can never pitch his voice that low. Perhaps when he ages he’ll gain it as well. “Well, A-Sang may never marry, but I have hope for you. Then the duty of bearing a son will be passed onto you.”

“But I’m not—” Nie Cheng clears his throat, trying his best to explain his worries in a way that wouldn’t break the illusion they’ve created around themselves for all these years. “My blood isn’t like yours.”

“We all bleed the same red,” Nie Mingjue says, raising an eyebrow. He’s acting like Nie Cheng is asking him a stupid question. Which in his eyes it may be, but not to Nie Cheng. Never to Nie Cheng, who had stayed up on countless nights thinking over his future. “What more is there to it?”

“Everyone bleeds red,” Nie Cheng argues. “Shall we go find a random child off the streets and name them the next heir?”

“That’s different,” Nie Mingjue says. He scoots his chair over so he can wrap his arm around Nie Cheng, allowing his younger brother to look up and tug at his sleeve. Nie Cheng settles, feeling protected by the warm weight around him. “We share a bond that makes us family, no matter who you originally came from. We are brothers in life and death; in everything the universe knows and has yet to discover, and in everything it will never know of. You’ve dedicated your life to the sect, and I’ve dedicated my life to making sure you grow up happy and healthy. What more is there to it?”

Nie Cheng nods, tilting his head back to lean into Nie Mingjue’s arm. Nie Cheng knew he was loved. But perhaps it ran deeper than he thought, deeper than he imagined anyone’s love for him could ever run. He feels his nose sting, eyes fluttering in an attempt to get rid of the sudden dampness.

“Besides,” Nie Mingjue adds. “Everyone already thinks of us as half-brothers. It would be strange to forbid your children from inheriting the sect.”

“What if I never marry, and Ge never marries, and you never marry?” Nie Cheng asks.

“Between the three of us, can we all be bachelors?” Nie Mingjue asks, sighing. “It’s my fault, I suppose. Perhaps I should’ve found a female cultivator to help raise you two.”

“Mu-qianbei is a female cultivator,” Nie Cheng points out, recalling the female elder whose fingers always managed to find themselves pinching Nie Cheng’s cheeks, even as he grew older. She was as harsh with her words as she was with her sword, which is to say very harsh. Even so, Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang often found themselves trailing after her as she would sneak them into sect meetings, claiming it was good practice for the future. She likes popping into their classes to make sure they were actually paying attention and would make their shufu assign them extra laps to run if they weren’t. She reminded Nie Cheng of a stern grandmother, though of course she looked as young as Nie Cheng’s mother did.

“Mu Huangli would rather you court a blade than court a woman,” Nie Mingjue notes wryly. “She did always have soft spot for you.”

“What if I court a man?” Nie Cheng asks.

“Then we won’t all be bachelors, though I imagine Mu Huangli would still prefer you never marry,” Nie Mingjue replies. Nie Cheng nods; it all made sense. Some things were as complicated as knotted hair and grass stains, and some things just were, like breathing in the morning air from the rising sun. He just had to figure out what was what.

- - - -

Nie Cheng,

Guess who’s back! Haha, you didn’t think I would be bested by a turtle, did you? Actually, it wasn’t that bad, we took care of that beast pretty quickly and just layed around for the rest of the time. Lan Zhan and I had a lovely time there, we really got to know each other. For example, I learned he can carry a tune!

After a while, we got found by Shushu and your men. Imagine my surprise when I see a flock of gray robes, but no Xiao Cheng! Where was my xiao shidi hiding? I have to thank you, though, your disciples were really helpful. And very familiar with Lan Zhan; I knew you two were childhood friends, but this is too much! He’s been to the Unclean Realm before? Why haven’t I!? Ah, Nie Cheng, you have to come visit Lotus Pier soon, I promise it will be lots of fun!

I’m missing my Suibian, but I heard no one has their sword back. What need do the Wens have for all those swords anyways? My Suibian wouldn’t listen to them, its loyal to its master! I’m thinking of picking up an instrument in the meantime. Lan Zhan has a guqin, but those are boring, and his is extra boring because its name is just Wangji. Like his name; how uncreative!

I mean what I said by coming over to visit. The weather at Lotus Pier is really nice right now; I will admit it’s a bit warm, but it’s nothing you can’t handle, right? I’ll even put on a little talent show for you; Xiao Cheng can be the first of my audience members!

Your favorite shixiong,
Wei Ying

- - - -

“Dear Wei-shixiong,” Nie Cheng murmurs to himself, scribbling on a piece of parchment. “I’m glad to know you are well. I…have no current plans to visit Lotus Pier, but I’ll let you know if that ever changes. But probably not. You can visit me instead…”

His room behind him is a mess, robes littered around and blankets haphazardly thrown across the bed. A numerous amount of trinkets are sprinkled throughout his room, from the small dog carving Lan Wangji had gifted him all those years back to the grey spiritual energy-infused ribbon from Nie Huaisang that was tied to his bedpost. The paper cranes Nie Huaisang liked to fold were now accompanied by the paper dragon Yu Jiaxin had bought for him, its mouth open as if to strike. They dangle from the ceiling, and its as if the two animals were playing with each other, flying around him in a haze of colorful paper.

Nie Cheng’s desk wasn’t much better, filled with old assignments and letters. Nie Cheng usually keeps them stored in a box under his desk, but sometimes he likes to take them out and reread over them, tracing the childish letters that slowly grew more and more refined the more recent they got. He loved being home, sitting around in his bedroom doing nothing of real importance. There were so many little signs of his existence, that he was alive and breathing and loved, so dearly loved by the people around him.

Nie Cheng is finishing his letter to Wei Wuxian when he hears shouting in the hallway. Ducking his head out past the doorframe, Nie Cheng’s heart jumps up into his throat as he spots familiar white and red robes. What were the Wens doing here?

Nie Mingjue was speaking to Wang Lingjiao, Wen Chao’s mistress, the bitter one who tried to brand that Jin girl’s face. Her face is twisted up in an unpleasant way, further distorting her features. Nie Mingjue doesn’t seem all to happy either, crossing his arms with his shoulders pulled back and tensed up. Nie Cheng can’t make out what they’re saying, but he watches as Wang Lingjiao looks past Nie Mingjue and spots him. Her eyes flare up, her hand pointing at him as she snaps something at Nie Mingjue. Nie Cheng doesn’t need to hear anything to know this would not end well.

Sure enough, he finds himself standing by Nie Mingjue’s side in the greeting hall. Nie Huaisang stands across from him, and together they flank Nie Mingjue, who is sitting in his chair, the chair that once belonged to their father. Nie Cheng fiddles with his fingers behind his back, uncomfortable with the fact that he wasn’t armed with his spiritual sword. Sure, he had a regular sword attached to his hip, but he felt empty, and strangely exposed.

Wang Lingjiao paces around the room. Amongst the gray columns and gold accents, she looks out of place, like a wolf that had wandered into a flock of sheep. Perhaps he was biased, but Nie Cheng thought she was a bit ugly. He didn’t want her in his sight any longer, though it seemed like Wang Lingjiao had no intention of leaving anytime soon. At least, not without getting what she wanted. Unfortunately for her, it was the exact opposite of what Nie Mingjue wanted.

“He stabbed me!” Wang Lingjiao cries, pointing at Nie Cheng. “It’s only fair he gets punished for his crimes! Do you think any third-rate cultivator would dare harm me like that!?”

“I would watch what you call my brother, Wang-guniang,” Nie Mingjue warns. His hands grip the sides of the chair, eyes narrowed down at Wang Lingjiao. “Any insult to him is an insult to me, and I don’t take kindly to being disrespected. Furthermore, no harm shall come to any Nie sect members without my permission. And you are expressly banned from even touching Nie san-gongzi.”

“He must pay for what he did to me,” Wang Lingjiao sneers. The Wen envoys around her grip their swords, a clear threat that the Nie sect responds to in kind. Their disciples arm themselves as well, and Nie Cheng has a sinking feeling their thin line of diplomacy was about to snap.

“I apologize for my actions, Wang-guniang,” he says, pursing his lips. “However, I was only doing what I believed was best at the moment.”

“You think stabbing me was the best choice?” she snaps.

“I believed a mild distraction was the most efficient way to stop you from doing something terrible,” Nie Cheng replies, scowling. He wouldn’t have let Wang Lingjiao brand someone else’s face. She was lucky it wasn’t a Nie disciple or one of his friends she had attacked; Nie Cheng would’ve done much worse. Unfortunately for Nie Mingjue, his brothers hadn’t inherited his sense of justice, and Nie Cheng grew up leaning towards Nie Huaisang’s morality of justice and revenge more than anyone else’s.

“You’ll pay for what you did,” Wang Lingjiao says. Her face is twisted into a terrible scowl, and she had her own sword in hand, though Nie Cheng is confident he could still take her on in a fight.

“Do not threaten him, Wang-guniang,” Nie Mingjue warns. Nie Huaisang nods from besides him, hands poised behind his back. Nie Cheng can tell he’s also fidgeting around, moving his hands in a way that Nie Cheng can’t see. He wonders how nervous Nie Huaisang is; he doesn’t usually squirm around like that when cornered. Nie Huaisang had more of a tendency to ramble and pacing around if he could, but now he was completely silent.

“I’ll do what I please,” Wang Lingjiao sneers. Raising her hand, she charges toward Nie Cheng, her sword poised at his stomach. Nie Cheng steps back, blocking her swing with his own sword. They clash, metal scraping against metal in a harsh screech, sparks flying through the air. Wang Lingjiao infuses spiritual energy through her blade, but Nie Cheng manages to hold his own against her nevertheless. She was unsteady, not used to having to fight for herself as Wen Chao’s lover. Sure enough, as soon as she attacked the other Wens did as well, and Nie Cheng soon found himself surrounded by a small group of them.

“Kill them!” Wang Lingjiao screams. Respectfully, Nie Cheng does not agree with that. He cuts a Wen cultivator on the cheek, blood pouring from their wounds as he kicks them away. Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang are similarly cornered, though Nie Mingjue seems to be holding up against them just fine. It was Nie Huaisang that Nie Cheng was worried about, but his lack of cultivation was infamous amongst the Nie sect, and already a group of disciples have ran to his side to help. Nie Cheng can spot Wu Hujin and Li Guangmu amongst them, the two cultivators who had accompanied him to the Wen’s camp.

Nie Cheng doesn’t want to kill anyone, really, but as more and more cultivators approach him, he has a feeling he doesn’t have much of a choice. If they attack with the intent to murder, it’s only fair he reciprocates. Still, it doesn’t stop the way his hands shake when his sword cuts through the robes of a Wen and pierces into their gut, Nie Cheng pulling it out as quickly as it had entered. They falter, giving Nie Cheng enough time to push past them and hit them with the butt of his sword.

The meeting hall is in disarray, grey against red as the two sides fight. Nie Cheng tries to get closer to Wang Lingjiao, knowing that the faster that she goes down, the better. The smell of blood is quickly filling up his nose, and in the corner of his eye Nie Cheng can make out limp bodies that he tries his best not to think about.

Wang Lingjiao is surrounded by other Wen cultivators, but Nie Cheng was nothing is persistent. He spots a flare in her hand, bright red, and quickens his pace towards her, sword already poised to strike. Just as he thinks he’s about to make it, he gets hit by someone else. Nie Cheng steps back, gritting his teeth as he looks up to see Wen Zhuliu standing in front of Wang Lingjiao.

“No one is allowed to harm Wen Chao’s mistress,” he says. Nie Cheng grins, baring his teeth at Wen Zhuliu.

“I’ll have to be the first, then,” he says, striking at Wen Zhuliu. Nie Cheng’s swordsmanship wasn’t bad by any means, but he was struggling to attack while also dodging Wen Zhuliu’s touch, not wanting to have his core ripped out from him. Unfortunately, it means that Wang Lingjiao has enough time to light the flare, and Nie Cheng’s heart drops as he sees it go off, a bright light that summons another fleet of Wen cultivators. Nie Cheng pushes his way out of the meeting room to find the rest of the sect surrounded.

The destruction around him is enough to send a chill running through his veins. Nie disciples are fighting against the Wens, but it wasn’t enough. As Nie Cheng follows the screams around him, he sees a fire in the distance. A fire. They were burning his sect to the ground. Nie Cheng looks around, and already he can see that buildings have been destroyed, the windows and doors cracked. The grass around them has been trampled, and Nie Cheng can smell the smoke that was rapidly approaching them.

“Xiao Cheng.” A hand grasps his back, and Nie Cheng whirls around to see Nie Huaisang, his face grim. “Xiao Cheng, you have to run.”

“What!? And leave everyone else here to fend for themselves?” They had people who weren’t cultivators with a golden core residing in Qinghe Nie, servants and children who wouldn’t be able to defend themselves if they were to be attacked. How could Nie Cheng call himself a righteous cultivator and then run at the first sight of danger?

“It’s not going to work,” Nie Huaisang says. His eyes narrow, placing a hand atop Nie Cheng’s. “Xiao Cheng, you have to live. Da-ge’s already refusing to leave. I can’t lose you both.”

Hearing that Nie Mingjue wasn’t running only made Nie Cheng even more determined to not go. “I can help; I can keep you two safe.”

“Nothing can help in this situation,” Nie Huaisang says, shaking his head. He lets go of Nie Cheng, who tries to catch him, but finds his hands bound. Nie Huaisang had bound his hands together when he was speaking to him. Nie Cheng’s eyes widen, staring at Nie Huaisang as he struggles against the rope.

“Ge--!”

“Xiao Cheng,” Nie Huaisang interrupts, bringing him into his arms. He clings onto Nie Cheng, like the time they had reunited after the Wen’s camp. He embraces him tight, digging his fingers into Xiao Cheng’s back as if to leave a permanent mark, to stain Nie Cheng with his touch. He’s hugging him like it’s the last time he’ll ever see Nie Cheng, and Nie Cheng doesn’t like what that foretells. “Xiao Cheng, I love you. I love you too much to let you die here, so I can only send you away.”

“I can’t let you die either!” Nie Cheng cries. If Nie Mingjue could stay, why couldn’t he!? What was so bad about him that he couldn’t fight as well? “Please, Ge, don’t send me away.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Nie Huaisang says. He steps back, and immediately Nie Cheng is surrounded by Wu Hujin and Li Guangmu. Nie Huaisang looks them in the eye, nodding as he reaches for his fan. “Take him away.”

“Ge!” Nie Cheng screams as he gets picked up. He raises his voice, the sound reverberating through his ears as he calls for Nie Huaisang. It’s a plea to let him stay, but also a warning for the boy Nie Cheng had been protecting for over half his life, for the brother he needed alive. “Ge, watch out!”

The last he sees of Qinghe Nie are the buildings burning a bright red, and Nie Huaisang coughing up the same color as he gets stabbed from behind.

Nie Cheng can’t breathe. Wu Hujin carries him in his arms while Li Guangmu scouts ahead, gesturing for them to follow. No matter how much he cries, or screams, or begs, they don’t listen. They run through the sect and into town, trying to escape past the mess. Nie Cheng hears the screams around him and his heart breaks, eyes shutting as he tries not to look at the bodies littered around him.

“Look out!” Li Guangmu cries. He stops, raising his sword to block an arrow from hitting them. Immediately after a group of Wens approach them, their own weapons drawn. Wu Hujin sets him down, pushing Nie Cheng into a group of bushes to hide him. The two Nie disciples face the Wen cultivators head-on, and though they defeat a number of them, more and more keep coming.

“San-gongzi, go!” Wu Hujin cries after he gets stabbed in the shoulder. The number of Wens has lessened enough for a small path to clear. Nie Cheng can spot the town entrance up ahead, and the vast roads that stretch past that. Wu Hujin knocks the Wen to the ground, reaching into the bushes to pull up Nie Cheng to his feet. He cuts the ropes around Nie Cheng, shoving him forward. “You need to run!”

“Go, Gongzi,” Li Guangmu urges him. He picks up the spiritual sword of a Wen, handing it over to Nie Cheng. “You need to leave before more come.”

“But what about you two?” Nie Cheng asks. He clutches the sword in his hand, looking past the two Nie disciples to the incoming fleet of Wens.

“We’ll be right behind you,” Wu Hujin promises. He places a hand on Nie Cheng’s shoulder; Li Guangmu does the same, and it takes Nie Cheng a second to realize they were giving him spiritual energy, healing his wounds. “Trust me, Gongzi. Just don’t look back and run, find somewhere safe.”

“Now leave!” Li Guangmu says, pushing Nie Cheng. Having no other choice, Nie Cheng takes off, running towards the entrance. He hears the roar of the Wens, but no one chases after him, Wu Hujin and Li Guangmu managing to hold them off. Nie Cheng runs and doesn’t look back, not even after he hears the gargled scream of Wu Hujin, not even after he hears Li Guangmu call for his friend and get no response. Nie Cheng runs, and he tries to ignore the cry of Li Guangmu, and the way he seems to be able to hear to the way the sword squelches as it runs through him. He simply squeezes his eyes shut before flashing them open again, ignoring the bile that rises to his throat as he steps onto the empty road.

Nie Cheng cannot help the resentment that fills his heart. He is bitter, and angry, and hateful. Nie Cheng hates, and hates, and hates, an all-consuming loathing just as his father had promised him.

Nie Cheng trips over a rock as he runs, scraping his hands, but he quickly pulls himself up. He can’t think, can’t breathe— Nothing is making sense, and his home is burning down behind him, but he remembers the people who have worked so hard to keep him alive, and who wanted him to live at the cost of their own, and so he continues on, pushing past the exhaustion in his legs, the way his muscles strain and his body yells at him to stop.

Once he’s a suitable distance away and can no longer hear the roars of the Wen, he tries out the sword Li Guangmu had handed him, attempting to fly on it. Nie Cheng gets in a considerable amount of distance before the sword starts rejecting him, throwing him off onto the ground. Nie Cheng picks himself up once more arms aching with bruises. By now, the sun has set, giving way to the moon and the night sky. Nie Cheng doesn’t know where he’s going, doesn’t know anywhere he can take refuge that isn’t his home. He looks up to the sky, seeing the North Star twinkling down onto him, and thinks.

In any other situation, Nie Cheng wouldn’t have even entertained the idea. But now his sect had been razed to the ground, and Nie Cheng can’t fathom to think about what might have happened to his brothers. He can’t think without the overwhelming feeling of loss and desperation overcoming him, and so Nie Cheng shuts off his mind and presses on, crossing through the roads and towns he had once traveled through when he was nine.

It was like retracing his roots, he thinks, unraveling a piece of clothing so stop it from burning but getting left with a pile of ugly thread in return. Nie Cheng doesn’t bother to stop at towns this time, his golden core allowing him to push on. What was once a path that had once taken him weeks now takes him only days as Nie Cheng refuses to allow himself to rest, knowing that he had to get away, that he has to find somewhere safe like he promised Wu Hujin.

When he first steps into the town he had vowed to never return to, Nie Cheng nearly cries out of sheer relief. He drags himself through the streets, ignoring the stares and hushed whispers. His robes are torn from hiding in bushes and trampling through forests, his hair is knotted up behind him, and Nie Cheng has numerous cuts and scrapes across his face and arms. He looks like he had just stepped out of a fighting ring, which wasn’t too far off from the truth. Nie Cheng doesn’t allow himself to stop unless he reaches the entrance of Yunmeng Jiang, pushing himself into Lotus Pier before nearly collapsing, his knees buckling.

No one approaches him, though Nie Cheng gets more than a few curious stares. He pulls his body up, continuing to walk. He needs his broth— he needs to find someone, needs refuge. He doesn’t want to approach the disciples, doesn’t want to scare them off with his rambles and injuries. But unless he does, he won’t be able to alert the Jiang clan. There needs to be someone willing to approach him, someone close enough to the main clan that they could bring them here, let Nie Cheng them. He needs someone, needs—

“Gongzi.”

Nie Cheng looks up, coming face to face with two Jiang cultivators. Two slender women, and though they look young, Nie Cheng knew better than to assume. They look vaguely familiar, he thinks as he squints at them. Perhaps he once knew them, in a life once lived.

“Please,” he begs. “I need to see— I need—”

He pasues, not knowing what to say. Surely Jiang Fengmian wouldn’t help him. When has he ever helped him? If Jiang Fengmian wouldn’t even care for his own son, why would he help someone like Nie Cheng?

Just what had made him decide to go to Lotus Pier, Nie Cheng wonders in misery. If he had gone just a little farther he could’ve made it to Meishan Yu; they would’ve taken him in, Yu Jiaxin would’ve forced her mother to help, ever loyal as a Yu was. They had already considered him family, the blood they share linking them together as such. The Yu clan was fiercely protective of their own, of their members and disciples and children and—

Children.

“I need Yu-furen,” Nie Cheng blurts out. He tries to bow to the two cultivators, crumbling to the ground before supporting himself back up with his hands. “Please, tell Yu-furen that Nie Wanyin is looking for her.”

“Understood,” one of them says, nodding. She turns around, taking off in the blink of an eye. Yu Ziyuan was surprisingly easy to summon, Nie Cheng thinks as the other Jiang cultivator takes him by the arm. He wonders why there weren’t more hoops he had to jump through to talk to a Jiang clan member; surely they cared more about her than this.

“This way, Gongzi,” the Jiang cultivator says. Nie Cheng wordlessly follows her through the sect, past the wide lake brimming with lotuses and boats. If he leans on her for support a bit more than is normal, she doesn’t say anything. Nie Cheng is grateful.

He finds, to his surprise, that he has been led directly to Yu Ziyuan’s personal chambers. The door slides open and there she stands in her full glory, eyes narrow and lips pursed. Nie Cheng is drawn toward her, stumbling forward.

“Muqin,” he calls, ignoring the other two women in the room. “Muqin, they’ve taken over— I wanted to stay but he made me leave— they’re under attack they— I don’t even know if anyone’s alive and—”

“Slow down,” she commands. Nie Cheng shakes his head, stepping toward her before stumbling, his legs finally giving out. Yu Ziyuan catches him in her arms, and she clings just as Nie Huaisang had, tight and protective, trying to take in all of him and leave her mark.

“Please,” he begs, and can say nothing more.

“You are injured,” she replies, scowling.

“But my—”

“What purpose do I have caring about the Nie sect?” she asks. Nie Cheng’s face drops. Yu Ziyuan looks at him for a moment before sighing, dragging him over to her bed. She drops him there, placing a hand on his forehead. Her touch is warm, oddly soothing even as she has seemingly doomed his actions to result in nothing.

“We will discuss this later,” she says. “I will do no more until you are rested.”

Nie Cheng wants to protest, to say that he doesn’t have time to rest, not when Qinghe Nie is under attack and he doesn’t know what happened to his sect. He tries to stay awake, squirming in his mother’s hold, but she digs a nail into points of his body and Nie Cheng feels himself unwillingly relaxing, eyes fluttering shut as he passes out.

Chapter Text

The first thing Nie Cheng sees when he opens his eyes is bright, undecorated walls. It’s a direct statement that he isn’t home, nothing like the paper-filled ceilings of the Unclean Realm. He struggles to get his eyes to open fully, blinking away the rheum that stuck to his eyelashes.

The first thing he feels is a hand, warm and holding his own. Nie Cheng sits up and the hand withdraws itself, leaving him feeling just a bit colder. Nie Cheng rubs his eyes, arms aching as he blearily stares at Yu Ziyuan, who had been sitting by his bedside. Her bedside, technically; they were still in her room. It was a cold place, almost seemingly uninhabited. Or perhaps Nie Cheng just wasn’t used to such a neat room, the few decorations his mother had tucked away in discreet shelves pressed up against the walls.

“You’re finally awake,” Yu Ziyuan says, narrowing her eyes. “About time.”

“What time is it?” Nie Cheng asks, looking around. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, and he couldn’t make out any bit of sky to discern when it was. Behind his mother, he can see two Jiang cultivators who brought him here moving around, tidying up the already clean room. They must have been his mother’s personal handmaidens, Nie Cheng realizes. He lifts his arms, staring at the white inner robe and the bandages he was covered in. The sight was an oddly nostalgic one, coupled with the setting of his mother’s room. It was a bit embarrassing to think of being changed out of his robes by three women, so Nie Cheng tries not to let himself dwell on it too much.

“You missed dinner,” Yu Ziyuan says. She frowns, raising a hand to beckon one of the handmaidens over. “Jinzhu, go fetch a bowl of congee. The cooks should have a pot sitting on the stove. Yinzhu, bring me another bottle of ointment. After that, you two are dismissed for the night.”

“Yes, Furen,” Jinzhu and Yinzhu chorus, bowing. They were awfully in sync; all three of them, actually. Though Yu Ziyuan was the one commanding the other two, they seemed to move in tandem with each other. Nie Cheng has never seen three people more coordinated with each other.

“I’m not hungry,” he says.

“You will eat,” his mother replies, scowling, and that was that. While waiting for the food to arrive, Yu Ziyuan fusses with his robes, pinching Nie Cheng here and there. It was strange to watch her do, especially in those bright white robes she kept wearing. She looks an awful lot like a ghost on them, or perhaps a vengeful spirit of some sort. Nie Cheng wonders how she’s able to eat without spilling anything on them, or if there are charms woven into them to prevent staining. That’s what he would do.

“You caused a fuss today at the entrance.” Yu Ziyuan says. She stands up, reaching into a box near her bed to pull out a roll of bandages. She always had some on her when Jiang Cheng was here, he recalls, ever ready to patch him up. Nie Cheng wonders why she still has them, if they were recently fetched while he was asleep, or if they’ve been sitting there for all those years, expecting to never be used again until one fateful day. Yu Ziyuan rips a strip off the roll, setting it on the table to be later used. “The disciples reported that a mysterious cultivator showed up bloody on their doorsteps. He was last seen speaking to a senior disciple before being taken away.”

“Is Jiang-zongzhu aware of the full extent of the situation?” Nie Cheng asks.

“That fool doesn’t know anything,” Yu Ziyuan snorts. “They couldn’t find the cultivator, after all; he simply dismissed it as a lost rogue who left soon after.”

“I don’t suppose Yu-furen would help hide me away,” Nie Cheng asks. Yu Ziyuan shoots him a glare and says nothing more. The look on her face is almost expectant, to which Nie Cheng awkwardly clears his throat.

“Muqin,” he corrects. Yu Ziyuan nods, mollified for now.

“They’ll discover that you’re still here sooner or later,” she says. That wasn’t a no, Nie Cheng notes. “Besides, you’ll need my fool of a husband’s help if you want to finish what you came here for.”

Right. Yu Ziyuan, as powerful as she seemed, didn’t have control of the Jiang sect. That was all left up to Jiang Fengmian, who Nie Cheng would’ve very much liked to never have to speak to again. But still, if he ever wanted to see his brothers again or save what was left of his sect, he would need all the help he can get. He would just have to grit his teeth and lower his pride. Nie Cheng sighs, trying to wiggle off the bed before Yu Ziyuan grasps his wrists, instantly stopping him in his tracks.

“Are you insane!?” she hisses. “Not right now! You’ve barely regained consciousness, not to mention how late it is! Are you of sound enough mind to speak with him? Sit yourself down right this instant!”

She doesn’t let him out today, or for the next two days. It’s a bit boring, to be honest, sitting around in bed all day. It leaves Nie Cheng with nothing but his thoughts to wallow in, and so he tries to spend most of his time meditating, or speaking with Yinzhu and Jinzhu, who Yu Ziyuan has assigned to accompany him throughout his recovery. He learns they came with his mother from Meishan Yu, and when he asks if they knew who Yu Jiaxin was they only shoot him an exasperated look. It was a bit like his mother's, though he supposes it was well deserved.

His mother always made him sleep early; it reminded Nie Cheng of the Lan’s strict bed and rising times, though she usually let him wake up late as well. Nie Cheng doesn’t know where his mother goes to rest, seeing as he’s taken up her bed. She sleeps later than he does and rises earlier as well, usually already out for the day by the time Nie Cheng stirs away.

After the third day, Nie Cheng reemerges into the world, donning the robes Jinzhu had patched up for him. Despite her best attempts, they were still on the verge of falling apart, having been put through a rather harsh journey. Still, Nie Cheng finds he cannot part with them just yet; he could be pleading for assistance on behalf of the Nie sect, the least he could do was wear their colors while doing so. He follows Yu Ziyuan to the formal meeting hall of Yunmeng Jiang, though he hesitates for a moment before stepping in. Odd memories bubble to the surface of his mind, memories he tries to quickly push away.

Jiang Fengmian is atop a raised platform, sitting on a throne once promised to Nie Cheng. To his left is Wei Wuxian, whose eyes light up at the sight of Nie Cheng, and whose feet rush him to Nie Cheng’s side once he notices the numerous bandages Nie Cheng is covered in.

“You’re injured?” he asks, forgoing any greet to kneel beside Nie Cheng, taking Nie Cheng’s arm into his hand. His fingers dance around the wrappings, covering Nie Cheng’s arm in a feather-light touch. It kind of tickles. “What happened?”

“Not now,” Nie Cheng tells him, shaking his head. He tugs himself away from Wei Wuxian, looking up at the sect leader and his wife before clasping his hands together, bowing deep even as his muscles burn and ache. It felt almost humiliating, in a way, to be bowing down to the man who never cared for him, but Nie Cheng has things more important than pride on the line. “Nie Wanyin greets Jiang-zongzhu, Yu-furen.”

“Ah? What’s the meaning of this, Furen?” Jiang Fengmian asks his wife. Yu Ziyuan simply scowls, clutching her seat and saying nothing more. She glares Wei Wuxian, who reluctantly leaves Nie Cheng’s side, walking up to sit next to Jiang Fengmian. It was a sight for sore eyes. Nie Cheng notes that without Jiang Yanli here, Wei Wuxian really does look like the only child of Jiang Fengmian. Not Yu Ziyuan, though; all of her children have inherited at least some of her Yu features, which Wei Wuxian does not have, for obvious reasons.

“I’ve come bearing a warning,” Nie Cheng says, sucking in a deep breath. “And a plea for assistance. About a week ago, Qinghe Nie was razed to the ground by the Wens.”

Hushed murmurs rise from around Nie Cheng, and he watches the way Jiang Fengmian’s eyebrows raise. He maintains an air of neutrality despite this, stroking the armrest of his lotus throne. Nie Cheng used to sit on that armrest, looking down at where he was standing now and wondering what it would be like to receive guests. Now he was the one looking back up expectantly, waiting for Jiang-zongzhu’s response with bated breath.

“This is a serious matter,” Jiang Fengmian says. Nie Cheng resists the urge to scream; if it wasn’t such a serious matter, would he have come to seek Yunmeng Jiang’s assistance? Though, of course, Jiang Fengmian has no idea of the raging storm inside Nie Cheng’s head. “Where are your brothers, Nie Wanyin? Why isn’t Nie-zongzhu speaking to me instead?”

“Answering Jiang-zongzhu, they were cornered by the Wens while meeting with them at the Unclean Realm,” Nie Cheng says, hands trembling. “I am the only one who managed to escape. Please, we need reinforcement.”

“The Wens have already attacked two great sects,” one elder murmurs. Nie Cheng is reminded of Mu Huangli, and his heart aches at the thought that she might not be alive right now. The grief is all-consuming, but the act of not knowing is worse, the anticipation wrapping its fingers around him and strangling, but not killing, leaving Nie Cheng to continue to gasp for air and hurt. “Who do they think they are!?”

“There are only the Jin and Jiang sects left,” another says. “If we don’t do anything, we may be next.”

That causes the room to really stir, the discussion getting louder and louder with every passing second. Jiang Fengmian clears his throat, silencing the room with a single motion. He looks around, eventually settling his gaze back onto Nie Cheng. Nie Cheng looks straight at him, unperturbed. He wonders how much of him looked like Jiang Fengmian, or if he could even see the whispers of his dead son in Nie Cheng. If his mother was able to identify him, then surely Jiang Fengmian could as well. Or perhaps he really was as ignorant as Yu Ziyuan liked to claim. Nie Cheng wouldn’t be surprised.

“Yunmeng Jiang understands the severity of this situation, and shares its sympathies with Qinghe Nie,” Jiang Fengmian says. “However, you must know that if Yunmeng Jiang offers its assistance, it will be taken as an act of scorn against the Wen. We may have to transition to war if they decided to act on their offense.”

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Nie Cheng replies, looking the man straight in the eye. “With all due respect, we already are at war.”

He bows once more, kneeling down to the sect leader. “Please, Zongzhu. I do not require much from Yunmeng Jiang; a small search party, some resources to provide for the survivors or anything you can provide. I will ask nothing more from you.”

“Will you be able to sustain yourselves on such few rations?” Jiang Fengmian asks.

“I will go to the other sects and ask for assistance,” Nie Cheng confesses. His head is spinning, feeling like there was a small gust of wind blowing through and destroying all his carefully stored thoughts. “Gusu Lan, Meishan Yu, some of the smaller sects near the Unclean Realm that Qinghe Nie has relations with. I will not ask more of Yunmeng Jiang than is necessary.”

“Gusu Lan has also been harmed by the Wens. What makes you think they’ll be able to help when they are still trying to repair themselves?” Jiang Fengmian asks. “And Meishan Yu is not one of the great sects. What can they do against the Wens?”

“Watch your mouth,” Yu Ziyuan hisses, narrowing her eyes. Behind her, Yinzhu and Jinzhu look just as displeased. Nie Cheng can’t say he doesn’t agree; if it wasn’t for the fact that Yunmeng Jiang was simply closer to Qinghe Nie than Meishan Yu was, Nie Cheng would be talking to Yu-zongzhu right now. “Or you’ll soon see for yourself what exactly Meishan Yu can do against a great sect. Is Jiang-zongzhu so cowardly that he can’t even lend assistance to another sect?”

“That’s right, if Gusu Lan can help why can’t we?” an elder asks. A smattering of agreements followed in response. “We have more manpower and resources than Gusu Lan does. Are we going to let them overshadow us?”

“It is impossible to help without taking a side,” Jiang Fengmian says, face strained.

“Then take a side,” Yu Ziyuan snaps. Nie Cheng tries to nod, but finds that when he does he gets terribly dizzy, the world spinning around before his eyes. He blinks, batting at his face to try and stop the nausea that was rising from the pits of his stomach.

“Shushu, I think we should help,” Wei Wuxian says, frowning. “Like Nie Cheng said, war is inevitable at this point. We may as well ally with the other sects to try and stop the Wens from committing any more damage.”

“I suppose…” Jiang Fengmian says. Various elders hum in agreement with Wei Wuxian’s statement, and with a little pressure from them and Yu Ziyuan, Jiang Fengmian finally agrees. “Very well. I will organize a group to search Qinghe for any survivors, and for Nie-zongzhu and Nie er-gongzi.”

“Thank you, Jiang-zongzhu,” Nie Cheng says, bowing. When he tries to lift his head, the shift in perspective leaves him woozy, and Nie Cheng nearly stumbles down. Wei Wuxian rushes to his side once more, helping him to stand properly. Nie Cheng leans against him, his chest heaving up and down as he tries to restabilize himself.

“You have been gravely injured,” Jiang Fengmian says, as if Nie Cheng hadn’t been speaking to him for the last few minutes with labored breaths and numerous bandages. Nie Cheng simply nods, trying to nudge Wei Wuxian away once he thinks he can stand on his own. Wei Wuxian stays, refusing to move. “Where have you been these past few days? This one can only assume Nie san-gongzi was the man my disciples saw at the entrance.”

“I have been tending to my injuries,” Nie Cheng says, eyes meeting Yu Ziyuan’s. “In an inn near the sect. This one met with Yu-furen while wandering through Yunmeng Jiang and pleaded with her to listen to my request. In response, she had brought me to speak with you instead.”

“You can stay inside Lotus Pier instead,” Wei Wuxian suggests. He looks up at his uncle, bowing. Nie Cheng is forced to bow with him, still holding onto Wei Wuxian. “Surely we have space to accommodate him, Shushu?”

“A-Xian’s friends are always welcome to stay at Lotus Pier,” Jiang Fengmian replies, dipping his head. “Nie san-gongzi, since you currently have no place to reside, I formally invite you to stay at Lotus Pier. I’m sure you’ll find we are agreeable hosts, and enjoy your time here.”

“Thank you for your generous offer, Jiang-zongzhu,” Nie Cheng says. Already, he can feel his stomach sinking. There was a difference between hiding away in his mother’s room and formally staying at the Lotus Pier, of spending his days walking through its docks and eating in its dining halls. Wei Wuxian beams at him, and Nie Cheng can only offer up a weak smile in response. He hopes everything will be alright as he exits the hall and lets Wei Wuxian drag him around, excitedly showing him settings Nie Cheng has seen in his dreams countless times. It was just a short trip. A few days, nothing more. Nie Cheng would manage.

- - - -

A few days later, Nie Cheng was still in Lotus Pier, much to his dismay.

He stares at himself in the mirror, dressed in the robes a servant had handed him. His old robes had finally fallen apart after a hard spar with Wei Wuxian, and so Nie Cheng had been given a new one. They were disciple robes, plain fabric meant only to cover and not to show off, nothing like the delicately embroidered robes Nie Cheng used to wear, a symbol of his status as a member of the inner clan. That wasn’t what was bothering him, though; the problem was that his new robes were purple, the color of Yunmeng Jiang, a startling violet that pierced through his heart and ripped into his brain.

It doesn’t suit him, Nie Cheng thinks, twisting his body around to see himself from all angles. He looks like a child playing dress up, like an actor in a costume, donning clothes not meant for him. Even the ribbon he used to tie his hair was purple, the grey one Nie Huaisang had gifted him having burned away with the rest of his belongings when the Wens came. Nie Cheng looks fully like a Jiang, from head to toe. It’s the reason why he sits himself down in front of the mirror, waking up early to run his fingers through his hair and carefully tie each braid through the strands. It's perhaps the only symbol that he wasn’t actually a member of the Jiang sect.

Nie Cheng spends most of his days following Wei Wuxian, tagging behind him like his shadow. He attends classes in Yunmeng Jiang at the insistence of the older boy, though he situates himself in the back, allowing Wei Wuxian to be surrounded by his peers. He was awfully popular, Nie Cheng notes, also flirting with one girl or passing notes around the classroom. Nie Cheng tries to picture Jiang Cheng next to him, no doubt frowning at all of Wei Wuxian’s shenanigans. His chest squeezes at the thought, and Nie Cheng tries to push it out of his mind, though sometimes he can still see the flickers of a ghost beside Wei Wuxian in class, back straight and eyes attentive like a sect heir should be. It was an eerie sight.

“Nie Cheng,” Wei Wuxian coos, immediately turning his head once the teacher dismissed them from class. It could be said that Wei Wuxian was nothing if loyal, constantly seeking out his shidi over the other members of his sect. It made some sense: birds of a feather flock together, and whatnot. As a child, Nie Cheng was always closer to Lan Wangji than the other disciples his age in Qinghe Nie, even despite their distance. “Nie Cheng, do you want to go play in the lake? I’ll teach you how to pick lotus pods!”

Wei Wuxian drags him out, hand wrapped around his wrist. Nie Cheng follows with mild curiosity, though mostly his skin shivers at having to jump into the cold lake again. Lotus Pier is brimming with life, with merchants from town rowing their boats through the lake and children running around their legs, shrieking as they chase each other around. Wei Wuxian seems to nearly glow in this environment, so comfortable in his skin. On the contrary, Nie Cheng feels like he’s walking on glass, with every step he takes potentially leading to his downfall.

The lake in Lotus Pier isn’t the clearest, but the lotus blossoms that grow from them are tall and strong, leaves floating atop the water. Nie Cheng can make out his reflection, the eyes he inherited from his mother staring back at him. Wei Wuxian’s face appears beside him, grinning at Nie Cheng through the water’s surface. He tugs on Nie Cheng’s hair, twirling a strand around his finger. “Your hair’s going to get wet if you let it hang down like this. I’ll help you tie it up!”

“I don’t look good with my hair tied up,” Nie Cheng replies, batting at Wei Wuxian’s straying hands.

“So vain, Xiao Cheng,” Wei Wuxian teases. He gently pushes Nie Cheng down, making him sit on the edge of the wooden dock while Wei Wuxian sits behind him, fingers tugging on the purple ribbon tying up the top half of Nie Cheng’s hair. Nie Cheng feels his hair fall onto his back, the dark strands cascading down like a waterfall.

“Just don’t get rid of my braids,” Nie Cheng says. Wei Wuxian hums in acknowledgment of his request. It feels nice, Nie Cheng admits, having Wei Wuxian comb through his hair. It was oddly soothing, the gesture reminding him of the time Nie Huaisang used to play with his hair when they were younger, styling it in a variety of ways. Nie Cheng shuts his eyes, allowing Wei Wuxian to do as he pleased. The breeze blowing past him was present, and this close to the water, the air smelled fresher than usual, with the sweet, faint smell of lotus permeating through.

“Done!” Wei Wuxian says. He guides Nie Cheng to the edge, leaning over the wooden dock to look at his reflection in the water. Nie Cheng touches the sides of his head, feeling the ever-comforting ridges of the new braids Wei Wuxian weaved into his hair. They come together in a neat bun on the back of his head, the purple ribbon wrapped around it and hanging down against his neck. He’s not used to all his hair being tied up like such, but Wei Wuxian managed to make it look decent on him.

“Xiao Cheng looks so handsome!” Wei Wuxian grins. Nie Cheng scowls, turning back to face Wei Wuxian to grouch at him once more. Except, he pauses once he sees the look on Wei Wuxian’s face. Or rather the look Wei Wuxian gets once he sees Nie Cheng’s face. A look of familiarity washes through him, confusion and nostalgia flooding his eyes. Then Wei Wuxian blinks, and he’s back to normal, laughing that obnoxious laugh of his as he pats his chest. “Cheng Cheng is my prettiest shidi!”

“Who’s your Cheng Cheng,” Nie Cheng scowls. What a silly, childish nickname! Wei Wuxian continues to laugh, that brute, shrugging off his shoes and pulling up his pants to step into the water. Nie Cheng follows suit, though his steps are much more hesitant, dipping his toes into the water before shivering and plunging in with a splash.

“If I drown, you’ll save me, right?” he asks Wei Wuxian, wading his way toward the lotuses. The last time Nie Cheng had gone swimming had been in these waters, but it had been many years since then, and he wasn’t all too confident in his skills. Wei Wuxian simply splashes him in response, scooping up a handful of water into his hands and throwing it onto Nie Cheng, who shrieks, retaliating in kind.

Nie Cheng feels guilty, having fun while his brothers are in a limbo of possibly being dead or alive. But until Jiang Fengmian’s men return with news, there’s nothing he can do. And Wei Wuxian seems to like having him here well enough, so at least he wasn’t bothering him. Wei Wuxian throws a lotus seed at him, allowing Nie Cheng to stretch his neck and catch it in his mouth.

“Is it good?” Wei Wuxian asks. They lay across the desk, soaking in the sun to dry off their robes. Nie Cheng nods, chewing on the seed in his mouth as his fingers dig through the lotus head, picking out his own lotus seeds. Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to say more, but spots a figure approaching them in the distance, smile dropping as he scrambles up into some semblance of a bow.

“Yu-furen,” he says. Nie Cheng looks up to find his mother and her two attendants, Yu Ziyuan glaring down at Wei Wuxian. Her gaze shifts to Nie Cheng, sharpening in on his face.

“Yu-furen,” Nie Cheng says, blinking up at her.

“What happened to your hair?” she asks, eyes narrowing. Nie Cheng instinctively raises a hand to feel at it, wrapping a palm around the bun behind him.

“Wei-shixiong said it would help keep the water from touching it,” Nie Cheng explains. Wei Wuxian stiffens, looking at Nie Cheng before sitting back down. He keeps his hands on his knees, waiting with bated breath as if expecting Yu Ziyuan to lash out. “We were playing in the water since we had some free time. He taught me how to pick out lotus seeds from the heads containing them. We’re waiting for our clothes to dry off before we head inside.”

Nie Cheng winces, realizing how silly he sounded, like a child relaying everything they had done that day to their parents. He looks at the lotus pod in his hand, raising it up to Yu Ziyuan as if to offer his mother some of its seeds. Yu Ziyuan scoffs, though she doesn’t verbally reject his offer. Perhaps Nie Cheng should save some for her to eat later. He wonders if she’s ever had fresh lotus seeds in all the years she’s been here. It doesn’t seem like an activity she would partake in.

“Don’t spoil your appetite,” Yu Ziyuan simply tells Nie Cheng before walking away, her back turned to Nie Cheng and Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian watches her go before turning to look at Nie Cheng, eyes blown wide.

“What did you do to her?” he asks Nie Cheng, shaking his shoulders. “I’ve never seen her that kind before!”

“You call that kind?”

“I usually always get scolded,” Wei Wuxian says, wincing. “But she just told you to be mindful of dinner time! Tell me, how did you manage to get into her good graces so fast? Ah, Xiao Cheng, you’re such a sweet charmer!”

“Maybe it’s because we’re relatives,” Nie Cheng suggests, shrugging. It wasn’t too far off from the truth, after all. Wei Wuxian hums in agreement, leaning back to look up at the sky and sigh.

Dinner time was as awkward as one would expect it to be. Nie Cheng eats with the Jiang clan, though it’s currently missing the eldest Jiang child, Jiang Yanli, who was on a trip to Meishan Yu. Nie Cheng doesn’t know whether to be jealous or relieved. He’s sent letters to Yu Jiaxin and Lan Wangji over what occurred at Qinghe Nie, and both have expressed their condolences as well as promises from their respective leaders to assist Nie Cheng should he need it. Lan Wangji’s father had passed some time ago, and so now the title of sect leader fell upon Lan Xichen’s shoulders, though Lan Qiren still had a heavy hand in sect matters.

Nie Cheng is not used to such spicy dishes, though Wei Wuxian seems to be thoroughly enjoying them, going so far as to add more spice to his food. Nie Cheng grimaces at how bright red the food is; surely that isn’t natural. He misses the gamey meats the Nie sect would serve for dinner, signs of the good hunts the disciples had been on earlier that day. There is minimal talk during dinner, though Jiang Fengmian and Wei Wuxian converse amongst themselves. Yu Ziyuan seems more as if she is following the Lan rule of not speaking during meal times with how quiet she is, though Nie Cheng is sure the Lans would not approve of the way she seems to scowl at everything Wei Wuxian says.

“How have you been enjoying your stay, Nie Wanyin?” Jiang Fengmian asks. “I hope Lotus Pier and A-Xian have been treating you well.”

“It’s been very pleasant,” Nie Cheng answers. “Thank you again to Jiang-zongzhu for allowing me to temporarily stay at Lotus Pier.”

“Of course,” Jiang Fengmian says. “However, I’m afraid your time here will have to be cut short.”

For a moment, Nie Cheng’s heart stops. Surely he was getting kicked out. Yu Ziyuan’s face darkens, and it was as if she was about to attack Jiang Fengmian should he say anything wrong. Even Wei Wuxian looks displeased, frowning at his uncle. Nie Cheng stiffens, grip tightening around the chopsticks in his hand. And then Jiang Fengmian smiles, and all the weight seems to drop off Nie Cheng’s shoulders.

“We’ve found the remains of your sect; they’re hiding out in a small settlement near Qinghe Nie. Nie-zongzhu has already requested that you been brought there as soon as possible. I’m sure you’re anxious to see them again as well.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Nie Huaisang does when he reunites with Nie Cheng is scrutinize his clothes.

“What happened to your robes?” he asked, eyes narrowing in on the Jiang purple hanging from Nie Cheng’s body. Nie Cheng mumbles out some vague explanation about tearing his old robes and getting new ones from the Jiang sect; to be honest, he wasn’t paying much attention to the words coming out of his mouth. He was too focused on taking all of Nie Huaisang in, soaking up the presence of his brother like a dry sponge dropped into the ocean.

Though it had only been a few weeks since they had last seen each other, it felt like an eternity had been ripped away from them. It looks that way, too: Nie Huaisang’s once bright skin was duller, heavy bags under his eyes only one of the many signs of his exhaustion. Nie Cheng wonders how many injuries he was hiding under his robes and if he would ever tell Nie Cheng, or simply smile and lie to placate him.

Nie Huaisang opens his arms and Nie Cheng very willingly falls, wrapping his arms around Nie Huaisang’s neck and burying his face in his shoulder. Nie Cheng breathes in, letting the air fill his lungs: Nie Huaisang smells like antiseptic and old linens, but beneath that he smells like the air of Qinghe Nie, smoky and heavy and alive, so very alive.

“How many are left?” Nie Cheng murmurs, refusing to pull away from Nie Huaisang. His brother lifts a hand to stroke through his hair, fingers tangling through the dark strands. It was a bittersweet touch, warm comfort that alluded to the horrors coming ahead.

“Not many,” Nie Huaisang whispers. “A few elders, some senior and junior disciples. Some families managed to escape together. Last I counted, we had thirty-seven orphans.”

Nie Cheng’s heart sinks. Instantly, he feels an overwhelming sense of guilt. If only he had stayed, if he had stepped into the fight like a righteous cultivator should, would so many children be left wondering where their parents were? Would so many older siblings have to comfort their siblings, as Nie Huaisang had to do with Nie Cheng? Nie Cheng would’ve gladly traded his life for the lives of all his sect members if only someone would let him.

“Come,” Nie Huaisang says. They’re staying in a quiet town tucked away off the main roads. It was seasonal, Nie Huaisang explained to him. Every year thousands would migrate to stay here for a season before heading home. And now it was being inhabited by the remains of the Nie sect. Nie Huaisang guides Nie Cheng to a small house with a steady hand, keeping it wrapped around his arm. For that, Nie Cheng is glad; if Nie Huaisang were to let go of him at any moment, Nie Cheng feels he might float away into the nothingness of the grey sky looming over their heads.

The interior is just as small as the exterior would suggest, but it’s not cramped. Nie Huaisang did always have a knack for interior design, after all. A few medical supplies were stacked on a wooden shelf; it reminds Nie Cheng of the box of bandages laying in his mother’s room, like it was always expecting an injured person to walk into the room. Some robes are scattered around, laying in a folded pile near the wardrobe. There are three cots leaning against one wall, so close they’re nearly touching each other. Only one looks like it has been used.

“Where’s Da-ge?” Nie Cheng asks. Nie Huaisang, for once, does not respond immediately. Nie Cheng freezes, turning his head to look at his brother. “Ge, where’s Da-ge? Why isn’t he here?”

Nie Huaisang looks away, fingers twitching around Nie Cheng’s arm. His face is grim and his lips are pursed like all that will spill from them is bad news he’s trying to hide. At last, he looks back at Nie Cheng, eyes locking with his. The misery that pooled in them told Nie Cheng all he needed to know. “I’ll take you to him.”

- - - -

Nie Mingjue is still.

He lays on an infirmary bed covered head to toe in bandages that are stained a rust red. Nie Cheng is almost scared to touch him, feeling as if Nie Mingjue would crumple at the slightest bit of pressure, like a tower of sand blowing over in the wind. Realistically, Nie Cheng knows that he will not break, that the bones and muscles his brother had fostered would tide him over and keep him strong even as he lies unconscious.

He is just sleeping, Nie Cheng tells himself, repeating it over and over again in his head like a mantra. He chants it like a fervent worshipper bowing before their god, clinging onto his beliefs like it would form a miracle.

And yet, Nie Cheng has never seen Nie Mingjue so still.

He sits down in a creaky wooden chair, slow and silent as if any noise would wake Nie Mingjue up. There were cuts all over his face, scrapes and nicks that had scabbed over but not quite fully healed. His hair let down, loosely flowing around; Nie Cheng’s fingers brush against the end of the strands, tempted to tie a braid into it. The lower half of his body is covered by a stained linen blanket. Nie Cheng doesn’t even want to start imagining what he might see underneath the fabric cover.

“He’s been unconscious since the Wens attacked,” Nie Huaisang says, coming up behind him to place a steady hand on Nie Cheng’s shoulder. “The other sects aren’t aware of that, of course.”

Nie Huaisang stares at the unconscious form of Nie Mingjue, hand tightening its grip on Nie Cheng. Nie Huaisang speaks, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Da-ge, Xiao Cheng is back. Why don’t you wake up and greet him? Everything will be fine now that the three of us are back together.”

Please, Nie Cheng pleads. He can barely stand it right now, he doesn’t know how Nie Huaisang managed to hold on for all those weeks, sitting in a silent room with a still body. It was agonizing, the worry in the room thick enough to taste, bitter like the medicinal herbs slathered all over Nie Mingjue’s body. He pleads, and hopes, and prays that Nie Mingjue would wake up, grinning at Nie Cheng with that ever-steady tone and booming laugh he had inherited from their father.

“Da-ge,” Nie Cheng says, reaching out to hold Nie Mingjue’s hand. It was warm; Nie Cheng doesn’t know what he’d do if it wasn’t. “I’ve found you all. I’m sorry for being late. Don’t you want to hear about my trip?”

He tries to keep his voice steady, the tone casual as if he were just recapping a vacation he had taken. As if it were a lazy morning when Nie Huaisang and Nie Cheng would sneak into Nie Mingjue’s room to throw themselves onto his bed to wake their brother up. There was no medicinal sting in the air, no dead sect members, no burned sect, nothing. Everything was fine, just as it had been.

Within Nie Cheng’s hold, Nie Mingjue’s finger twitches.

Nie Cheng’s eyes fly open, covering Nie Mingjue’s wrist with his other hand. He leans forward, chair nearly tipping back if it weren’t for Nie Huaisang.

“Ge,” Nie Cheng says. “Ge, I think he’s waking up.”

Together, he and Nie Huaisang huddle around Nie Mingjue’s bed. Sure enough, after a few moments where Nie Cheng thinks he forgot how to breathe, Nie Mingjue’s eyes flutter open. His pupils are foggy, gaze distorted as he blearily blinks up at his brothers.

“A-Sang? Xiao Cheng?” he rasps. “You found him, A-Sang? Xiao Cheng, you’re alright?”

“Are you?” Nie Cheng retorts. Nie Mingjue is silent, rolling his shoulders back as he tries to sit up. Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang help support him up, allowing Nie Mingjue to lean against the wall as he coughs, a dry heave that has Nie Cheng’s heart aching like it had been stepped all over.

“I will be,” Nie Mingjue says. He wraps his arms around his brothers, pulling them into a tight embrace. Nie Cheng leans his head against Nie Mingjue’s shoulder, pressing his cheek against the scratchy cotton fabric. “My boys. I’m so glad you two are safe.”

He still doesn’t sound fully conscious, Nie Cheng notes as he pulls back to look at Nie Mingjue. His brother’s eyes were still clouded over, not quite able to focus on his surroundings. Perhaps it was proof that Nie Mingjue could recognize his brothers from anywhere; that he would know their voice and touch as well as he knows his own, three parts of the same soul, always meant to be together. Right now, however, all it did was worry Nie Cheng.

“I’ll go get a doctor,” Nie Cheng says. He and Nie Huaisang passed by some medics on the way here; Nie Mingjue should be looked over, just in case.

By the time he returns with the doctor, Nie Mingjue is asleep again. This time, however, his chest rises and falls in a different pattern. Perhaps Nie Cheng was convincing himself of a false truth, but after knowing that Nie Mingjue was still alive, Nie Cheng feels that he sleeps differently. It wasn’t as still, like a gently flowing river rather than a nonmobile body of water. Good thing, too; everyone knows how dangerous stagnant water was.

- - - -

Nie Mingjue wakes a few more times over the course of the next two weeks. Nie Cheng makes sure to always spend part of his day by his bedside, whether wiping his face with a damp towel or recounting tales of what had happened that day or simply just sitting in silence to soak in his brother’s presence. It hurts less and less every time to see his sleeping form, knowing that Nie Mingjue was closer and closer to staying conscious for most of the day.

He still has that delirious, dizzy look in his eyes, but he’s able to recognize the people around him. The doctor said he was doing well given the state of his injuries. She won’t tell Nie Cheng what exactly those injuries were, however. He’s being coddled by the people around him; Nie Huaisang’s order, no doubt. It doesn’t matter much, not when Nie Cheng spends so much time with Nie Mingjue. He can see the bandages around his brother’s stomach and arms, can nearly taste the dried blood as Nie Mingjue winces and rubs at the linens.

“What was it like?” Nie Cheng asks once when he had mustered up enough courage to do so.

“Devastating,” Nie Mingjue answers. His words were slurred together, nothing necessarily too sloppy but nothing like the bold, sharp sentences he used to be able to string together. “It was a massacre. Women, children, mortals, no one was let past the fire. There were more ashes than buildings. Every time I breathed in I coughed it up; it filled my lungs and coated them black, no doubt. The Wens are powerful; never underestimate them, Xiao Cheng.”

Nie Cheng wouldn’t ever dare think less of the Wens’ strength. He hadn’t, not since Nie Mingjue had to tell his brothers that their father was dead by their hands, not since they were able to drag a waterborne abyss into Caiyi town, not since they left him and the other disciples to die in that cave with that creature. Nie Cheng sees their never setting sun and wishes to shoot it down as Hou Yi had, he sees them and he hates, resentment bubbling up underneath his skin and eating away at any threads of empathy he had for them.

“I’m sorry,” Nie Cheng says.

“I’m not.” Nie Mingjue shakes his head. His hair had been redone, Nie Cheng’s deft fingers swiftly recreating the elaborate hairstyle Nie Mingjue typically wore. “If I could do it all over again, I would send you away every time. You were not severely injured, and that was the greatest blessing I could ever hope to receive at the time. Someone would take you in, and you would be safe.”

“Yunmeng Jiang,” Nie Cheng says. “I ran to Yunmeng Jiang. I don’t-- I still don’t know why, Da-ge, my head was a mess and everything was spinning around me. Why did I go there, of all places?”

“Because you are loved, Xiao Cheng,” Nie Mingjue answers. He pulls Nie Cheng to sit beside him on his bed, scooting over to make space for Nie Cheng to curl up next to him. Nie Mingjue wraps an arm around him, caging Nie Cheng into his embrace. “Your mother, Yu Ziyuan, she was there, wasn’t she? You ran to Yunmeng Jiang because you knew she was there and because she loves you, just as I love you, just as A-Sang loves you. Perhaps you didn’t know it in your mind, but your heart could tell.”

“I thought you didn’t like my mother,” Nie Cheng says. Nie Mingjue laughs, and it isn’t so much of a boom as it is a small crash, but the reverberations against Nie Cheng’s head comfort him nonetheless.

“I do not approve of her actions towards you,” Nie Mingjue agrees. He places a hand atop Nie Cheng’s head, gently stroking down. “But I cannot fault her for loving you, Xiao Cheng. A mother’s affections run deep; when I went to visit Yunmeng Jiang all those years ago and met her, I could tell just by looking at her how much her son’s death affected her. Love does not have to be right to be true.”

Nie Mingjue always had a million life lessons that Nie Cheng had yet to learn, He didn’t know how his brother had managed to amass so much more knowledge in the few years of living he had over Nie Cheng. Perhaps it was because Nie Mingjue had been forced to grow up after their father’s death, taking on the role of both a sect leader and father figure to Nie Huaisang and Nie Cheng. He had already been sect leader by the time he went to attend Lan Qiren’s lectures, sixteen and already with the weight of thousands of lives on his shoulders.

“I love you,” Nie Cheng says, for that’s all he can think of to say at the moment.

“I love you, too,” Nie Mingjue smiles. It’s gentle, cradling Nie Cheng in a cocoon of warmth and affection, treating him like a delicate butterfly and a beloved keepsake, like Nie Mingjue wanted to protect and treasure him all at once. “I love you, Xiao Cheng, right and true.”

- - - -

It’s hard to rebuild a sect, especially when one is in the middle of a war. Nie Cheng spends his days working alongside Nie Huaisang, sorting through paperwork and writing letters to the other sects. They share an office, two tables pushed next to each other to form a long space for them to spread their work on. Nie Cheng looks at the growing stack of papers on their desk and feels a headache coming on.

“Da-ge needs to get better so he can take over this,” Nie Huaisang sighs. “I have no idea what I’m doing!”

“He must have been terribly cooped up in his office all those times,” Nie Cheng adds, sliding the blunt knife between the folded envelope to break open the seal. A letter from Lan Wangji: Lan Xichen had been found, thank goodness. It seems like he had been hiding in a civilian’s house. They were starting on plans to retrieve the swords the Wens had taken from the disciples they housed for their camp. Nie Cheng places the letter in his pile, reaching for another to open.

“I feel like my eyes are going to bleed out,” Nie Huaisang says, glaring at the innocuous paper in his hands.

At least Nie Cheng gets to spend some time outside. He trains the junior disciples; they don’t have enough teachers to go around, and Nie Cheng is skilled enough to at least teach some basic skills. The largest building in the town they’ve borrowed has been turned into an orphanage; Nie Cheng visits and plays with the children while keeping an eye out to see if any have a particular talent for spiritual cultivation. They would all eventually become cultivators, or the Nie sect would at try-- lack of numbers means they weren’t particularly picky about who was to become a disciple, whether it be an elder’s child or a servant’s.

Some days were filled with meetings with elders and extra training. Some days were slower; Nie Cheng liked those days in particular. It was on one of those days that he decides to visit Nie Mingjue earlier than usual. Nie Cheng doesn’t find his brother in bed, as he typically does. Rather, Nie Mingjue is sitting on the floor meditating.

“Da-ge?”

“Xiao Cheng!” Nie Mingjue cracks open an eye, grinning at the sight of his brother. “Good news: I woke up today and felt less groggy than usual, and Lu-yisheng decided I was good enough to finally get off that damned bed. I still can’t leave this room, though.”

“You’re better?” Nie Cheng asks, feeling his body lighten. Nie Mingjue nods, getting up to stretch his arms out. Though he’s still covered in bandages, he certainly does look more refreshed than usual, like he’s regained a certain amount of clarity. His eyes are clearer than usual, Nie Cheng notes with relief, and his words aren’t as slurred.

“I’m getting there,” Nie Mingjue replies. Nie Cheng nearly cries out of relief, stepping towards his brother to wrap his arms around him. Nie Mingjue returns his embrace, patting his back. Everything would be okay; slowly, they were returning back to normal.

- - - -

If there was one life lesson that Nie Mingjue did not have to teach Nie Cheng, it was that good things never last. Nie Cheng is intimately familiar with that fact, knows it like he knows his age and name. Perhaps it was the universe’s way of cursing him. Maybe he did something bad in his previous life, and this was his karma. Maybe he really was just a terrible person and was being punished for still existing when he should’ve died all those years ago before the Nies took him in.

Still, whatever power that had decided to play with Nie Cheng’s life didn’t have to hurt his brother as well.

“I thought you said he was getting better,” Nie Cheng says. He can’t wrap his head around the situation; only a few days ago was Nie Mingjue up and on his feet, signing off on documents and drafting a letter to Lan Qiren. Was it because he got back to work too early? Nie Cheng knew he should’ve pushed for Nie Mingjue to rest for a bit more. This was all his fault.

“He was,” the doctor says, nodding her head. “But then he suddenly returned to as he was before. We’ve done some research, San-gongzi. Something happened in his mind, it’s been eating away at Nie-zongzhu’s conscious.”

“Like a qi deviation?”

“Something along those lines. But it’s more physical than that, it overpowered his spiritual core. We-- we don’t know how to cure him.” The doctor lets out a deep sigh that echoes in Nie Cheng's ears. She bows, head practically touching the ground. “My deepest apologies, San-gongzi.”

“He was getting better,” Nie Cheng repeats, like a broken songbird that only knew how to sing one tune. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, doesn’t understand how someone like Nie Mingjue, who was always so strong, could be defeated from the inside out. By his own mind, no less.

The Wens, his own head whispers to him. They must have done something to Nie Mingjue. Wen Zhuliu could melt cores; who's to say they didn’t have someone who could do the same to brains?

“How much time-- how long does he--” Nie Cheng can’t even get the words out of his mouth.

“We don’t know,” the doctor says. Nie Cheng wants to tear his hair out and scream; taking Nie Mingjue’s golden core would have been better than this. At least then, he would’ve still been alive. “But soon. Very soon. Er-gongzi is talking to him right now, San-gonzgi. I would recommend doing the same.”

“Thank you,” Nie Cheng says. The doctor’s face softens; she was old, crow’s feet dancing along the edges of her eyes. Without the medical professionalism on her face, she looked like Mu Huangli, one of the sect elders who had raised Nie Cheng. One of the sect elders who were now gone, passing through their cycle of reincarnation and leaving Nie Cheng to pick up the remains. Her body had been recovered, he had heard, and given a proper burial in the spot she had picked out beforehand, half joking as she declared herself too old to continue living. It was one thing to die from age, and another to die from fire and blade. Nie Cheng can only hope it was quick.

When Nie Huaisang steps out of Nie Mingjue’s room, his nose and cheeks are red, eyes glossy with fresh tears. He spots Nie Cheng, raising a hand to place on his arm. “Your turn, Xiao Cheng.”

Nie Cheng was tempted not to go inside; it felt too final, like he was accepting Nie Mingjue’s fate and saying goodbye for the last time. But the thought of having no goodbye was an even worse feeling, and so Nie Cheng steps in, shutting the door behind him with a quiet creak. Nie Mingjue was sitting on his bed once more, eyes drawn to the window on the wall opposite of Nie Cheng.

“Da-ge,” Nie Cheng calls. His voice is already trembling. Nie Mingjue turns his head, smiling at Nie Cheng. He gestures for him to come over, and Nie Cheng complies, sitting down next to Nie Mingjue. The chair was still warm, a sign of Nie Huaisang’s presence before him.

“Are you going to die?” Nie Cheng whispers. He feels like a child all over again, looking up to his mother as he asked if she was leaving. That was their last meeting, he recalls, as she left for Meishan Yu and he left for a new life.

“I think so,” Nie Mingjue replies. Nie Cheng’s face falls, unable to process hearing the news verbally confirmed.

“But-- I can’t-- I’m not ready.” There was so much more Nie Cheng wanted to do with his brother. Unasked questions he had pushed off for later until it was too late. Life lessons he hadn’t yet learned. Time they weren’t going to be able to spend together anymore. Birthdays Nie Mingjue would miss; he would be older than Nie Mingjue one day, Nie Cheng realizes with a horrified startle. “I can’t do this without you.”

“No one is ever ready,” Nie Mingjue says. He holds Nie Cheng’s hand, thumb gently stroking across the back of his hand. It was calloused, rough after years of training and fighting. Nie Mingjue would never wield a sword again. “We just have to learn to live with the grief, to press it into our hearts and accept it as a part of our lives. And one day you’ll be okay, I promise. You’re already so grown, Xiao Cheng, you can do anything.”

“Not if you’re not there!” Nie Cheng cries. He sniffs, eyes blurring with tears as he desperately rubs at them. “What am I supposed to do? I never-- I never got enough time.”

He was nine when he became Nie Mingjue’s brother. Nie Cheng was seventeen now, and yet he still feels like that little boy Nie Mingjue found out in the cold. The kindness Nie Mingjue had extended changed his life, and now Nie Cheng couldn’t do anything but weep as Nie Mingjue’s life was fading before his eyes.

“I would’ve loved to spend immortality with you,” Nie Mingjue smiles. He sounds like he’s already resigned himself to his demise. Nie Mingjue was a fighter; he only ever gave up when the war was truly over. “Our time together was short, but those were the happiest years of my life. I’m so proud of you, Xiao Cheng, of the man I’ve watched you grow into. You and A-Sang are my greatest joy. I would trade away all my glory, all my power and riches if it meant you would grow up the happiest boy in the world.”

“Don’t go,” Nie Cheng sobs. He throws himself onto Nie Mingjue, squeezing his brother tight as if he could tether him to the living world with his touch alone. “Stay with me, Da-ge. Don’t leave me behind.”

“There is nothing more I would like to do than just that,” Nie Mingjue says. He shushes Nie Cheng’s cries, rubbing his arm. His touch is warm, and Nie Cheng tries to commit it to memory. “You and A-Sang need to take care of each other, alright? I won’t be there to protect you from any trouble you get into anymore.”

“I will,” Nie Cheng sniffs. “Da-ge, I love you. I love you so much, right and true.”

“In another life, I would’ve loved to just have been a disciple, practicing my sword and looking after you,” Nie Mingjue says. “Xiao Cheng, let’s meet again, alright? Let’s be brothers once more.”

Nie Cheng nods, unable to do much else past his sobs. Everything hurts, and there’s a hold in Nie Cheng’s chest growing larger and larger by the second. Nie Mingjue smiles, lifting up his hand to cup Nie Cheng’s damp cheek. Nie Cheng clutches at his hand, pressing it close to his face. He holds onto Nie Mingjue tight; there was a sinking feeling in his gut that was twisting around in a way that told Nie Cheng this was it.

“Good boy,” Nie Mingjue smiles. It was soft, and loving, and final. “I’ll be waiting; make sure I have to hang around for a long time.”

Nie Mingjue exhales, closing his eyes. Nie Cheng holds on for as long as he can before dropping Nie Mingjue’s hand, placing it over the blanket. In a way, he almost looked at peace, like he was simply taking a rest. Nie Cheng knew better. He takes in a deep breath, taking in all of his brother one last time before leaving the room to call for the doctor.

Nie Mingjue was still.

Chapter Text

Everything feels empty.

It’s like there’s a gaping hole in Nie Cheng’s chest, one that couldn’t be filled and was instead just eating away at his soul, slowly dragging it down into the dark void until he was nothing but an unfilled shell. He drifts through the halls of the Nie’s camp for the next shichen or two, seemingly in disbelief. Every time he closes his eyes, it's as if he can see the life drain from Nie Mingjue’s, the way his body goes limp and his hands go cold, despite Nie Cheng having left immediately after.

He’s numb and yet sensitive at the same time, unable to feel anything but an overwhelming hurt. What was he meant to do? How was he meant to continue on?

That’s how Nie Huaisang finds him at night, curled up in the corner of a barn with a million questions running through his mind, sunken into the dried hay that was scratching as his arms and legs. Nie Cheng looks up at Nie Huaisang, and it’s as if a semblance of color has reappeared. Nie Cheng opens his arms, sweeping Nie Huaisang into a crushing hug. It’s like he’s trying to fully consume Nie Huaisang, to wrap around him and make sure nothing could happen to his brother.

Without Nie Mingjue, it was just the two of them now.

“Xiao Cheng,” Nie Huaisang whispers, his voice cutting through the silence that had been threatening to choke Nie Cheng. “Xiao Cheng, I’ll take care of you. No one will be able to touch you, no one. I promise we’ll be okay.”

“Nothing is going to be the same,” Nie Cheng croaks.

“It’s not,” Nie Huaisang agrees. His voice wavers at the end, showing that he wasn’t as unaffected as he tried to make himself sound. “But we’re going to have to learn to live with the present.

“The Wens—”

“Will pay for their actions.” In one moment, Nie Huaisang looks like fury personified, a slow, simmering anger that had finally boiled over and was spilling out of the pot, reaching the fire below with a sharp hiss. Nie Cheng sees the Nie blood running through his veins, the anger that had finally manifested in the songbird-turned-falcon.

“I’ll protect you, Ge,” Nie Cheng says. Nie Huaisang buries his face in Nie Cheng’s shoulder, allowing Nie Cheng to raise his arm to rub circles against Nie Huaisang’s back. Together, they stay like that until the sun rises once more, curled up as if to shield each other from the pain of the outside.

Nie Cheng is the first to wake, blinking his eyes at the light peaking through the stray gaps between the wooden boards. His first day without Nie Mingjue, he realizes with a quiet startle. Nie Cheng feels the hurt rising up from the back of his throat, though he tries to calm himself down, wrapping his fingers around the edge of Nie Huaisang’s sleeve to cling onto him. Almost unconsciously, he searches for Nie Huaisang’s wrist, feeling the slightest bit better as he feels the pumping of Nie Huaisang’s pulse. Nie Cheng sighs, dropping his head to return to sleep for just a few more moments.

The world had taken enough from him. Didn’t he deserve a small bit of peace?

- - - -

It is hard to find the time to grieve in the middle of a war.

Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang move their sect back home the day after Nie Mingjue passes. Their temporary camp felt too much like a ghost town with death looming over them, and so they make a decision alongside the remaining elders to travel back.

Qinghe Nie is nothing but ashy remains and lingering regrets. It feels like looking at the white skeleton of a rotting corpse. But they could work with this. From the ashes they would build a new sect, one that stands taller than its ancestors before it, that can carry the burden of the hundreds of lives that were lost on that fateful day and prevent the same from happening again.

For now, however, they bury a body.

The Stone Castles aren’t a place Nie Cheng visits often, only coming to pay respects to his father. When he was younger he felt uneasy walking into the Nie ancestral hall, not sure if he was welcome. But perhaps his father had informed his ancestors of the recent adoption because Nie Cheng didn’t necessarily feel unwelcomed. A little judged, perhaps, by the bodies littered within and between the stone walls, but these spirits had no doubt already moved into their cycles of reincarnation. It was actually comforting, in a way; Nie Cheng would never grow older than these castles, would never grow taller than the walls that surrounded him. He could always be sheltered and protected. Nie Cheng likes to think his father, and now his brother, were still looking out for him even after death.

“We’ll need to increase security measures around here,” Nie Huaisang murmurs. He and Nie Cheng have come alone, with no one but each other by their side. The elaborate robes of the sect leader fit Nie Huaisang, who had always loved delicate embroidery and elegant detailing on his clothing. The responsibilities and power that came with being sect leader, however, felt the slightest bit more untailored.

There were bound to be whispers, Nie Cheng was sure of it. Two sect leaders gone in so few years, the newest one so young and inexperienced, his cultivation so weak. Unbefitting of a Nie. Gossip had already sprung amongst the elders. One particularly bold one had suggested to Nie Cheng that he become sect leader instead. Ha! As if Nie Cheng would make a better sect leader. On the surface, perhaps, but Nie Huaisang was clever in a way that Nie Cheng wasn’t, even if everyone around them seemed to think he was only a lazy coward.

Nie Cheng knew his brother. And if anyone would like to disagree, they could always do so to the point of his sword.

On the matter of Pulao, the Wens still had a number of disciple swords held hostage. It was the reason why Nie Cheng set out for Gusu Lan only a week after returning to Qinghe Nie. He meets up with Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen, who are eager to welcome him into the Cloud Recesses once more.

“How are your brothers doing, Wanyin?” Lan Xichen asks, ever a pleasant smile on his face. Nie Cheng picks up a cup of tea, the small porcelain warming his fingers.

“Da-ge’s dead,” Nie Cheng says, tilting his head back and swallowing the tea in one go. It slides down his throat and leaves a burning presence behind. Nie Cheng sets down the cup, looking up at Lan Xichen with sympathetic eyes. “It happened a few days ago.”

“My condolences, Wanyin,” Lan Xichen says. His eyes dim, fingers trembling as if he couldn’t truly believe what Nie Cheng had said. Nie Cheng is all too familiar with the sentiment.

Lan Xicheng and Nie Mingjue’s friendship circled back to even before Nie Cheng had met either man. In another life, the two of them would have been brothers, a bond forged by years of undying loyalty and respect. Nie Mingjue’s touch was stained everywhere: in the strong sense of justice Lan Xichen had, in the way Nie Cheng clasped Lan Wangji’s arm in greeting as their brothers did, in the way Nie Cheng stood with his back straight and his chin up, confident in his own actions. It was a good legacy to leave, proof that he was real and alive, and Nie Cheng is glad his brother’s memory will linger on.

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji starts. Lan Xichen waves his concerns aside, placing his hands on his lap where Nie Cheng can’t see them.

“I am fine, Wangji.” Lan Xichen clears his throat, nodding at the map that was sitting in the middle of the three of them. War would not wait for a grieving man. “Let us focus on getting your swords back. Mingjue would like that, no?”

Nie Cheng’s spiritual sword was, although destined to happen, a gift Nie Mingjue had given him for his fifteenth birthday. Now, at seventeen, there was nothing more he wanted than to have it back. “Let’s sneak in; the Wens won’t hand them over if we simply ask. There’s no point in trying to negotiate with a bunch of dogs.”

It was a simple enough mission and a small victory at the start of what was looking to become a long war. Nie Cheng wraps his arms around his spiritual sword, a mimicry of a hug as he runs his fingers down the grooved sheath. With Pulao back by his side, he feels just a little less empty.

Wei Wuxian is all too glad to have Suibian back, which Nie Cheng personally brings to Yunmeng Jiang alongside a number of gifts to give to the Jiang family. There is nothing big by any means-- the Nie sect cannot afford to grant any luxuries when it is still trying to rebuild-- and the greatest gift Nie Cheng can offer them is the Nie sect’s alliance, which he isn’t even sure the Jiang sect wants at this point. Still, Wei Wuxian receives him with much pleasure, going so far as to wrap an arm around Nie Cheng when he told him of his brother’s passing. Wei Wuxian never did seem to care for personal boundaries; none of his friends did, in fact, save for perhaps Lan Wangji, who was always so uptight.

“I’ve been researching,” Wei Wuxian brings up as they’re taking tea. They’re sitting on a small pavilion away from the rest of the disciples. Lotus Pier is bright and cheery, and for a moment Nie Cheng wishes it was this place that had burned rather than his home. Perhaps the water could’ve helped; the Nie’s dry lands certainly didn’t. It is an evil thought that leaves Nie Cheng immediately feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt washing over him, and so he pushes it out of his mind, vowing never to think in this sort of manner again. “We need more power if we’re to defeat the Wens.”

“What are you talking about, Shixiong?” Nie Cheng asks, tilting his head to the side. Wei Wuxian was already a powerful cultivator as is, perhaps one of the strongest of their generation. What more could he desire for?

“Do you remember that one class we had with Lan Qiren where he kicked me out?”

“Shixiong, you’ve gotten kicked out of at least half the classes we attended.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Wei Wuxian laughs. “But Xiao Cheng is smart; which class did Lan Qiren get particularly mad at me about?”

Once again, the answer was every class; Lan Qiren always had some problem or another with Wei Wuxian’s behavior. Nie Cheng can’t exactly blame him. “The one where you kept passing notes to Wangji-ge? The one where you convinced all the people around you to stop paying attention and write poetry instead? The one where you brought up that unorthodox way of cultiva-- oh.”

Wei Wuxian smiles, a sly expression on his face as his eyes shine with confidence and mischief. He places his elbow on the table, leaning his chin against his hand. “Ask me how I did it.”

“Wei-shixiong!” Nie Cheng looks at him, eyes blown wide as he tries to recall what exactly Wei Wuxian had said. There was a situation posed, something about a man who had died and lingered on as a fierce corpse. The obvious solution was to liberate, suppress, and eliminate. Wei Wuxian had proposed something else: utilizing the energy, in some way, rather than simply destroying it.

“There is spiritual cultivation,” Wei Wuxian says. “Why can’t there be other forms of cultivation as well? Everything is just energy, at the end of the day, and energy can be manipulated by humans. You should know this, disciple Nie.”

“It’s true that other forms of energy can be used for cultivation,” Nie Cheng says. That’s now the Nie sect cultivated, after all, by using the resentful energy of creatures. Nie Cheng was well-versed in their methods, and even more familiar with sitting down and letting Lan Xichen’s cleansing song wash over him, having started after Nie Huaisang noticed he was growing more erratic. It wasn’t something that would have truly affected him until years or even decades down the road, but Nie Huaisang had insisted on it, and Nie Cheng was never one to deny his brother anything. Thus, he and Nie Mingjue would sit together as Lan Xichen played the tune on his guqin; it was a quiet routine, and it was the one time Nie Cheng enjoyed meditating, being able to listen to the quiet murmurs of Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue.

After Nie Mingjue passed, Nie Cheng spent his time listening to the strums of Lan Wangji’s guqin instead. It made sense: Lan Xichen had always preferred the xiao anyways, and Lan Wangji had been practicing to be able to play the cleansing song as well. There was another reason, of course, one that lingered in the still silences and empty rooms. That was a thing no one ever told you about dying: the destruction of those little habits in its aftermath, the thought of what once was hurting too much to ever continue in the same way.

“But even if we use resentful energy, we’ve never used resentful energy from humans before,” Nie Cheng frowns. “That’s dangerous, Shixiong.”

“It’s about the same,” Wei Wuxian says. “Cultivating resentful energy from a slain beast and a ghost. If you were to take resentful energy from the living, that’s different. Ghosts and demons aren’t the same, after all; I know Nie Cheng paid attention to Lan Qiren’s lectures.”

“More than you did,” Nie Cheng huffs. Wei Wuxian laughs, standing up. He gestures for Nie Cheng to follow him, leading the two of them to an empty room filled with pages of notes. Wei Wuxian picks up a stack, handing them over to Nie Cheng to read over.

“I wanted your input,” Wei Wuxian says, shuffling over to grab more of his notes. “Since you have some experience with harnessing resentful energy. I’m not asking for the Nie sect's secret techniques, of course!”

“Our secret technique is don’t get too cocky and take more than you can handle so you don’t die,” Nie Cheng snorts. Wei Wuxian’s techniques did seem similar to how they cultivated, Nie Cheng will admit. But still, the thought of resentful energy from humans was a lot to process.

“This part can be improved upon,” Nie Cheng says, tapping on one of the paragraphs Wei Wuxian had written. “You need to focus on each individual part of the body. Break it down bit by bit, instead of looking at it as a single piece. It’s all in the details, after all.”

“Interesting,” Wei Wuxian muses. He grabs a brush, dipping it into a stray inkwell lying dangerously close to the edge of the table. Nie Cheng hands Wei Wuxian his notes back, watching as he crosses something out and scribbles down a new string of words. Nie Cheng turns around to scan the rest of the room: there were pages littered about, some flat, some crumpled up into balls. Talismans hung against the wall, drawn in Wei Wuxian’s familiar handwriting.

“Could you at least try to write a bit neater?” Nie Cheng asks, squinting at a talisman as he tries to decipher its meaning. It seemed to be something new; Wei Wuxian was always good at talisman work, even if he usually used it to cause mischief instead of using it in battle.

“I don’t have time to worry about silly things like that,” Wei Wuxian says, tongue held between his teeth as he focuses on writing down what Nie Cheng had said, expanding on the few words of wisdom he had imparted. “I’m a master at work; who care about my handwriting if I discover something powerful?”

“The people who have to read your handwriting to figure out what exactly you discovered,” Nie Cheng snorts. “How far have you gotten, shixiong? What can this… cultivation do?”

“Anything spiritual cultivation can,” Wei Wuxian answers, setting down his brush to look up at Nie Cheng. “Well, not anything, of course, since there is still a difference of energies, but that means there are things this can do that spiritual cultivation cannot as well. To be honest, I’m not quite sure yet, but I know there’s a lot of potential that has yet to be unlocked, and so I’m going to continue working on it until I find it.”

“How long have you been working on this for?” Nie Cheng asks. The piles of reworked notes suggested that Wei Wuxian had been going at it for some time, though Nie Cheng couldn’t possibly fathom how he managed it.

“The idea’s always been in my head ever since that discussion with Lan Qiren. When Yu the Great tamed the flood, suppression was inferior to redirection. So why couldn’t we redirect resentful energy as opposed to just oppressing it?” Wei Wuxian replies. “I started seriously looking into it after we got back from the Wen camp, after we met with Wen Zhuliu. If one’s golden core was to be destroyed, what other forms of cultivation could they use? Certainly not spiritual cultivation anymore, right?”

“Does your new cultivation not require a golden core?” Nie Cheng asks. Wei Wuxian shakes his head; that’s what really gets Nie Cheng thinking about what he said. A form of cultivation that doesn’t require a core?

“I looked into any past theories proposed by others and worked off of those. It’s been a few months, but it’s still not at the level I want it to be at,” Wei Wuxian sighs. “I think I’m too reliant on my spiritual cultivation. But unless I want to get rid of my golden core, I’ll just have to keep on pushing at the rate I’m at.”

“I’ll send over some cultivation manuals,” Nie Cheng says. They wouldn’t be as useful as an actual instructor, of course, but the Nie sect was low on teachers as is, and Wei Wuxian was smart enough to be able to figure it out on his own. “If you had told me earlier, I could have brought them alongside Suibian.”

“I’m trying to keep it a secret,” Wei Wuxian says, raising his index finger to press against his lips. “But I needed your help on some parts. I think I’ll be able to make a breakthrough after refining some techniques. Hey, what do you think of using music as a form of direction?”

That was where Nie Cheng was completely out of water. He hasn’t picked up a musical instrument in ages, save for the times he accompanied Nie Huaisang to his music classes. Master of four arts, he was not. Sure, he could play the qin, but certainly not well, definitely not at the level of Lan Wangji or Nie Huaisang. “I think you’re better off asking Wangji-ge or Xichen-xiong.”

“I think the Twin Jades would call for my execution if they ever heard about what I was doing,” Wei Wuxian chuckles. “Maybe Lan Zhan would be gentle with me. We’re good friends, after all!”

Nie Cheng snorts. Lan Wangji, with his love-addled mind, would probably beg Wei Wuxian to stop his ways and follow the orthodox route. But in a more vague manner of speaking; Wangji-ge, the old fool, could never be direct when it came to Wei Wuxian. Ah, well, Nie Cheng’s not going to interfere in whatever mess they have going on.

“War won’t wait for you,” Nie Cheng warns.

“But it can be held off by others until I’m ready,” Wei Wuxian argues. “I just need a few more months, that’s all. I know I’m close. And once I’m ready, we’ll have enough power to overtake the Wens, no matter how much they look down and laugh at us.”

Laugh at them they did. The Wens were so confident in their power, in the easy victory they were sure to secure. Why wouldn’t they be? Jin Guangshan and Jiang Fengmian were hesitant to take any real action, and Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang were too young to truly lead. But the first thing Nie Cheng was taught was to never underestimate the enemy. That was a lesson he had learned at both Yunmeng Jiang and Qinghe Nie, and if the Wens thought they were going to be able to defeat the other four great sects that easily, they were simply digging their own grave.

“When your new cultivation is ready,” Nie Cheng says, swallowing down the worries that still screamed about its danger and how he should just stop Wei Wuxian from pursuing this all together. “How powerful will it be?”

“Take a guess, Xiao Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says, raising an eyebrow. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes.

“Can it kill a Wen?” he asks.

Wei Wuxian smirks, eyes glowing. In the glimpse of a moment, Nie Cheng can nearly picture what he’ll look like, wielding both spiritual and resentful cultivation, power radiating off him in destructive waves. It was a sight that was both horrifying and beautiful. “By the time I’m finished with it, it’ll be able to kill multiple.”

- - - -

Nie Cheng tries to give Wei Wuxian all the time he needs. He focuses on attacking the supervisory offices the Wens have set up throughout the lands, plotting with Nie Huaisang and their advisors to first focus on the area surrounding Qinghe Nie. This is where Nie Cheng really sees Nie Huaisang’s true powers come to light.

His brother would never be a powerful cultivator; Nie Cheng had come to terms with this fact years ago and was simply happy enough that Nie Huaisang had at least managed to develop a golden core. But what Nie Huaisang didn’t have in physical prowess he made up for in mental. He was a brilliant strategian, and Nie Cheng was all too happy to follow his orders.

Of course, it would help more if everyone else could understand what Nie Huaisang was saying.

Nie Huaisang still spoke the same language as them, of course. But he refused to properly explain his tactics to the other generals and advisors, or even really speak to them in the first place, leaving Nie Cheng more often than not to play as a messenger. Which then leads to everyone giving him the credit instead. Nie Huaisang didn’t seem to mind too much, even stopping Nie Cheng from trying to tell others that it was really his ideas all along.

Sure, Nie Cheng could plan an attack or lead a group of cultivators; he had been trained to do just as much from a young age. But he never quite seemed to be able to come up with the same twists and turns as Nie Huaisang did. Nie Cheng tried not to rely on his brother too much, but occasionally he’d be stuck on what to do and wander into Nie Huaisang’s office, where his brother seemed to have just the right set of keywords to get Nie Cheng’s brain to come up with a plan.

Nie Cheng doesn’t explain his brother’s reasoning for not wanting the spotlight. It would certainly help his reputation: the head shaker, they called him. Ask Nie-zongzhu for help and all he can do is shake his head and say “I don’t know!”. What a silly nickname.

Perhaps his brother stole all the brains from him when they split, people snickered. That was another rumor that had started circulating: that Nie Huaisang and Nie Cheng were twins or a soul that had somehow been split in two. Never seen without the other, seemingly able to communicate without the need for words or sounds. Together they formed the perfect cultivator, a master in both the sword and the arts. Too perfect, and so the cultivator got split in two, reuniting with itself as brothers. The whole notion was ridiculous, honestly. Nie Cheng understood why Lan Wangji never cared to partake in gossip. Of course he understood his brother, having grown up with Nie Huaisang and watching him turn from a mischievous brat to a slightly better-behaved sect leader. And it wasn’t all too strange to think they would have separate interests, was it? Moreover, how does a soul get split anyways?

But whatever, Nie Cheng let them believe whatever they wanted to. And if Nie Huaisang wanted to keep his abilities hidden, well, Nie Cheng would be the first to take those secrets to the grave.

So Nie Cheng spends his time training disciples and going over battle strategies with the other generals in his sect. In the evenings, he watches as Nie Huaisang fills out stacks and stacks of paperwork, too much to simply only be dealing with sect matters. Nie Cheng wonders what Nie Huaisang is doing, although he could be completely wrong for all he knows.

He desperately wishes Nie Mingjue was still here. Da-ge would've known what to do. Nie Cheng feels like he's still trying to catch up, running behind in his shadow. He doesn't mind much: the sunlight burned him, the heat feeling like flames licking at his skin. Nie Cheng just wishes Nie Mingjue would turn back to smile at Nie Cheng once more. He starts to dream of his brother, jumbled in with faint memories of his father and the Jiangs. Every time he wakes, Nie Cheng can feel the emptiness of the air just a little bit more. At times like this, he's glad he can sneak into Nie Huaisang's room next door, not needing the bear the weight of his pain alone.

Sometimes Lan Wangji visits. He helps Nie Cheng sort out attack plans, explaining to him that Lan Xichen was traveling through the other sects to hopefully keep up some semblance of camaraderie. His brother has assumed that perhaps Nie-zongzhu and his brother would prefer Lan Wangji’s presence instead, giving Lan Xichen the opportunity to travel to other sects as well. Nie Cheng can’t disagree with that; he likes having Lan Wangji around with his silent strength and ever-present calm, and Nie Huaisang has come to, however reluctantly, accept Lan Wangji as well. They work well together, with Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji putting their childish rivalry aside until dinner time when they bicker to their heart’s content. Or rather, Nie Huaisang argues with a silent Lan Wangji, who doesn’t say much but makes numerous faces at Nie Huiasang expressing vague disapproval.

Most days, though, Nie Cheng focuses on retaking control of the lands around them. He’s good enough at leading their disciples into battle; they seem fond of Nie Cheng, chorusing out a “yes, San-gongzi!” after his commands. Nie Cheng wonders what it would have been like if they were calling for Jiang-gonzgi instead, but he doesn’t think he’d like that sound of that very much. Nie Cheng tries hard to make sure no one is killed; after all, it was their younger siblings and children he was training when he returned home, and Nie Cheng wouldn’t be able to bear looking into their eyes if he had gotten their family killed.

Nie Huaisang relays information to him that he’s gotten, including locations of prominent Wen members and their activities in the areas surrounding the other sects. It’s good to know where they are, even if Nie Cheng isn’t taking any direct action. He’s still waiting on Wei Wuxian. It’s a tough choice to explain to the elders, especially when he can’t tell them exactly why he’s stalling.

He tells Nie Huaisang, of course; there’s nothing he’s hidden from his brother. Nie Huaisang simply hums in agreement, looking unsurprised. He’s always been more supportive of Wei Wuxian’s ideas than Nie Cheng, though Nie Cheng has to wonder how he found out before him.

“Wei Wuxian is clumsy,” Nie Huaisang shrugs. “He’s not as secretive as he thinks he is.”

Nie Cheng keeps an ear out for any potential gossip about Wei Wuxian after that, but no one else seems to know. Perhaps Nie Huaisang simply stumbled upon it by accident, or perhaps Wei Wuxian had already told him while seeking some advice. He sends out packages of cultivation manuals and his own notes theorizing about Wei Wuxian’s newfound method of cultivation. Nie Cheng’s no academic like Wei Wuxian or even Nie Huaisang, who had a surprising knack for cultivation theory, but he can come up with a few ideas of his own. He feels a bit conflicted about helping Wei Wuxian out, but if Wei Wuxian succeeds and actually manages to create a form of cultivation that could push back the Wens, Nie Cheng would be all too grateful.

Nie Cheng’s never felt more helpless in his life, despite being in control of an army of cultivators. Of all the great sects, perhaps it was Qinghe Nie who best knew how vicious the Wens could be. His father had been murdered by them, and now his oldest brother as well. Nie Cheng had lost so many lives to the sect of the never-setting sun, and it accumulated to a ball of fury and anguish sitting in his stomach, burning with resentment for the Wens sitting on their bloodstained throne.

So Nie Cheng waits. He plans, and attacks smaller camps, and takes out their men with his own, but he doesn’t go after the Wen clan. Not yet. Not until all the pieces fall into place.

It is during one of their slower days, where Nie Cheng has no meeting left for the day and is simply running drills with the disciples, that he receives a letter. One of the younger disciples gives it to him, the top of their head barely coming up to his shoulder.

“For San-gongzi!” they beam, evidently proud of their hard work. Nie Cheng ruffles the top of their head, taking the letter from their hands. It’s thin, the paper crinkling as he shifts it around, holding it up to the light.

“What is it, San-gongzi?” one of the disciples asks. Some of them are still training, but others have gathered around him, curious to know the contents of Nie Cheng’s mysterious letter. All sect-related matters get handed off to Nie Huaisang, so it wasn’t often that Nie Cheng received letters unless it was from one of his friends or needed him directly.

Nie Cheng sweeps his arm around, gesturing for them to stand back. Upon opening it, all that’s inside is a single sheet of paper. There’s no writing, simply a crude drawing: two dots spaced out on an invisible line, a curved line below them. A smile. There’s no signature either, save for the small lotus drawn in the corner.

He passes it around to the rest of the disciples, allowing them to fawn over the letter and its mysterious contents. Nie Cheng doesn’t join in; he already knows what it means. Wei Wuxian’s finished. It was a notice and command all at once.

Do it.

Nie Cheng looks out at his disciples, at the cultivators he had been training for just this moment. He would have to speak to Nie Huaisang, gather information on the Wen’s whereabouts, and form a plan of attack with his generals and elders. There was so much to do to prepare, but Nie Cheng couldn’t say he wasn’t excited. Finally, finally, it would be time to act.

He was proud of Wei Wuxian for finishing his research. His shixiong deserved a gift: for such an amazing breakthrough, Nie Cheng would give him the head of a Wen.

Chapter Text

No one ever really teaches you what it feels like to kill a man.

Sure, you can train up sword stances and battle strategies and have every step planned out from start to finish, but that final move, that final swing where your sword pierces through human flesh as delicate as your own and leaves a bloody trail and soulless eyes in its wake, no one ever tells you what that feels like.

The first time Nie Cheng kills is only a few months ago, a junior Wen disciple whose name he would never know. Or perhaps he's always been a killer, murdering nine-year-old Jiang Cheng to rise from his ashes like a phoenix dressed in grey and gold. The blood on his hands is stained in the colors of a rising sun, a bright, almost violent red that eventually fades to a darker brown. The sun has to set eventually, after all, even for the Wens.

He wonders if he’s a monster for feeling relief when another Wen falls to the ground. He tries to justify it to himself, telling himself that each dead man meant another one of his men that would live, another family of civilians that would be safe, that the war could end sooner the stronger they pushed and the weaker the Wens grew. But how many families was he ripping apart with their actions? How many lives was he destroying?

Nie Cheng can’t say he feels remorse for his actions. He didn’t care about the world, just the tiny corner of it he’s carved out for himself. Out of the three siblings, Nie Mingjue was the one who wanted justice for everyone. Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang were less empathetic. But Nie Cheng grieves, sometimes, for how much war had taken from both sides, and how much more it would continue to take.

Still, regret would not win him a war. And if nothing else, Nie Cheng was going to win.

“They’re at Hejian,” Nie Huaisang says, standing over the table next to Nie Cheng. It was one of the rare times he was there with the other generals, usually preferring to lead from the background. He takes a black weiqi piece, placing it over Hejian. The flat circle falls onto the paper with an echoing click. “This is where we’ll move next. Let’s surround them; if we can stop them from leaving, we can hit them where it hurts. Take their head, and make sure everyone else can see it as well.”

That would turn out to be more true than even Nie Huaisang could expect.

Nie Cheng leads his men to where Nie Huaisang had directed him. Before departing, he makes sure to pull each of them aside and thank them for their service. This mission would be more dangerous than anything else they had done. Just in case, Nie Cheng wanted his men to go in knowing they were valued. That they had a reason to make it out alive.

He does the same to himself as well, smoothing over a sketch Nie Huaisang had done of Nie Mingjue, right before he had passed. Nie Huaisang exaggerated some details, but it was all done to show Nie Mingjue in his highest glory. The ink-drawn eyes seemed to nearly glimmer with pride, and as he grins at Nie Cheng from his flat, paper housing, Nie Cheng promises himself that he would feed Pulao the blood of a Wen today. His sword would sing in victory as they took over Hejian, hunting down Wen Xu like the beast he was.

War was bloody. That was something everyone knew, something that had been drilled into Nie Cheng until he was as familiar with it as he was with his own body. But it was something else to see it in person, to feel someone else’s blood, not knowing whether it was friend or foe, splash onto your skin, drowning you in the scarlet life. Nie Cheng leads his men like one commands a pack of wolves, running together in a pack and attacking for the throat. He swings, slices, and blocks, helps a junior disciple up and knocks another one down. The metallic smells and the copper taste linger through his senses, and Nie Cheng knows from previous experience that it would take days for it to fully leave.

Nie Huaisang always said he was too sympathetic. Nie Cheng doesn’t particularly agree with that statement; he knows himself well enough to know where he stands on his feelings toward the world. And, standing in the middle of the battlefield and making eye contact with Wen Xu as he gets closer and closer to where he stands, slaying the Wen people left and right, Nie can’t find it in himself to feel any sort of guilt at all. Just a long-lasting satisfying feeling of finally, finally being able to act on his hatred. Nie Cheng loathes them all, hates them from his very core, nothing but blackened ashes for the clan who had taken everything from his family.

He doesn’t let Wen Xu speak. Doesn’t give him the chance to, not when Nie Cheng saw his opportunity and immediately made a dash for it, lunging forward.

When Nie Cheng places his blade against Wen Xu’s neck and swings, feeling Pulao slice through muscles and tendons like they were brittle strings, he feels nothing. He can almost hear the bone crack, amongst the yelling and shouting of the other cultivators. Blood squirts out from the cut arteries, and for once Nie Cheng revels in the red droplets seeping into his skin. He grabs Wen Xu’s skull by his hair, raising it up for everyone else to see. Wen Xu’s body unceremoniously collapses onto the wet dirt; for as revered as he was in his life, he would decompose into compost just as everyone else would, undistinguishable and forgotten.

“Your leader is dead!” Nie Cheng roars, his voice ringing out through the crowd. He grins, as feral as an untamed wolf, eyes alight with adrenaline and satisfaction. He swings Wen Xu’s head through the air, meeting the lifeless eyes that were permanently frozen in shock. Wen Xu didn’t think he would do it. Nie Cheng proved him wrong. “Let this be a warning to you all; soon, the rest of your leaders will be next!”

A small voice in his head told Nie Cheng that perhaps he looked a bit insane. A stronger voice said he didn’t care. No one really teaches you what it feels like to kill a man, but they especially don’t mention the joy that can come from it, pure, spiteful delight that sets every nerve in Nie Cheng’s body alight with bliss. He wants to do it again. He will do it again.

The battle is ended shortly after that, with the rest of the Wens retreating. Nie Cheng and his men are able to push forward, taking back Hejian and setting up camp for the night. Nie Cheng is still feeling his high, running around camp to get his men situated. They’ve lost too many good cultivators today, but so had the Wens. The Wens had lost a son, and ultimately, that’s what mattered.

Finally, finally, finally.

“We’ll have to send a message to Nie-zongzhu,” one of the cultivators says. She’s one of the senior disciples who often sparred with Nie Cheng, now nursing a broken arm and a heavy cut on her face. When Nie Cheng asked if she was okay with it, she had simply smiled at him and said, “Scars are proof I am alive. And that’s what matters most, doesn’t it?”.

She had lost her brother in a surprise attack by the Wens a few months before. Nie Cheng clasps her shoulder and agrees. Life, no matter how broken or scarred, was the most important thing. So long as your heart still beats, you can still push forward. Tomorrow would be another day, after all.

As Nie Cheng is about to retire, he notices a lone cultivator standing on the edge of the field, right where the battle had taken place. Curious, and determined to make sure all his men were taken care of before he slept, Nie Cheng makes his way toward the man. On closer inspection, it was someone he didn’t recognize, which he found odd. The man was visibly upset, lips pursed into a small scowl as his eyes were dark with shame and embarrassment. He’s hunched in on himself, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Who are you?” Nie Cheng finds himself asking.

The man turns around, a look of surprise shifting onto his face before he hastily bows. He doesn’t look injured like the other cultivators are. He’s a mortal, Nie Cheng realizes, or a cultivator with a weak enough core to be left behind in battle. So then what was he doing here?

“Apologies, Gongzi,” the stranger says. “I was just admiring the scenery.”

Nie Cheng raises an eyebrow, looking out at the dark field of trampled grass and mud. He can barely make out anything, and even that was better compared to the alternative of looking at the bloody mess that was made today. “Well, go to bed. It’s getting late, and we’ll have to move out early tomorrow morning.”

“Ah, this one isn’t part of the Nie sect,” the man says, waving his hands through the air. “I’m simply here to clean up after the battle. And my tent is currently being occupied by, er, some of my other peers.”

Nie Cheng blinks, eyebrows pulled down as he tilts his head to the side. He looks at the man for a moment and takes in his fair skin and clean features. The man, in turn, stares back, and Nie Cheng wills himself not to squirm under his gaze. It felt a bit like being pinned under a knife’s blade.

“What’s your name?” he asks again. “I’m Nie Wanyin.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Nie-gongzi,” the man says, acting like he hasn’t heard Nie Cheng’s name ringing throughout the camp all day. He bows once more, lifting his head up to peer at Nie Cheng from under his eyelashes, the pupils of his big and distinct. “This one is called Meng Yao.”

- - - -

Meng Yao, as he had previously mentioned, is the man who cleans up the fields after Nie Cheng and his men wreak havoc upon them. Nie Cheng ends up learning a lot more about him after inviting Meng Yao to rest in his tent. The poor man had been chased out of his own by the others who were making fun of him.

“My mother’s a prostitute,” Meng Yao tells him outright, an explanation for the shunning he was receiving. “Does that bother you?”

He’s smaller than Nie Cheng, looking up at him with big, wondering eyes. His cheekbones were sharp, both a genetic feature and a sign of his malnutrition. It only served to make the rest of his face look softer, though, the corners of his lips quirked up like he was ever smiling. Not like Lan Xichen’s smile; it was something quieter, with a twinkle of ingenious. He was pretty, Nie Cheng thinks, beautiful in the way Nie Huaisang was, light and smooth like porcelain, soft like a puppy’s fur.

“Who is your father?” Nie Cheng asks, initially not answering his question.

“Jin Guangshan,” Meng Yao replies. Nie Cheng raises an eyebrow, obviously not expecting that answer. Meng Yao sighs, looking down at his lap and clenched hands. “But he doesn’t claim me. I’m just his bastard son, in the end. I’ve only ever had my mother. She’s passed now; she’s always been sickly, ever since I was around ten years of age or so.”

“I’m sorry,” Nie Cheng says. “I know how that feels. Or, well, my mother passed when I was born, so it’s a bit different. I think. She wasn’t a prostitute-- er, not that it matters. She was a rogue cultivator. I don’t mind, for the record.”

He’s stumbling over his words, Nie Cheng realizes with a wince. He doesn’t know why, but he feels the urge to spill his life story to Meng Yao. Not the true one, of course, but the fabricated reality he had crafted. There was something about the man that drew him in, like a moth flying towards a flickering candle.

Meng Yao smiles, a gentle curve that made him look like one of the portraitures Nie Huaisang liked to paint. “Nie-gongzi is like me, then. We both lost our mothers young.”

“Your father should have taken you in,” Nie Cheng frowns. He thinks of his own father, taking a boy who shared no blood of his under his wing. How could Jin Guangshan not do the same to his biological son? He had the resources to do as much; most likely it was his fear of his reputation falling that stopped him. “How could he not take responsibility for his actions? Where is his honor?”

No wonder Nie Huaisang was always bad-mouthing him. Nie Cheng had heard rumors of Jin Guangshan’s insatiable lust and infidelity, but it was another thing to see living proof of that in front of him.

“You don’t look much like him,” Nie Cheng notes. Meng Yao nods, reaching up to stroke his own cheek, as if suddenly aware of his own appearance. His fingers were long and thin, Nie Cheng notes. A musician’s fingers, or perhaps an artist’s. “That’s good. I look my mother, too. That’s what my father used to say, at least.”

“Nie-gongzi’s mother must have been beautiful, then,” Meng Yao notes. Nie Cheng flushes; Yu Ziyuan was as beautiful in her own stark way. Her features were strong, and she carried herself with such confidence that it was almost impossible to think of her as ugly in any way. When he was younger, Jiang Cheng thought his mother was like a fairy, or perhaps a goddess reincarnated. When he got older, Nie Cheng still found himself admiring his mother for her ever-youthful and distinct beauty.

They speak for about a shichen or so. Nie Cheng has never spoken so much to someone other than his friends in such a long time, but Meng Yao was a good listener, and he made Nie Cheng feel seen. In fact, Nie Cheng only notices so much time has passed once he yawns three times in a row, his eyes watering up with reflexive tears.

“Will you have a place to rest for the night?” he asks Meng Yao. Even though he wasn’t one of Nie Cheng’s men, Nie Cheng still felt a responsibility for him. “If not, I can retrieve a spare cot for you to sleep here.”

“I wouldn’t dare trouble Nie-gongzi,” Meng Yao says, shaking his head. Already he is standing up, bowing to Nie Cheng. “I’m sure I’ll find a place to sleep.”

“Nonsense.” Nie Cheng stands up as well, clasping his arm and gesturing for him to sit down at Nie Cheng’s desk. There were some letters he had been drafting to Nie Huaisang that Nie Cheng sweeps aside, clearing the space for Meng Yao. “How could you be troubling me when all you want to do is rest? I’ll go fetch some blankets for you.”

Nie Cheng makes a quick trip of his task, borrowing an extra from their supplies. Along the way, he conveniently stops by to check in on his men. The air in the camp was quiet, but not still. It was a heavy slumber but not a permanent sleep. Good. Nie Cheng breathes a sigh of relief, reminding himself to help Nie Huaisang prepare a large feast when they returned home.

He returns to his own tent, pushing open the flap to see Meng Yao in the same place Nie Cheng had left him. Meng Yao smiles at him; he was always smiling at Nie Cheng, and there was something about the uptilt of his lips that made Nie Cheng awfully curious about them. It was as if he was hiding a million secrets in them. Nie Cheng lays out the blanket, awkwardly gesturing to it. “Here. It’s not much, but…”

“Thank you, Nie-gongzi,” Meng Yao says. “It’s more than enough.”

“Sure,” Nie Cheng murmurs, looking away. He spots his letter draft, which had originally been laying on the table, leaning dangerously close to the edge. It looked as if it was about to fall off, so Nie Cheng scoots it closer it, smoothing out a corner that had somehow become folded. He crawls into his own cot, letting out a sigh of relief as he is finally able to lay down.

Hopefully, he could get a few shichen in without being woken up by his men. Or by any nightmares; how embarrassing would it be to wake up screaming from a nightmare in front of his guest? With his back against the tent wall and his legs curled up to his stomach, he shuts his eyes, quickly drifting off into sleep.

All the while, Meng Yao is watching him with those big eyes, careful contemplation on his face. At last he, like Nie Cheng, falls asleep.

- - - -

“Where will you go now?” Nie Cheng asks Meng Yao. They’ve packed up camp, and Nie Cheng is about to depart for Qinghe Nie. Still, he can’t help but worry about Meng Yao, whose mother had died and whose father had rejected him. They were awfully alike in some manners, those Nie Cheng supposes they were also different in many as well.

“I suppose I’ll wander around until I’m needed again,” Meng Yao replies. When Nie Cheng frowns he simply shrugs, as if there is nothing more he can do about it. “What will Nie-gongzi do once he returns to his sect?”

It feels as if their relationship was built on questions. Nie Cheng, mimicking Meng Yao’s movements, shrugs. “Probably hold a meeting with the generals and elders.”

He doesn’t say much else, purposely leaving his words vague. To be honest, Nie Cheng also wasn’t too sure what he was doing next. But he knew it involved whatever Wei Wuxian was planning, and he had promised the man to keep his new cultivation a secret.

“Why don’t you come stay at Qinghe Nie for the time being?” Nie Cheng suggests. When Meng Yao opens his mouth, most likely to reject his offer, Nie Cheng speaks up again. “It won’t be a bother, really. If you want to do something, my brother can put you to work. Oh, er, if you want you don’t have to do anything. It doesn’t matter. Just come.”

“If Nie-gongzi insists,” Meng Yao says humbly, but he smiles at Nie Cheng like he’s done something right. Nie Cheng smiles back, straightening his back and puffing out his chest with pride.

The trip back to Qinghe is much less tense than the trip to Hejian. Nie Cheng is constantly amused by his peers’ chatters, and Meng Yao was a nice conversation partner as well. Despite being a prostitute’s son, it was obvious that he was educated; he could hold his own in a discussion with Nie Cheng. And he was awfully clever; not in the way Wei Wuxian was, but the way Nie Huaisang was. Always thinking in twists and turns, always ready to outsmart Nie Cheng. Meng Yao was more polite about it than Nie Huaisang was, that cheeky brat, but it still enthralled Nie Cheng nevertheless.

“San-gongzi, we’re here!” the cultivator with the broken arm calls out. Mu Antian, she was called. A relative of Mu Huangli, a former Nie elder. She’s already sliding off her horse, bending down to embrace the boy running into her arms.

“Jiejie, you’re back!” he says. Mu Lingyan, a junior disciple that Nie Cheng was training, was young but skilled. Like his sister, he had a talent for the blade and was rapidly progressing. One day, he would join Mu Antian, and brother and sister would fight side by side, just as Mu Antian had done with their older brother. Nie Cheng has to admit, he’s not excited for that day to come. He hopes the war ends before Mu Lingyan grows up enough to fight.

“San-gongzi is back too!” Mu Lingyan says, bowing to Nie Cheng. “Did you beat them?”

“Of course,” Nie Cheng boasts, thumping his fist against his chest. “Wen Xu is dead. I cut off his head myself.”

Gasps and whispers stir up amongst the crowd that had come to greet the returning cultivator. Nie Cheng smiles, reveling in the way the air seems to clear up just a bit. Ever since Nie Mingjue had died, the Nie sect was constantly on edge. Every battle they sent their cultivators off to against the Wens was met with nervous energy. But Nie Cheng would help them push past that. He would take his revenge against the Wens no matter what.

“I’ll go speak to Nie-zongzhu about this first,” Nie Cheng says, trying to sound official. He still had to look good in front of his junior disciples, after all. He turns around to look at Meng Yao, who had hung around behind Nie Cheng while the other cultivators were celebrating. “Come, I’ll take you to meet my brother.”

Nie Cheng takes Meng Yao not to Nie Huaisang’s office, but to the meeting hall. It had been rebuilt after the Wens burnt it down. Even after all these months, being inside it reminded Nie Cheng of his brother’s death, but he wills himself to stay still.

“Nie-gongzi, are you alright?” Meng Yao asks, placing his hand on Nie Cheng’s shoulder. Nie Cheng stills, glancing at the touch before relaxing.

“It’s alright,” he reassures Meng Yao. Meng Yao frowns, for once not smiling, but Nie Cheng waves off his concerns. It was just old nightmares, after all. The Wens wouldn’t dare touch them right not, not when one of their sons had just been killed. Nie Cheng was worrying over nothing. He would be fine as soon as Nie Huaisang came.

And Nie Huaisang did, stepping inside with his elaborate robes and a trail of elders following after him. His eyes light up when he spots Nie Cheng, immediately coming over to pinch Nie Cheng’s cheeks. “Have you gotten thinner?”

“It’s only been a few days,” Nie Cheng complains, batting at his brother’s hands. Nie Huaisang’s touch moves down, feeling his shoulders and arms for any injuries. Nie Cheng allows his brother to check over him, knowing it would calm Nie Huaisang’s heart. Just as Nie Cheng needed Nie Huaisang in his sight to feel comfortable in the meeting room, Nie Huaisang needed to check Nie Cheng after every mission for any injuries. It was just some of the little habits they developed, and it certainly hasn’t helped the rumors that they were split souls, or conjoined twins, or whatever the others were saying now.

“I still missed Xiao Cheng,” Nie Huaisang laughs, hooking his arm around Nie Cheng’s to lead him up the stairs to the throne. Nie Cheng looks at Meng Yao, who Nie Huaisang seems to not have noticed, tilting his head to gesture for Meng Yao to follow.

Nie Huaisang takes his seat on the throne, with Nie Cheng standing next to him. He leans down to introduce Nie Huaisang to his new acquaintance. “Ge, this is Meng Yao. I met him at Hejian, and offered him sanctuary at Qinghe.”

“Xiao Cheng’s made a new friend?” Nie Huaisang asks, smiling. “And here I thought that was impossible!”

Nie Cheng rolls his eyes; he had so many friends! There was Lan Wangji, Yu Jiaxin, Wei Wuxian, and… and… Okay, so maybe he doesn’t have that many. But it was all about quality, wasn’t it?

“It’s nice to meet you, Nie-zongzhu. I am in debt to Nie-gongzi’s kindness, and I’d like to help out, if possible,” Meng Yao says, bowing. His hands were clenched at his sides, and Nie Cheng could tell from a single glance that he was nervous. Nie Cheng sends him a reassuring smile, to which Meng Yao smiles back, eyes creasing up.

Nie Huaisang watches their interaction quietly; his eyes light up with understanding as he hums to draw their attention back. “Of course; any friend of Xiao Cheng’s is welcome to stay! Meng Yao, was it? I’ll have a room arranged for you soon.”

“Thank you, Zongzhu,” Meng Yao says. “Please, I insist on repaying you somehow. I may not seem like it, but I promise I can make myself useful.”

“He’s very resourceful,” Nie Cheng adds. Meng Yao sends him a grateful smile, with that look again that says Nie Cheng did something right. Nie Huaisang nods, placing a hand on the throne of his arm. He strums his fingers against the throne, at last issuing out a command to Meng Yao.

“Then you’ll be in charge of managing some of the displaced civilians,” Nie Huaisang says. He grins, showing off his white teeth. “Meng Yao, welcome to Qinghe Nie.”

Nie Cheng smiles; everything had gone alright, after all. He doesn’t stay in the meeting hall for much longer, only staying to report what had happened in Hejian before departing with Meng Yao. He throws an arm over Meng Yao, beaming at the man.

“You did it!” he says. “Who says you need your father’s approval?”

“I hope I don’t mess up,” Meng Yao says softly. He looks up at Nie Cheng, placing a hand on his shoulder. Or close enough to his shoulder; Meng Yao presses his palm flat against the upper part of Nie Cheng’s chest, off to the side where it connects with his shoulder. “Thank you, Nie-gongzi. I promise I won’t disappoint you, or betray your perception of me.”

“You don’t have to call me that,” Nie Cheng blurts out. “Er, not Nie-gongzi. You can just call me Nie Wanyin. Or Wanyin. Anything’s fine.”

Meng Yao accepts his offer easily, smiling up at him. His cheeks become rounder when he smiles, and he looks even softer when he’s pleased, Nie Cheng notices. “Alright, Wanyin.”

“Good,” Nie Cheng mumbles, pleased at the warm feeling blossoming in his chest. “That’s good.”

- - - -

When Nie Cheng wasn’t training or hanging around with Meng Yao, he was planning an assassination.

Wei Wuxian and he have managed to rope Lan Wangji and Yu Jiaxin into their plans. They were going to split off into two groups, just in case the Wens tried to escape. Wei Wuxian and Nie Cheng team up as the first attacking force. Nie Cheng doesn’t think Wei Wuxian’s told the others about his newfound techniques, but they were bound to find out sooner or later.

“Our original group has reunited,” Yu Jiaxin hums, a clear smile on her face. She then sighs, a hand lazily waving through the air. “Except for Huaisang, of course. Being a sect leader must be so much work!”

“Thinking of giving up your claim to the position, Jiejie?” Wei Wuxian teases. Yu Jiaxin snorts, tossing her hair back. She’s wearing a more lowkey hairstyle this time, a simple bun pulling up the top half of her hair. It was odd to see her without her extravagant hair accessories, Nie Cheng thinks. He misses the way they would swing through the air; it fit the air of boundless energy Yu Jiaxin always carried around her.

“In your dreams, Wei Wuxian!” she declares. They’re seated at an inn near one of the Wen’s supervisory offices, where Wen Chao was reported to be. Nie Cheng was seated next to Yu Jiaxin and across from Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji did not look like he was having the best time sitting next to Wei Wuxian, the poor thing. Especially since Wei Wuxian was slurping down a bowl of bright red noodles.

They planned to attack at night and were now simply biding their time. Wei Wuxian suggested they take the time to catch up, and thus they found themselves here, watching the man eat through violently spicy foods. Nie Cheng winces at just the thought of how numb Wei Wuxian’s mouth must be. His spice tolerance was good, but not that good. Perhaps Wei Wuxian’s nerves were all burned off, or maybe he had just been dropped on the head as a child which resulted in strange habits.

“My mom’s thinking about stepping down soon,” Yu Jiaxin sighs. “The war had taken a toll on her health. Every day she pushes me harder and harder because the day I become sect leader is getting closer and closer. I’m going to be like Huaisang soon, except I won’t even have Wanyin to help me out!”

“Xiongzhang often has a lot of paperwork and meetings to deal with,” Lan Wangji notes. Yu Jiaxin lets out a groan, thumping her head on the table; Nie Cheng slides his palm underneath her forehead to prevent her from hurting herself.

“Why would you say that, Lan Wangji!?” she cries. “Ah, I’m getting nightmares about it already! This won’t do, I must find an heir soon so they can take over!”

“You’re not even sect leader yet and you’re already thinking about your retirement?” Wei Wuxian asks, chewing with his mouth open. Lan Wangji shoots him a glare, to which Wei Wuxian immediately closes his mouth, chewing and swallowing before parting his lips to show Lan Wangji that his mouth was empty. Wei Wuxian grins, sticking his tongue out at Lan Wangji with a wink. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes; gross.

“Could I steal one of Jiang Yanli’s babies?” Yu Jiaxin muses. “She’s at the age of getting married and having children, isn’t she?”

Wei Wuxian immediately scowls, banging his chopsticks against the table. “Let me tell you, no good will come out of that. Shijie still likes that peacock after everything he’s done! She’s been distraught over the engagement annulment, but I think it’s one of the best things that could’ve happened. Don’t tell her this, of course, I want Shijie to feel better eventually.”

Nie Cheng makes a face. While he didn’t have any particularly strong feelings towards Jin Zixuan, he still remembers the way he was ganging up against Nie Huaisang and insulting Wei Wuxian despite being his martial sister’s fiancee. “I don’t understand why Jiang-guniang is so enamored with Jin Zixuan. Are there really any features of him that stand out?”

“Exactly!” Wei Wuxian says. “There’s nothing good about that peacock, mark my words. Any Jin spawn is guaranteed to be a spoiled brat, and he is no exception!”

“Do not talk about others behind their back,” Lan Wangji lectures.

“I’ll say it to his front and his back,” Wei Wuxian says. “Lan Zhan, surely you don’t like him as well? Even someone like you couldn’t possibly find any good in him, right?”

“Stop bullying Wangji-ge, he’s not going to help you badmouth Jin Zixuan,” Nie Cheng says. Yu Jiaxin nods along as well in agreement with Nie Cheng’s words. Wei Wuxian sighs, slumping to the side to lean against Lan Wangji, who promptly pushes him off. Nie Cheng laughs, and can’t stop himself from making fun of Wei Wuxian. It was always fun to see his friends again, even if it was for other reasons.

Once it hits night and the sky darkens, they split up. Wei Wuxian and Nie Cheng walk together, trekking towards the Wen’s supervisory camp. They were going to look for the Wens while Lan Wangji and Yu Jiaxin were going to hold off any reinforcements they sent. Nie Cheng notes that alongside Suibian, Wei Wuxian also has a dizi hanging by his side. He had played a short tune on this tune earlier; Nie Cheng was surprised at how musically gifted Wei Wuxian was, though he really shouldn’t be that surprised at Wei Wuxian’s brilliance anymore.

“Are you missing your other half?” Wei Wuxian teases, wrapping an arm around Nie Cheng’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, I promised Huaisang that I would look after you. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

“Who says I need your protection?” Nie Cheng huffs.

“I’m your shixiong,” Wei Wuxian says, grinning. “It’s my responsibility to look after Xiao Cheng, of course!”

His gaze falters, smile dropping for a moment before returning. Wei Wuxian slips his hand into his robes, patting his chest. “Anyways, everything will be fine. We’ll make it out alive. I can’t say the same for those Wen dogs, though.”

“What are you going to do?” Nie Cheng asks him. “How does your cultivation work now?”

“You’ll see,” Wei Wuxian promises. “It’ll be quite a show.”

And oh, what a show it was. Nie Cheng and Wei Wuxian snuck in, killing Wen guards as they went. They found Wen Chao, along with Wen Zhuliu and Wang Lingjiao, in the main office. Wei Wuxian’s eyes glow an eerie red, and suddenly the room fills with the thick air of resentful energy. Nie Cheng nearly chokes on it before realizing it wasn’t necessarily hurting him, per se. In fact, it seemed to curl around him like a protective layer, like someone had wrapped layers of armor around him.

He couldn’t say the same for the others, who immediately started gasping for breath. Wen Chao pulls out his sword, standing up to look for the invisible culprit. “Who is it!? You’re looking for death, aren’t you!?”

Wei Wuxian moves faster than Nie Cheng could physically see him, grabbing Wen Chao’s throat with his hand and holding him up. Wen Zhuliu and Wang Lingjiao go to stop him, but Nie Cheng has them pinned before they can even think of touching Wei Wuxian. The first thing he does is cut off Wen Zhuliu’s hands, the limbs dropping to the wooden floor as Wen Zhuliu lets out a scream. It was a clean cut; Nie Cheng had cut between the palm and wrist. Inside of Wen Zhuliu's arm, past all the red flesh, he can make out the smooth bones of the ulna and radius. Wen Zhuliu continues to scream his head off, but it was no use; Nie Cheng and Wei Wuxian had already killed off everyone else here.

“You!” Wen Chao yells.

“Me,” Wei Wuxian agrees. He lets go of Wen Chao, reaching for the dizi hanging at his waist. Before Wen Chao can run off, a haunting tune rings throughout the room, and black tendrils solidify in the air and pin Wen Chao in place.

“Your reign of terror ends today,” Wei Wuxian says with a dark expression on his face. He brings the dizi up to his lips again, and the air around him nearly glows with resentful energy as he attacks Wen Chao. He wasn’t even touching Wen Chao, Nie Cheng notes with some fascination. He wonders what it would be like for Wei Wuxian to run Wen Chao through with a Suibian infused with resentful energy. He hopes he gets to see it.

For now, however, he focuses on Wen Zhuliu and Wang Lingjiao. The two faces he had seen before Qinghe Nie went down in flames. The people who murdered his brother. Nie Cheng’s fist clenches, and before he knows it he’s ramming his fist into Wen Zhuliu’s face, punching him straight in the eyes and nose. Wang Lingjiao shrieks in terror as Wen Zhuliu grunts, but Nie Cheng can’t convince himself to stop.

He throws Wen Zhuliu onto the ground, keeping his blade on Wang Lingjiao’s neck. Nie Cheng lifts his foot up, stomping his foot into Wen Zhuliu’s abdomen. The skin underneath him is soft, like squeezing a ripe plum, watching the juice, the life, drip out little by little. Nie Cheng hopes he crushes an organ. He hopes Wen Zhuliu’s organs erupt from inside him and give him a slow, painful death. If not, Nie Cheng is all too happy to do it for them.

Without his core-stealing hands, Wen Zhuliu was nothing more than another cultivator. He was so loyal to the Wens, doing their bidding just to earn their surname. Nie Cheng supposed he could relate; he had done the same, after all. But the Wens had hurt him first, and now he was going to do the same. He crushes Wen Zhuliu’s leg underneath his foot, snapping the bone inside.

When Wei Wuxian’s dizi finally plays its last note and Wen Chao lets out a high-pitched scream before going silent, Nie Cheng pulls Wen Zhuliu up by the collar, spitting in his face.

“Your master is dead,” Nie Cheng breathes. “What are you going to do now, dog?”

“Rot in hell,” Wen Zhuliu hisses. Nie Cheng grins, stepping back and dropping Wen Zhuliu onto the ground. He breaks his other leg, just to stop him from getting any ideas of escaping.

“Wei-shixiong,” Nie Cheng calls out. “Do it again. What you did with Wen Chao— stop them from moving.”

Instantly, the feeling of resentful energy in the air rises once more. Wei Wuxian’s music, which Nie Cheng was beginning to find comforting, fills the room, and Nie Cheng is once again greeted with the black tendrils that push Wen Zhuliu and Wang Lingjiao against the wall. Nie Cheng steps forward, now with both his hands free to pull out a small dagger.

“Do you regret it?” Nie Cheng asks, spinning the blade in his hands. “When you marched into the Unclean Realm and demanded unfair justice, when you burned my sect down and tried to murder both my brothers, do you regret any of it?”

“We would’ve managed to kill them both off if it wasn’t for that head shaker's slipperiness!” Wang Lingjiao shrieks. She seems unafraid to speak, perhaps because she hadn’t been too injured yet. “How would you have liked that, cripple? To be left as an orphan? We would’ve strung their heads up for everyone to see, to bask in the glory of the—”

Nie Cheng doesn’t let her finish. He raises his dagger, stabbing it through Wang Lingjiao’s left eye. She screams, loud and blood-curdling, and all Nie Cheng can think is good. They never really teach you what it’s like to keep a man on the verge of death before killing them, but it feels good. Nie Cheng buries his knife in deeper, circling it around the eye socket. He wonders if he could dig out her eye.

It’s so round, Nie Cheng marvels as he succeeds. He always thought eyes were tapered off at the ends, but here was Wang Lingjiao’s rolling onto the wooden floor, round and bloody, strings of tendons still hanging onto the back of it. Her eye socket is left empty, a dark hole leading to the inside of her skull.

“Oops,” he says.

“I’ll kill you!” Wang Lingjiao screams. Half of her face is covered with the blood dripping down from her empty eye socket. She tries to lunge for Nie Cheng, but the resentful energy around her grows, causing her to choke and freeze in place. Nie Cheng scowls, grabbing her wrist and slamming it down. He twists her arm, and when he lets go, her wrist falls in an unnatural position.

With Wei Wuxian backing him up, Nie Cheng doesn’t hold back on attacking Wen Zhuliu and Wang Lingjiao. He doesn’t kill them, not yet, but he does everything else. By the time he’s finished, Wen Zhuliu’s face is black and blue, and he’s missing the front three teeth. One of his ears has been cut off, and it joins Wang Lingjiao’s eye on the floor. Wang Lingjiao isn’t much better, her face littered with long cuts that drag from the top of her scalp all the way down to her chin.

Unfortunately, Wang Lingjiao manages to escape, clawing at Wei Wuxian to get him to release his hold. She flees, but Wei Wuxian is already on her tail running after her. Nie Cheng curses, grabbing his sword and quickly running it through Wen Zhuliu’s chest. The man gasps for air and then goes still. Nie Cheng runs his sword through his limp body a few more times for good measure before following Wei Wuxian.

Wang Lingjiao is running through the supervisory halls and out the front door, with Wei Wuxian only a few steps behind her. Unfortunately for Wang Lingjiao, Yu Jiaxin and Lan Wangji were guarding the door. Wang Lingjiao curses, grabbing a sword off the body of a dead Wen and holding it up in front of her.

“Leave me alone!” she cries. Lan Wangji parries her attack, and Yu Jiaxin grabs her from behind. She holds her sword up to Wang Lingjiao’s neck, pressing the blade into her skin. It draws blood, though a little more doesn’t do much to sully Wang Lingjiao’s already messy image.

“Are you missing an eye?” Yu Jiaxin asks, digging her sword farther into the skin. “A shame you aren’t fully blind, you know.”

Wang Lingjiao rears her head back, smashing into Yu Jiaxin’s face. Yu Jiaxin cries out in pain, loosening her grip on Wang Lingjiao enough for her to slip out. She tries to grab at Lan Wangji, growling, but she’s knocked off balance and misses him. A haunting tune starts to play again, and Nie Cheng revels in the way Wang Lingjiao pales at the sound, already conditioned to know what it means.

“No!” she screams as she’s enshrouded in a dark energy. Wang Lingjiao collapses onto the ground, covering her ears with her hands. “Not again!”

Wei Wuxian walks forward, still playing the flute. Wang Lingjiao writhes in pain, squirming on the floor like prey caught in a net. Nie Cheng follows, placing a hand on Yu Jiaxin’s shoulder. She’s clutching her nose, blood seeping from the cracks between her fingers.

“I think my nose is broken,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “I’m going to get her for that.”

“I’ve already broken her nose,” Nie Cheng tells her.

“Then I’ll do something worse.” She stalks forward, standing over Wang Lingjiao who was still cowering over Wei Wuxian’s music. Yu Jiaxin lifts Wang Lingjiao up by the collar, forcing her to stand. She digs her fingernail under the cuts on Wang Lingjiao’s face, holding onto the skin and pulling. Some of it rips, revealing bloody muscle underneath; Nie Cheng watches with rapt fascination, unable to keep his eyes off the impending disaster. Wang Lingjiao struggles in Yu Jiaxin’s hold, but to no avail.

“Bitch,” Yu Jiaxin sneers.

“Please, please,” Wang Lingjiao begs. “I’ll do whatever you want!”

“Don’t torture her,” Lan Wangji scolds. Ever the rule follower, he was. Nie Cheng doesn’t think he’d be all too pleased to find out what Wei Wuxian and Nie Cheng were doing in the supervisory office. “Finish it quickly.”

“I remember how you tried to brand that poor girl,” Yu Jiaxin says to Wang Lingjiao. She raises her sword in the other hand, running it straight through Wang Lingjiao. Wang Lingjiao gasps, hands flying to grasp the blade in her stomach, but all that serves to do is leave cuts on her hands. Yu Jiaxin lets go, allowing Wang Lingjiao’s body to slide off her sword. Yu Jiaxin scoffs. “Well, look at the marks on your face now. You’ll die disfigured and hideous, just as your heart is.”

Wang Lingjiao’s throat lets out a gurgling sound, and her arm raises up for just a moment before dropping back down. Her eyes are empty, just as blown wide as Wen Xu’s was. She didn’t think Yu Jiaxin would kill, and that was her first mistake. Nie Cheng knows firsthand just how vicious a Yu can be. He used to think it was only his mother, but he had very quickly been proven wrong.

“It’s over,” Wei Wuxian says. He looks up, hands still clutching his dizi. “We did it.”

Nie Cheng lets out a sigh of relief before nearly crumpling to the floor, his knees buckling. Lan Wangji catches him, pulling Nie Cheng back up and allowing him to lean against him. Nie Cheng places his forehead against Lan Wangji’s shoulder, taking in big gasps of air.

“What was that?” Lan Wangji asks. “Wei Ying, what were you doing with your dizi?”

“Yeah, how did you manage to do that?” Yu Jiaxin asks. “You started playing and there was suddenly an increase of resentful energy around her. Sure you didn’t do that, did you?”

“Funny you mention that,” Wei Wuxian chuckles. Nie Cheng leaves him to defend himself; Wei Wuxian was charming enough, he’ll find a way. Plus, he had the experiments and notes to back it up.

For now, Nie Cheng just revels in the feeling of having finished his task. Wen Xu and Wen Chao were both dead. The Wen bloodline now had no more living children. It was only what they deserved, after all. Wen Zhuliu and Wang Lingjiao, who had caused the destruction of his sect, were gone as well. Now, all that was left was Wen Ruohan, and everything would be over.

He hopes wherever Nie Mingjue and his father were, that they were proud of him.

Chapter Text

“I’m going to call it resentful cultivation,” Wei Wuxian says. The four of them were in a room they had rented out for the night recuperating themselves. They sat around in a circle, huddled together as Wei Wuxian spread out pages of hastily scribbled notes onto the floor, trying to explain his new techniques.

“You hadn’t come up with a name for it yet?” Yu Jiaxin asks. She’s let her hair down, combing through the long strands while listening to Wei Wuxian speak. Nie Cheng absentmindedly fiddles with the guan she had been using to keep it up; the elegant design reminds him of the rings his mother wears, for some reason.

“This is immoral,” Lan Wangji says. He’s been on edge ever since Wei Wuxian started off the conversation by saying “don’t tell Old Man Lan”. Wei Wuxian waves aside his concerns, tapping on the first paragraph of sentences he had written down.

“It’s all about channeling the resentful energy in humans,” Wei Wuxian says. “You need to make sure to focus on the individual parts of a human since the resentful energy that manifests feels slightly different based on where it was formed. Nie Cheng actually helped out with that, so I took inspiration from the Nie’s method of cultivation.”

“Xiao Cheng,” Lan Wangji hisses. Yu Jiaxin places a hand over her mouth, watching from the corner of her eye as Nie Cheng’s head shoots up, glaring at Wei Wuxian.

“Ge, it’s really not that bad,” Nie Cheng says, leaning toward Lan Wangji. He places his hands on the floor to stabilize himself, though it forces Nie Cheng to tilt his head up to look at Lan Wangji, who is watching him with heavy disapproval in his eyes. “I was only talking to Wei-shixiong about it because he was afraid of straying onto the wrong path, but if his techniques are similar to mine then it’s better. Plus, it’s not as if he’s harnessing energy from demons! There are worse things he could be doing!”

“It’s dangerous,” Lan Wangji argues, crossing his arms. “Xiao Cheng of all people should know how dangerous resentful energy can be.”

“I have Wangji-ge to help me out, don’t I?” Nie Cheng retorts. Lan Wangji nods but still looks unconvinced. “Besides, Wei-shixiong’s cultivation doesn’t function like that. His meridians don’t need to be cleansed as mine do.”

“Look, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, tapping on his notes. “It doesn’t require the use of a golden core like spiritual cultivation, so it doesn’t affect the body in the same way. Anything new is going to seem too radical, but if you give it a second look you can see that it’s really not that different from what you’re used to.”

“And it’s helping us save more people,” Yu Jiaxin muses, leaning over to read through Wei Wuxian’s writing herself. “I have to admit, Wei Wuxian, you’re quite a genius. Who would’ve known your insane ramblings actually had some backing to them!”

“A compliment from Yu-shijie?” Wei Wuxian teases. “I’ll have to treasure this moment for the rest of my life.”

Lan Wangji purses his lips as Yu Jiaxin rolls her eyes. Nie Cheng simply sighs; did Wei Wuxian want Lan Wangji’s approval or not? At this rate, the man was simply going to combust out of pure jealousy. Wei Wuxian laughs, falling down onto the floor to roll over to Lan Wangji’s side. He places his head in his arms, blinking up at Lan Wangji with a pout. “Lan Zhan, do you still not believe me?”

“We’ll have to tell the sect leaders about this,” Lan Wangji says. Wei Ying seems like he’s about to protest, but before he can open his mouth to speak Lan Wangji pushes on. “No one else should know. Keep it a secret for now.”

“That way the Wens won’t be able to plan against it,” Nie Cheng nods. It made sense; Wei Wuxian was their secret weapon right now, the trick up their sleeve that had the potential to turn the tides and help push back the Wens. “How’s your progress on it been, Shixiong?”

“I still feel like there’s more I can do with it,” Wei Wuxian says, playing with the end of Lan Wangji’s robes. Nie Cheng’s tempted to pull him back, if only so Lan Wangji doesn’t enact on his urges to attack him. “But using it against real targets was good practice. I think I have some ideas on how to refine things when I get home.”

“You must be careful,” Lan Wangji frowns. Wei Wuxian huffs, sitting up to drape himself over Lan Wangji’s back. Lan Wangji startles, tensing up as Wei Wuxian hooks his chin around Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “And Wei Ying shouldn’t use it unless it is absolutely necessary.”

“I know that,” Wei Wuxian whines. “I promise it’ll be fine, Lan Zhan, no need to be so uptight.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji replies, an edge of warning to his tone. Nie Cheng was sick of the two of them. Yu Jiaxin was too, given the way she clears her throat and stands up.

“I’m going to bed,” she declares. Nie Cheng gives her back her guan, which she holds by hooking a finger around it. “You three should sleep soon as well. Don’t stay up too late, or you’ll keep me up all night.”

“I wouldn’t dare interrupt Jiejie’s beauty sleep!” Wei Wuxian replies. Yu Jiaxin looks like she considered hitting him for a moment before reigning herself in.

“Goodnight, Shijie,” Nie Cheng says.

“Goodnight, Wanyin,” she smiles. When she smiles, she looks just like her mother, and awfully similar to Yu Ziyuan. Nie Cheng can’t imagine his mother smiling without imagining Yu Jiaxin, but perhaps that was because he’s rarely seen his mother smile before. “Try to make sure the two of them stop fighting, alright?”

“Lan Zhan and I don’t fight,” Wei Wuxian grumbles as Yu Jiaxin leaves the room. He wraps an arm around Lan Wangji’s waist, holding him against his body. “Right, Lan Zhan? We’re best friends!”

“Get off,” Lan Zhan hisses. Nie Cheng stifles a laugh behind his hand. While the two of them were occupied with their bickering, he examines their lodgings. They had only rented two rooms, one for the three of them and one for Yu Jiaxin. It was easier to throw any potential Wens off their track if they assumed only two people were coming after them. No one would assume a great sect’s young master to willingly share a room, but the three of them had been fine with it. Now, if Jin Zixuan had been included in the mix, Nie Cheng might have had more complaints.

It was already past Lan Zhan’s usual rest time, and Nie Cheng could see how tired he was from the drop in his usually straight shoulders, and the way his eyes would occasionally flutter before returning to their usual open position. He had stayed up late to listen to Wei Wuxian’s debrief, but now Nie Cheng was willing to wager he was about to pass out at any moment.

“Wei-shixiong, let Wangji-ge sleep,” Nie Cheng says. There were only two beds in their inn, and so he drags Lan Wangji over to one of them, pushing him down before laying down himself. “You two can finish talking in the morning.”

“You’re going to share a bed?” Wei Wuxian asks, almost incredulous. “Are you sure?”

“Wangji-ge doesn’t move once he’s asleep,” Nie Cheng says. He usually sleeps in his own guest room when he visits the Cloud Recesses, but there had been one occasion where a lot of them had been shut down for renovations, and Nie Cheng had to share a room with Lan Wangji. Lan Wanji hadn’t seemed to mind much, even going so far as to take Nie Cheng on a small tour of his surroundings. He had fallen asleep much earlier than Nie Cheng, of course, and Nie Cheng spent the next shichen quietly reading and watching Lan Wangji before sleeping himself.

“That is not the issue,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes; if he had a problem, he didn’t need to be so coy. Just say it, Wei Wuxian! “Xiao Cheng, why don’t come sleep with me instead?”

“Don’t word it that way,” Nie Cheng scowls. “Who wants to stay with you? I bet you snore in your sleep.”

“Be quiet,” Lan Wangji scolds them. Nie Cheng puts a hand over his mouth, whispering out an apology before glaring at Wei Wuxian, who had been sitting on the other bed opposite them. Nie Cheng rolls out of his own bed, stalking over to Wei Wuxian and pushing him off.

“Hey!” Wei Wuxian protests, rubbing his back. “No need to be so mean! What am I supposed to do now?”

Nie Cheng crawls under the covers, pulling them up to his shoulders as he rolls over to shoo Wei Wuxian away. “Since you keep making such a fuss about it, you go share with Wangji-ge. I’m taking this for myself.”

He decides to ignore them for the rest of the night, turning over so his back was facing them. Nie Cheng shuts out Wei Wuxian’s voice, closing his eyes instead and willing himself to sleep. They would figure it out by themselves, they were grown enough. Sometimes you would think Nie Cheng was the oldest with how he had to manage everyone else’s business for them. Honestly, what would do without him?

They depart in the afternoon the next day, going their own separate ways to return home. Before they leave, they devise a plan of what to say to their sect leaders to explain Wei Wuxian’s resentful cultivation. Nie Cheng chooses not to mention the fact that Nie Huaisang already knows, though he has a feeling Wei Wuxian had already expected it.

“I suppose if one half knows, the other will as well,” he sighs, ruffling Nie Cheng’s hair. Nie Cheng scowls, batting his hand away. “What will happen if you start secretly courting someone, Xiao Cheng? Will you tell your brother about that as well?”

“If you court someone you’d tell us, right?” Yu Jiaxin asks. “Wanyin, you can’t keep it a secret and then get eloped one day suddenly, understand? You have to tell us, or at least tell me! You can keep it a secret from Wei Wuxian, though.”

“As if I’d ever court someone,” Nie Cheng grumbles. He doesn’t have enough time to bother with romance. What was the point when they all seemed to end in disaster?

“I bet it’s just because Nie Cheng is too shy to pursue anyone,” Wei Wuxian teases. “Look at your Wei-shixiong; I’m a master at flirting! I’ll teach you how to chase after any girl you want-- hey, Lan Zhan, why are you leaving? Wait for me!”

“Honestly, those two. When will they figure it out?” Yu Jiaxin sighs, crossing her arms as she follows behind at a slower pace. Nie Cheng walks with her, watching as Wei Wuxian jumps onto Lan Wangji and nearly gets tossed onto the ground.

Needless to say, it was much more peaceful when he returned home. Nie Cheng is greeted by Meng Yao at the entrance. Meng Yao is dressed in the traditional gray and gold robes of a Nie cultivator, the robes new and tailored for his smaller size. He smiles at Nie Cheng, placing a hand on his arm.

“Welcome back, Wanyin,” he says warmly. “How did it go?”

“Good,” Nie Cheng nods. He allows himself to be guided toward Nie Huaisang’s office. Meng Yao had been startingly quick to pick up on the location and layout of Qinghe Nie. He had a brilliant mind, if nothing else. “Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu are dead.”

“Good job,” Meng Yao praises. Nie Cheng flushes, lowering his head to hide the red on his face as Meng Yao laughs. “I’m sure Nie-zongzhu will be pleased to hear that.”

He knocks on Nie Huaisang’s door, entering with such ease that it felt like he had been here for years. Nie Cheng follows behind him, grinning as he spots Nie Huaisang. He was sitting behind the desk that had once been their father’s, that had once been Nie Mingjue’s, and was now his. Nie Huaisang was surrounded by stacks of letters and documents, but he was unharmed and safe, and for that Nie Cheng was forever grateful.

“Ge!” he says, catching Nie Huaisang in his arms as his brother steps forward to hug him. Nie Huaisng is warm and comforting, and he smells like Nie Cheng’s home. Nie Cheng beams, puffing out his chest as he reports back to Nie Huaisang. “I did it!”

“I knew you could,” Nie Huaisang replies, placing a hand on his cheek. “My family’s Xiao Cheng is the best, after all. They would be proud of you.

The they goes unsaid, but Nie Cheng knows exactly who he’s talking about. “Of us. If it wasn’t for your intel, we would’ve never been able to hunt them down. Oh, and Wei Wuxian had something to tell you as well. Or, well, I’ve already told you, so there’s not really a need to repeat it.”

“Wei-xiong’s been found out, has he?” Nie Huaisang laughs. “It’s good he knows I know now; I’ve been meaning to send him some letters with some questions I had for him. I’m so curious about what he’s been working on!”

“He’d love to reply to you; he’s been talking about it nonstop,” Nie Cheng huffs. Wei Wuxian loved to boast about his own achievements, but Nie Cheng couldn’t say it wasn’t well-deserved. Still, one could only listen to the man talk about resentful cultivation for so long before they had to change the subject.

“I can only imagine,” Nie Huaisang muses. He pulls back, gesturing at Meng Yao behind them. “Go take a break, now; you can write the report later. I’ll see you at dinner.”

There were perks to being the sect leader’s brother, after all, and Nie Cheng was determined to take advantage of it. He grins, hugging Nie Huaisang once more before leaving with Meng Yao. Nie Cheng decides to just take a walk around the sect, basking in the lively atmosphere of the cultivators around them. Meng Yao follows him, tucking his hand into the crook of Nie Cheng’s elbow. Nie Cheng startles but doesn’t reject his touch, instead pulling him in closer when they reach a more crowded area swarming with disciples.

“Who’s Wei Wuxian?” Meng Yao asks. His wide eyes tremble for a second as if he were ashamed. “Ah, sorry. He’s probably someone I should know already, right? There are just so many people to learn about in the cultivation world…”

“Don’t apologize,” Nie Cheng frowns. Meng Yao had been shunned from the cultivation world for so long, it was a given he wouldn’t be caught up like the rest of them were. How could he put such high expectations on himself? Nie Cheng finds himself almost unconsciously patting Meng Yao’s hand in an attempt to comfort him. He nearly stops himself before deciding to slowly rest his hand there, covering Meng Yao’s. Nie Cheng looks at Meng Yao, as if silently asking if it was okay for him to do; Meng Yao smiles at him like he did the right thing, and Nie Cheng grins back.

“Wei Wuxian’s the ward of the Jiang sect,” Nie Cheng explains. “He’s a genius; he’s been helping us by developing some new techniques.”

He was also an idiot, but Nie Cheng chooses not to mention that. He has to help Wei Wuxian save some face, after all.

“How have you been?’ Nie Cheng asks, changing the subject. “Are you adjusting well? No one’s bullied you, have they?”

“Wanyin worries too much,” Meng Yao says, though he’s still smiling. “Nie-zongzhu has been taking good care of me. I never realized how talented he was in the arts! We often paint together.”

“I told you he would like you,” Nie Cheng says. They stop at a bridge overlooking a small pond, standing in the middle to admire the scenery below them. “He’s glad someone finally understands his interests. And everyone I’ve spoken to says they enjoy your presence.”

How could they not? Meng Yao was lovely. There was no better way to describe it, from the way he hung onto every word Nie Cheng said to the way he smiled with a gentle upturn of his lips. His big eyes that sparkled even on a cloudy day, the soft features that always seemed delighted to see Nie Cheng, the way he stuck to Nie Cheng even after befriending the other cultivators, loyal and kind. Everyone liked him. Nie Cheng liked him.

“What are you going to do after the war?” Nie Cheng asks. Meng Yao hums, leaning across the bridge railing to reach out and try to touch the water. Nie Cheng places a hand around his waist, afraid he was going to fall over. Meng Yao’s body was smaller than Nie Cheng’s, and it was almost too easy to imagine wrapping around him to shield him from the world’s harm. He and Nie Huaisang were similar in that manner. Meng Yao touches his own reflection on the water’s edge; the waves ripple from his fingertips, distorting his face.

“I want to try and gain my father’s acknowledgment again,” Meng Yao says. “Perhaps if I do something big, he’ll accept me as his son.”

“I wish you wouldn’t force yourself to try and be what he wants,” Nie Cheng frowns. He doesn’t remember much of his youth before Qinghe Nie, but he does remember constantly trying to make Jiang Fengmian see him, to try and be his best so that he would be loved. All it had led to was heartbreak and death. “You don’t need the approval of someone like him. You’re already good enough. Jin Guangshan makes me uncomfortable.”

“He does?” Meng Yao asks, raising an eyebrow. “Why, Wanyin?”

“I don’t really know, to be honest,” Nie Cheng confesses. He can’t tell Meng Yao the truth, of course; that Jin Guangshan reminds him of Jiang Fengmian, in the way he refuses to look at his own soon. That even though Jiang Fengmian was more highly regarded and considered a gentle man, he and Jin Guangshan have the exact same brand of cruelty. “I don’t think he’s a good man.”

He doesn’t want Meng Yao to be trapped the same way Jiang Cheng had been, desperately chasing a finish line that kept getting pulled farther back. Every time he thought he did enough, there would be yet another expectation to meet, yet another record to break until his father was satisfied. It had killed Jiang Cheng; Nie Cheng doesn’t want to see the same happen to Meng Yao.

“He’s a powerful man,” Meng Yao reminds him. “Being his son would mean I get the same privileges as the other sect leaders’ sons. I want that stability in my life, that’s all.”

“I can give you that,” Nie Cheng says. “You can get that from being a renowned rogue cultivator, or a powerful merchant. You could even start your own sect. Why do you have to go to your father?”

Meng Yao smiles, looking up at Nie Cheng and placing a hand on his cheek. Nie Cheng covers it with his own, still confused. Why Jin Guangshan specifically? If it was stability Meng Yao wanted, there were a million better ways to achieve that. Not to mention being a sect leader’s son, especially a sect leader’s bastard son, came with its own set of risks.

“Wanyin is kind to me,” Meng Yao says. His tone is soft like it always is when he’s speaking to Nie Cheng, like he can’t bear to be anything but sweet to him. Nie Cheng wishes it were as true as he thinks it is. “But I cannot continue relying on him.”

“You can,” Nie Cheng insists. “Rely on me more. I can handle it.”

Meng Yao laughs, leaning closer to Nie Cheng. He tilts his head against Nie Cheng’s shoulder like Nie Huaisang does sometimes, and Nie Cheng lets him, holding Meng Yao close.

“I wish Jin Guangshan would just die, sometimes,” Nie Cheng murmurs, half out of irrational fear of what his influence would continue to do to Meng Yao. “But Jin Zixuan being sect leader doesn’t sound that appealing either. At least he isn’t a womanizer.”

“I’ve not had the chance to meet Jin-gongzi,” Meng Yao says. “What’s he like?”

“Some people call him a peacock,” Nie Cheng replies. That should say enough about him, though it was a pretty biased opinion. Wei Wuxian wasn’t known for liking Jin Zixuan all that much, after all. But Nie Cheng didn’t like him much either, not after being around him in the Cloud Recesses. Jin Zixuan was brave when he defended his sect members in the Xuanwu Caves, but that was his duty as the sect heir. It was only a given, and if he hadn’t done so Nie Cheng might have lost all respect for him entirely.

Nie Cheng looks out at the horizon, eyes lighting up when he spots the flowering plants ahead of them. He grabs Meng Yao’s hand, dragging him forward. “Look!”

Rows of cymbidium orchids are in full blossom, their yellow blossoms releasing a sweet scent like citrus and apple blossoms. Nie Cheng runs his fingers across the petals, brightening at the cool touch underneath them. He plucks one off its stem, turning around to hand it to Meng Yao. Their fingers brush as they exchange the flower, which Meng Yao holds close to himself. “These are my favorite flowers.”

“They’re beautiful,” Meng Yao says, lifting it up to admire the vibrant color and shape of the flowers. He looks almost like a deity, dressed in Nie robes and surrounded by blooming orchids. Once again, Nie Cheng is confused as to how he could ever want to be a Jin, not when he looks so at home in Qinghe Nie.

“They suit you,” Nie Cheng says, grinning.

“Is Nie-gongzi meaning to say he thinks I’m beautiful as well?” Meng Yao teases, blinking up at him with his big eyes. Nie Cheng sputters, face burning bright red. He hides his face in his hands as Meng Yao laughs, though Nie Cheng can’t hear much over the rapid beating of his heart, pounding in his ears like echoing drums.

Meng Yao laughs, grasping Nie Cheng’s to tug his hands away. He smiles at Nie Cheng, clear delight shining through his eyes. He looks awfully pleased with himself at being able to make Nie Cheng blush so hard. “Alright, alright, I won’t bully Wanyin anymore.”

“Good,” Nie Cheng mumbles. He still feels too embarrassed to move, so Meng Yao takes the initiative to lace their fingers together and pull Nie Cheng around. Nie Cheng allows himself to be dragged along like a doll; he trusts Meng Yao not to do anything bad to himself, even if he seems to take too much pleasure in teasing Nie Cheng.

Meng Yao had promised not to bully him, but that doesn’t stop a bouquet of orchids from mysteriously showing up on Nie Cheng’s bed, wrapped in delicate paper that crinkles when Nie Cheng picks it up. It’s beautifully arranged, each blossom carefully placed to bring out the most of its beauty. There’s no note attached to them, but Nie Cheng has a feeling he knows who they’re from. Only so many people were allowed in his bedroom, and Nie Huaisang didn’t like making bouquets.

Nie Cheng holds them in his arms for a moment, silently appreciating the arrangement. He finds an empty vase to put them in, setting it on his desk and making sure they catch enough light from his window. He absentmindedly plays with the leaves, raising a hand to feel his cheek. Sure enough, they were burning hot.

When he next meets Meng Yao, Nie Cheng hesitates for a moment, not knowing if he should bring it up. Meng Yao stares at him like he knows what Nie Cheng wants to say, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I’m not a girl,” Nie Cheng finally decides upon. He immediately regrets his words.

“Of course not,” Meng Yao easily agrees, just like he always does. Still, he wraps his hands around Nie Chengs, smiling up at him. “But as long as Wanyin liked it, that’s all that matters. You liked it, didn’t you?”

The second, underlying question in his tone goes unsaid. Nie Cheng flushes, looking down at their conjoined hands. At last, unable to handle the pressure, he turns his head away, looking out into the open scenery instead. He tilts his head down, and then up: a nod, no matter how minuscule it was.

Though Nie Cheng can’t see Meng Yao, he can still hear his laugh and feel the way his body presses against Nie Cheng’s as he leans against him. Nie Cheng grumbles out half-hearted protests under his breath, though he doesn’t bother shaking Meng Yao off.

Perhaps he had some news to tell Yu Jiaxin, after all.

- - - -

Perhaps not. Perhaps Nie Cheng got too ahead of himself or had misinterpreted something. Nie Huaisang always said he was too blockheaded for his own good, after all. But Nie Huaisang doesn’t see the way Meng Yao smiles at Lan Xichen, the way his eyes lit up like stars when they arrived at Gusu Lan and met the Lan sect leader.

It was just meant to be a simple catch up with the Lan sect. Nie Cheng had come in the place of Nie Huaisang to deliver some supplies and to meet up with Lan Wangji again. Meng Yao had volunteered to come along, looking strangely excited once Nie Huaisang happily agreed. Nie Cheng didn’t know why, not at the moment. He does now.

“Xichen-xiong!” Meng Yao says. Lan Xichen responds equally as warmly. He doesn’t hide his emotions nearly as much as Lan Wangji does, and Nie Cheng, who can read Lan Wangji like an open book, can obviously read his brother as well, albeit to a lesser extent. But it was enough.

“A-Yao,” Lan Xichen smiles. The two of them were always smiling, Nie Cheng notes. Meng Yao clasps Lan Xichen’s arm, and Nie Cheng’s throat closes up for a reason completely unrelated to the two men in front of him right now.

That’s what Nie Mingjue used to do. That’s what he and Lan Xichen always did. It was a habit Nie Cheng had always associated as something between the two of them, even as he started doing it with Lan Wangji in an imitation of their older brothers. Apparently, it was just something Lan Xichen did with everyone. Or maybe just people he was friends with; Nie Mingjue had been his closest friend, after all. And maybe now it was Meng Yao.

“And Wanyin!” Lan Xichen says. He stands next to Meng Yao, a hand on his shoulder. Nie Cheng can’t help himself from staring. “This is Meng Yao: he saved me and sheltered me when the Cloud Recesses burned. I’m in debt to his kindness. I didn’t realize you two knew each other!”

“I met him on a battlefield some time ago,” Nie Cheng mumbles. His origin with Meng Yao feels inferior compared to Lan Xichen’s. He almost doesn’t want to say anything.

“How have you been, Xichen-xiong?” Meng Yao asks. He places a hand around Lan Xichen, just like he does with Nie Cheng. Nie Cheng feels his stomach twist; he feels unwell, for some reason. “I haven’t seen you in so long!”

“We have lots to catch up on,” Lan Xichen agrees. Meng Yao beams, his lips stretching from ear to ear. He seems so happy next to Lan Xichen, like two halves made whole again. Nie Cheng’s face heats up but for different reasons this time. He wants to clutch at his stomach and punch a wall, but he does neither.

“I’ll go greet Lan-qianbei,” he says instead, bowing. “Excuse me.”

Nie Cheng steps back, all but running away from Lan Xichen and Meng Yao. Meng Yao watches him with careful eyes, a small smile dancing across his face before he turns back up to look at Lan Xichen. Nie Cheng doesn’t see any of that, however; he’s too busy trying to make his escape.

He doesn’t go see Lan Qiren, instead turning on the path toward the library. It’s still recovering and being rebuilt after being burned by the Wens, but Nie Cheng takes comfort in being surrounded by heavy shelves, confident he can hide in here until he recovers. Right now, he feels too on edge, and the worst part was that he doesn’t even know why. It was just Lan Xichen and Meng Yao, after all, there was no reason to be so upset.

“Xiao Cheng?”

“Wangji-ge!” Nie Cheng looks up to see Lan Wangji standing over him, his forehead ribbon handing down his hair. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Lan Wangji retorts, sitting down next to Nie Cheng. He frowns, tilting his head to stare at Nie Cheng, who averts his eyes. He feels too much like he’s been put on display, like all his flaws were exposed for Lan Wangji to see. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Nie Cheng mumbles. When it’s clear Lan Wangji doesn’t believe him and would continue staring at him until Nie Cheng gave him a proper response, Nie Cheng sighs, dragging his hands through his hair. “Really, it’s nothing. There’s just this weird feeling in my chest.”

It was like there were worms squirming around in his insides, like there was burning hot lava eating through him. He felt frustrated and upset, like he had just lost something that was meant to be his. Nie Cheng feels embarrassed, ashamed, and confused all at the same time.

“Are you ill?” Lan Wangji asks. He places a hand on Nie Cheng’s shoulder, immediately starting to transfer spiritual energy over. “Come; I’ll play you Cleansing.”

“Not that,” Nie Cheng says, shaking his head. His heart warms at Lan Wangji’s concerns, even if they were wrong. It was a good reminder that he had other people in his life, no matter what Meng Yao’s feeling about him were. “I don’t know, I’m just a bit upset, I guess. But it’s okay, really.”

“If you are upset, you can tell me or your brother,” Lan Wangji says. Nie Cheng smiles, patting Lan Wangji’s shoulder. Right, he could always rely on Nie Huaisang or his friends. Nie Cheng wasn’t alone. He had people who wouldn’t leave him.

“Thank you, Ge,” he says. Lan Wangji nods, standing up and helping Nie Cheng up as well. They walk outside together, and already Nie Cheng regrets leaving the sanctuary of the library. Up ahead were Lan Xichen and Meng Yao, the two of them laughing together at something Meng Yao had said. Nie Cheng feels his stomach twisting up already, like it was trying to wring out an emotion Nie Cheng couldn’t name.

Lan Wangji notices his change in expression, following Nie Cheng’s view to see his brother sitting with a stranger. He draws his eyebrows together, turning towards Nie Cheng. “One of your men?”

Nie Cheng nods. He doesn’t want to get any closer, but Lan Wangji was still walking toward them, and so Nie Cheng would follow. “He helped your brother out a while ago. They’re close.”

Meng Yao smiles again, a hand on Lan Xichen’s knee. Nie Cheng scrunches up his nose, looking away to glance at Lan Wangji again. His mouth tastes like ashes, even though he had eaten a breakfast of fresh fruits before departing. “His name’s Meng Yao.”

“Meng Yao,” Lan Wangji repeats, observing Nie Cheng’s expression. Nie Cheng clears his throat, trying to give Lan Wangji a grin. The man seems unimpressed by his attempts. With such a petulant expression on his face, he almost looked like Yu Jiaxin, or Yu Ziyuan. The thought nearly makes Nie Cheng laugh, and it does make him smile, this time a genuine grin.

There is satisfaction in Lan Wangji’s eyes as he places a hand on Nie Cheng’s shoulder, guiding him away from Lan Xichen and Meng Yao. Nie Cheng is grateful for the redirection, even if he was embarrassed that Lan Wangji had picked up on his mood. Still, it was better than the alternative. “Let’s go speak to Shufu. And I will play you Cleansing, even if you say you do not need it. It’s better to be extra careful.”

“That’s what you always say,” Nie Cheng says, but he feels lighter in his chest.

He doesn’t see Meng Yao for the rest of the day, not until they’re heading back to Qinghe Nie. Nie Cheng is silent while they fly, too busy with his thoughts. When they land, it’s someone else who is greeting him this time. It was the cultivator he had worked with when he was hunting Wen Xu, Mu Antian.

“San-gongzi,” she says, bowing to him. “Nie-zongzhu is looking for you.”

“I just got back and he’s already looking for me?” Nie Cheng sighs. He doesn’t whine, but he gets close to it. Mu Antian simply smiles; she’s older than Nie Cheng, though Nie Cheng is still older than her younger brother. He had grown up with the two of them as occasional playmates, having been close to their great-aunt, Mu Huangli.

“Meng-xiansheng,” she says to Meng Yao, gesturing to one of the branching paths. “This way, please. Your presence has also been requested, but by the rest of your team. There’s an emergency meeting taking place.”

“Thank you, Mu-guniang,” Meng Yao says. He doesn’t say anything to Nie Cheng, so Nie Cheng stays silent as well. He makes his way to Nie Huaisang’s office, and when he pushes open the door to find it empty, seeks out his brother’s bedroom instead. Sure enough, Nie Huaisang is sprawled out over his bed, reading over some documents. He looks up at Nie Cheng’s knock, rolling off the bed to come to greet him.

“Done already?” he asks. “Come, let me take a look at you. Did those Lans starve you? Xiao Cheng’s gotten so skinny!”

“It was only for a day, how could they have starved me?” Nie Cheng replies, squirming in his brother’s hold. Nie Huaisang holds him still, pinching the sides of his face with his fingers. Nie Cheng tries to do the same, but Nie Huaisang ducks out of the way before he can. Nie Cheng settles for scolding him instead. “Why weren’t you at your desk? You know working on your bed is bad for you!”

“It was just for a little while,” Nie Huaisang pouts. He then gets this look in his eyes, one that tells Nie Cheng he should’ve ran away earlier when he had the chance. “If it wasn’t being starved, then what left Nie Cheng in such a bad mood? He wasn’t this upset when he left for the Lans, so I can only blame them.”

As usual, Nie Cheng had been caught before he could even start denying it. Nie Huaisang had been hyper-perceptive of Nie Cheng’s moods ever since they were children. He was the first to pick up on them, the first to seek Nie Cheng out when he was upset to comfort him. Nie Huaisang always said it was because the rest of their family was too thick headed, just like Nie Cheng was. He got hit over the head for that.

“I think something’s wrong with me,” Nie Cheng says. He couldn’t tell Lan Wangji because it involved his brother, and Nie Cheng knew all too well not to insult his brother; he was the same, after all. But he tells Nie Huaisang everything. “Xichen-xiong and Meng Yao know each other. Meng Yao saved Xichen-xiong.”

“They know each other from before?” Nie Huaisang asks. His eyebrows raise up, a shocked look on his face. “What happened, then? Did they have a tearful reunion?”

“Basically,” Nie Cheng murmurs. “They kept talking nonstop! Meng Yao didn’t even notice I was gone until we met up again.”

“I think Xiao Cheng is jealous,” Nie Huaisang hums. He sits Nie Cheng down on his bed, dropping down next to him to wrap an arm around his shoulders. Nie Cheng sighs, leaning against Nie Huaisang. “Were you worried about Xichen-xiong and Meng Yao being too close to each other?”

“No,” Nie Cheng grumbles. After Nie Huaisang pokes his forehead with his index finger, Nie Cheng sighs, giving in. “Maybe a little bit. But only a little!”

“Oh, Xiao Cheng,” Nie Huaisang sighs. Nie Cheng huffs, though his shoulders drop down as he softly bangs his forehead against Nie Huaisang’s arm. “It’s okay to feel that way. It’s his fault, not your’s; just focus on yourself for now, alright? Xiao Cheng is the best, no matter what anyone else thinks.”

“Really?” Nie Cheng asks. Nie Huaisang strokes through his hair, running his fingers down Nie Cheng’s long strands. Nie Huaisang nods, pulling Nie Cheng in for a hug. His arms are warm around Nie Cheng, and for a moment it really hits Nie Cheng that it’s just the two of them now. No father, no older brother. Just Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang, alone together, trying to survive when all odds seem stacked against them. Nie Cheng clings just a bit tighter to his brother after that.

“Don’t think about it anymore,” Nie Huaisang whispers. “Think about me instead, alright? Or Wei Wuxian, or Yu Jiaxin.”

“Not Wangji-ge?” Nie Cheng teases. Nie Huaisang huffs, and Nie Cheng can practically taste the way he rolls his eyes. Some things never change, including the childish rivalry between Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji.

Nie Cheng leaves Nie Huaisang’s room feeling slightly better. His chest still feels tight, but Nie Cheng is certain he’ll be fine. He heads to the training field, bumping into Mu Antian along the way.

“I’m helping my brother,” she explains as they walk together. Nie Cheng can spot Mu Lingyan already practicing, his sword clutched tight in his hand as he goes over the basic sword stances. “A-Ling wanted to spar with me, but I told him to get a bit better before trying to challenge me. He’s trying to grow up too quickly.”

“Weren’t we all as children?” Nie Cheng laughs. He decides to help Mu Antian and Mu Lingyan, walking Mu Lingyan through the right steps and allowing himself to be used as a test dummy as he practices. Mu Lingyan was an eager learner, always picking up on what Nie Cheng was saying after one or two attempts. Mu Antian was obviously proud of her brother’s work, a nonstop smile on her face as she constantly praises him.

The Mu family had lost their parents in a hunting accident when they were younger, where they had then been taken in by Mu Huangli, their relative and a Nie elder. There were three siblings at first, the oldest being a man called Mu Lingwu. Unfortunately, he had died a few months ago during a battle against the Wens, leaving Mu Antian and Mu Lingyan to fend for themselves. Perhaps that was why Nie Cheng tried extra hard to make sure Mu Antian survived every battle she went into. The parallel lines were thick enough for even someone like Nie Cheng to see.

“San-gongzi!” Mu Lingyan says, waving his sword through the air. He beams, loose strands of hair falling down across his face. “Look at what I can do!”

“Very good,” Nie Cheng praises as he watches Mu Lingyan go through numerous stances. It was always good to have a strong foundation; though Mu Lingyan was learning much more advanced techniques in his classes now, it never hurt to practice the basics once in a while. No doubt Mu Lingyan wasn’t enjoying it all that much, though hopefully Mu Antian and Nie Cheng’s company was a mood booster. Nie Cheng definitely would not have practiced as much as he should have if he didn’t have his brothers dropping by to cheer him on.

“When I get bigger I’m going to help you and Jiejie and defeat all the Wens!” Mu Lingyan declares.

“When you get bigger you’re going to go on normal night hunts like regular cultivators do,” Mu Antian frowns. She places a hand on Mu Lingyan’s head, ruffling up his hair. “The best thing that can happen is that you never have to become a soldier, understand? Jiejie wants you to grow up safe. Stop thinking about chasing after power or glory.”

Mu Lingyan whines, trying to get away from his sister’s touch. He looks up at Nie Cheng, seeking support, but all Nie Cheng can do is shrug in response. What Mu Antian had said was true. Nie Cheng wished this war would end as soon as possible so he didn’t have to send more men out into battle. Some of the disciples he was training weren’t even men; they were children who had no business fighting against a force as vicious as the Wens.

“Want to spar, San-gongzi?” Mu Antian asks as she chases Mu Lingyan off the field to get a drink of water. She holds up her sword, a beautiful blade crafted by the same blacksmith who made Nie Cheng’s.

“Is your arm okay?” Nie Cheng asks in return. She had broken it some time ago, though it had been healed for some time now. Mu Antian simply grins, positioning herself in a ready formation. Nie Cheng responds by pulling out Pulao; it had been some time since he had formally sparred. All the practice he got now was by killing real people on the battlefield.

The same was evident in Mu Antian as well. She was quick and light on her feet as she seemed to almost jump around the field. Nie Cheng parries her blows, looking for an opening she would not give him. Both of them attacked like each move could be their last, making sure it would finish off their opponent in a real-life battle.

Nie Cheng finally gets his opportunity and strikes, trying to jab Mu Antian in the stomach. She twists her body out of the way, their blades clashing with a sharp clang. Nie Cheng scowls, skidding back and using his saber to keep himself upright. Mu Antian takes the chance to get the jump on him, but Nie Cheng quickly ducks and slides under her, landing on the opposite side of the field.

It was a common routine for the two of them, both so used to the other’s mannerisms and both picking up on new techniques from the same place. Nie Cheng and Mu Antian could spar for nearly a shichen before calling it a tie. It seemed like the same was about to happen, though just as Nie Cheng lifts his sword up to block an attack, he spots a familiar figure approaching Mu Lingyan.

Mu Antian frowns as she quickly pulls her sword back, making sure it doesn’t nick herself or Nie Cheng. “Keep your guard up, San-gongzi. What are you looking at?”

Nie Cheng doesn’t even get the chance to respond before Mu Lingyan is cupping his hands over his mouth, raising his voice to holler at Nie Cheng. “San-gongzi, Meng-xiansheng says he wants to speak with you!”

“I see,” Mu Antian says, raising an eyebrow. She bows to Nie Cheng, straightening her back to clasp Nie Cheng’s shoulder. “Good work today, San-gongzi.”

“You too,” Nie Cheng says. He doesn’t want to turn around to face Meng Yao, though he supposes that was extremely childish of him to think. Nie Cheng takes in a deep breath, counting to three before turning around with a neutral expression on his face. His face quickly melts into shock as he sees what Meng Yao is holding in his hands.

It’s another bouquet of orchids. Their golden petals nearly sing to him, nestled amongst green leaves that seem to be trying to climb out of the wrapping. Meng Yao hands it over to him, placing them in his arms and covering the back of Nie Cheng’s hands with his palms. He was warm, smiling up at Nie Cheng with those delicate features. His skin was clear, looking like a painted porcelain statue.

“Does Wanyin like it?” he asks, looping an arm around Nie Cheng’s. He leads Nie Cheng to a shady spot under a large tree overlooking the rest of the training fields. Mu Antian and Mu Lingyan were still together, and Mu Antian seems to be breaking down their movements in their spar. She replicates the moves she and Nie Cheng had made but in slower gestures, one hand holding her sword while the other waves through the air to explain. Mu Lingyan listens attentively, his gaze never straying away from his sister’s blade.

“It’s okay,” Nie Cheng says. He places the bouquet in his lap; the sweet scent of orchids rises to his nose, which has him smiling before he knows what he’s doing. Meng Yao laughs, linking their hands together. He places it in his own lap, playing around with Nie Cheng’s fingers. It kind of tickles.

“Thank you for taking me along today,” he says. “I had a great time catching up with Xichen-xiong. I hadn’t seen him in ages, and I was awfully worried something had happened to him while I wasn’t able to take care of him.”

“Are you going to move to the Cloud Recesses, then?” Nie Cheng can’t help but blurt out. Meng Yao looks at him as if he had said something silly, eyes full of fondness and a twinkle of something else. Satisfaction, maybe?

“My place is by Wanyin’s side,” Meng Yao says. “It was nice to speak to Xichen-xiong once more, but Wanyin is still my favorite. If I had to be separated from him as long as I had with Xichen-xiong, I don’t think I’d be able to handle it. You’re too dear to me, after all.”

“Oh.” Slowly, a light starts to blossom in Nie Cheng’s heart, one he thought had been extinguished when he saw Lan Xichen and Meng Yao laughing together. He clears his throat, trying to ignore the way his cheeks feel warm again. “That’s good. You should stay forever, then. Meng Yao is… also dear to me.”

“I will,” Meng Yao promises. His smile tells Nie Cheng he had said the right thing, and the fluttering kiss he presses to Nie Cheng’s pink cheek certainly confirmed it as well. It was just for a brief second, but it sets Nie Cheng’s entire body aflame, blazing to light with an energy he hadn’t previously had. He looks around to see if anyone had noticed, but Mu Antian was still teaching Mu Lingyan, and the rest of the disciples were too far away to see anything.

Nie Cheng fiddles with one of the orchids sitting on his lap. It turns out his worries were unfounded, after all. Meng Yao liked him the most. That’s what mattered. Meng Yao starts talking about what happened during his meeting, and Nie Cheng lets his gentle voice wash over him like a warm embrace, shutting out any other insecurities he may have.

He brings their joint hands up to his face, pressing his cheek against Meng Yao’s hand. Meng Yao, in turn, squeezes Nie Cheng’s hand, his grip tightening for a moment before loosening. That was good; Nie Cheng liked that. He liked Meng Yao.

And Meng Yao liked him back.

- - - -

Nothing can change a man’s heart, not fully. No matter how many times Nie Cheng argued against it, Meng Yao was still just as determined as ever to earn his father’s approval.

“Everything will be better after it,” he promises Nie Cheng. In the dark of the night, he covers Nie Cheng’s face with his palms, pushing them together to place a kiss on the tip of Nie Cheng’s nose. “For me and you. It’ll be perfect, I swear it.”

“Jin Guangshan is a rotten man,” Nie Cheng whispers back. “He will use you until you are broken and then leave you out to collect dust and die. Why can’t you stay with me instead? You said you would.”

“It will just be for a short time,” Meng Yao replies. He was determined to go to Langya after hearing the Jin sect would be assisting in it. Nie Cheng felt helpless to stop him. At last, he could only agree, sending Meng Yao off with a permanent frown on his face.

Nie Huaisang, on his accord, easily agreed with Meng Yao’s request for leave. He even wrote Meng Yao a letter of recommendation letter. As if to rub salt on the wound, Nie Cheng is the one who accompanies Nie Huaisang to retrieve it from his office.

“Why is it so messy in here?” Nie Huaisang complains, scowling as if it wasn’t his own workspace. He places some papers in Nie Cheng’s arms: they seemed to be notes detailing Wei Wuxian’s resentful cultivation, highlighting some of the more important parts. “I swear those were in a different place before! It’s almost like a ghost walked in and decided to go through my work! I hope they at least helped me fill out some paperwork before leaving.”

When Nie Cheng gives Meng Yao the recommendation letter, he almost doesn’t let go. Meng Yao laughs, hooking his arms around Nie Cheng’s neck to draw him in. Nie Cheng goes easily, wrapping an arm around Meng Yao’s waist to stabilize himself.

“I’ll miss you,” Meng Yao says, pressing his lips to the corner of Nie Cheng’s mouth. For all the casual touches Meng Yao likes to do, he’s never kissed Nie Cheng, not like the way they do in books and plays. Nie Cheng wonders why; he can’t help but think it’s because Meng Yao doesn’t think he’s good enough. Still, he accepts any affection Meng Yao gives him, even reciprocating with his own on some occasions. “Don’t forget to write.”

“Come home soon,” Nie Cheng says. Meng Yao gives him that heart-achingly beautiful smile and the uptick of his lips is the last thing Nie Cheng sees before he turns around to mount his horse. With his golden core still so weak, flying on a sword was out of the question.

Nie Cheng watches him go, feeling oddly empty as Meng Yao’s figure gets smaller and smaller. He had gotten so used to having Meng Yao by his side at all times, and now Nie Cheng was by himself again.

“Xiao Cheng!”

Or perhaps not; Nie Cheng turns around and grins at his brother. Nie Huaisang is panting, his chest rising up and down as he places a hand on his knees. He was terribly out of shape; Nie Cheng would have to force him to start training again, lest Nie Huaisang finds himself in a dangerous situation and too weak to escape.

“Is Meng Yao gone already?” Nie Huaisang asks. “I wanted to send him off!”

“He just left,” Nie Cheng replies, pointing to the horizon line in the distance. Nie Huaisang sighs, draping himself over Nie Cheng. He buries his face in Nie Cheng’s shoulder, voice mumbled as he speaks into the gray fabric of Nie Cheng’s robes.

“I had a gift for him as well…” Nie Huaisang grumbles. “Ah, it’s no use regretting it now. Don’t forget Yu-shijie is coming over to visit in a few shichen.”

“I know,” Nie Cheng smiles. “I’m excited to show her around.”

Nie Cheng might be missing Meng Yao, but he still had his brother and his friends. It was just as Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang had said before, back when he was mulling over Lan Xichen and Meng Yao’s situation. The orchids were blooming big and bright, the sect was bustling with boundless energy and life, and in this small space of the world, Nie Cheng was happy. He would be fine and have plenty of fun with everyone else.

That doesn’t mean he isn’t drafting a letter to Meng Yao as soon as possible, though.

Chapter Text

Dear Wanyin,

I’ve safely arrived at Langya, and joined the Jin sect’s forces. My father… there can be no helping his attitude sometimes, but I am determined to figure out a way to gain his acknowledgment. For now, I’ve been assigned a group and a commander to follow. I am trying to make myself useful through my resourcefulness and skills in strategy, though the commander makes it difficult to get some of my ideas across. I have to admit, listening to the way he guides his men makes me miss the expertise of the generals of Qinghe Nie. Or perhaps it is just the thought of you that I am missing.

The days are slow without you. Perhaps you will think of me as foolish, but I’ve grown accustomed to having you by my side. When you leave for battle I am already worried enough as is, though I know that this time I am the only one who can be faulted for the distance between us. Still, I cannot help but wish for you in all my waking hours and see you in my dreams when I slumber. Sometimes we are dancing together in an endless meadow, watching the steam curl up into the air from pouring tea at home, or waking up in each other’s embrace while sunbeams spill in from the windows. No matter what it is we are always together, and I treasure each colorful vision of you in my heart, though it may only amplify my desire to hold you once more.

How are things back home? I hope you are doing well, and that you are thinking of me as much as I think of you. Please send Nie-zongzhu my regards as well, and thank him for his recommendation letter. Without it, I fear I would already be on my way back, though at times the thought does not sound all that unpleasant.

With all my love,

Meng Yao

- - - -

Dear Meng Yao,

I’m doing fine. I’ve been assisting Ge with all of his work since there’s been relative peace around us. The Wens don’t seem to be targeting Qinghe Nie anymore, which is good. I’m still training the disciples, though; Mu Lingyan is about to move up to the next level, though his sister asked us to consider holding him back so he can graduate with the rest of his peers. She fears he will become too skilled to not use in the war.

You have to stay safe in Langya, understand? Forget about your father, you don’t need him. I’m telling you, that man is useless! No good will come out of associating with him. Just make sure you come back alive and unharmed, that’s all I wish for. Those Wens have many tricks up their sleeve; I went over them with you, remember? Keep an eye out, and make sure to guard yourself at all times.

I miss you too. Come home soon.

Sincerely,

Nie Wanyin

- - - -

The battle in Langya is long, perhaps one of the longest battles since the war started. Rumors were going around that the Wens had started pushing back. All of it did nothing but cause Nie Cheng to worry more. Meng Yao wasn’t a cultivator like Nie Cheng and his friends were, or even like Nie Huaisang, who was able to start cultivating from a young age no matter how weak it was.

Nie Cheng spends most of his time trying to distract himself. He teaches the junior disciples, trains with the Mu siblings, and spends time with his brother. Sometimes Nie Huaisang is too busy to speak, so Nie Cheng just sits in his office, silently accompanying his brother as he reads a book or drafts out training regiments. He doesn’t know what Nie Huaisang is working on, but it seems important; whenever Nie Huaisang gets really focused on his work, his expression shifts into something more neutral. Nie Cheng doesn’t know how to describe it as anything other than blank, like Nie Huaisang was ready to shift into whatever was needed for the moment.

It was odd to see Nie Huaisang so neutral, not when Nie Cheng’s grown up with his bright cheeriness and overdramatized fits of petulance. But he was a great sect leader, there was no denying that. There were still rumors calling him a head shaker, but no one in the sect dared to disrespect him. Perhaps that also had something to do with the way Nie Cheng loomed over him like a guard dog. Good. Let them cower; no one got to talk bad about his brother.

A few months after Meng Yao left, Nie Huaisang silently hands Nie Cheng a letter. It’s sealed with the Jin peony, a beautiful gold wax stamp that Nie Cheng all but tears apart in his haste to read the contents of the letter. His heart seemed to have fallen into a deep pit, and in its place was an empty black hole eating through Nie Cheng from the inside out.

Meng Yao hadn’t replied to him in some time. The last letter he sent was a month ago; it still sat on Nie Cheng’s desk. He always kept Meng Yao’s most recent letter in plain view, rereading it over and over until a new one arrived, where the previous one could then be safely tucked with the other letters in a box under his bed. Nie Cheng had read through this letter so much he’s all but memorized the contents word for word. He sees Meng Yao’s elegant scrawl when he closes his eyes, can picture Meng Yao whispering in his ear, “Wait for me, Wanyin, I’ll be back soon”.

It couldn’t be, there was no way— he promised Nie Cheng, he promised. Nie Cheng trusted him, Meng Yao wouldn’t do this to him.

As his eyes skimmed through the letter, the sheer force of relief that washes through Nie Cheng nearly causes his knees to buckle out. He clings onto Nie Huaisang, fingers digging into his brother’s arm as Nie Cheng lets out a peal of hysterical laughter. “Jin-zongzhu is requesting assistance. Their forces aren’t enough.”

Meng Yao was fine. And soon, Nie Cheng would be able to see him again as well.

“Xiao Cheng will have to make adequate preparations first,” Nie Huaisang says, stroking through Nie Cheng’s hair. He doesn’t even bother trying to argue, already knowing that his brother had made up his mind. Nie Huaisang understood Nie Cheng just as well as Nie Cheng understood himself, and perhaps even more than that. “We’ll send some of our soldiers as well. You won’t go alone.”

“Alright,” Nie Cheng agrees. He was willing to do anything. Nie Huaisang smiles, cupping Nie Cheng’s cheek with his hand. Nie Cheng leans into his touch, grateful to still have his brother by his side. Nie Huaisang was a constant pillar of reassurance and strength, a heavy anchor keeping Nie Cheng from floating away.

“End the battle,” Nie Huaisang says to Nie Cheng, stroking his thumb over the curve of Nie Cheng’s cheekbone. “Bring him back.”

Nie Cheng was going to do just that.

He spends the rest of the week gathering supplies and volunteers. Nie Huaisang sends a reply back to Jin Guangshan; it was one of the rare times Qinghe Nie and Lanling Jin had collaborated when the Jins reached out first. The Jins were desperate if they were calling on their help. Mu Antian volunteers to go with him, but Nie Cheng staunchly refuses her service.

“You just got back from a scouting mission,” he argues, crossing his arms. “You’re not allowed to leave for another two weeks.”

“That mission wasn’t even dangerous,” Mu Antian says, rolling her eyes. Sometimes Nie Cheng wonders if he would make a good leader given the way everyone seemed to coddle him. Then he realized the only people he ever spent time with were people who had watched him grow up from childhood. To others, he was Nie san-gongzi, the strict second-in-command of Qinghe Nie, but to Mu Antian he would always be the kid who was always chasing after his older brothers and clinging onto their robe sleeves. “San-gongzi should let me assist. I’m one of the best cultivators we have, and I’m not currently injured. If I join we could push the Wens back even faster.”

“You could also get killed,” Nie Cheng retorts. He has to admit, it was a bit strange to be commanding men older than him. He wasn’t used to the room quieting down the way it does when he speaks. It felt like a heavy load of responsibility on his shoulders when Nie Cheng didn’t even know if he was making the right choices. The back and forth he traded with Mu Antian was reassuring in a way: she respected his ideas but wasn’t afraid to speak up when needed. It helped make Nie Cheng feel less like a fraud, for some reason.

Nie Cheng sighs, shoulders dropping as he averts his eyes, looking at the ground next to Mu Antian’s feet. “Also, I promised your brother I would stop you from going on any more expeditions. At least for a short while.”

“A-Ling is still a child,” Mu Antian frowns. “He doesn’t understand.”

“He’s fourteen,” Nie Cheng points out. At fourteen, he was still trying to skip class and trying to convince Nie Mingjue to give him a spiritual sword already. But war made children grow up fast, and there were many days Mu Lingyan woke up not knowing if his sister was still alive. “He misses spending time with you. Take him out into town, get him something to eat. We won’t lose without you.”

“But—”

“That’s an order, Mu Antian,” Nie Cheng says, trying to be as firm as possible while keeping his tone from becoming strict. He wasn’t trying to be mean, but he wouldn’t take any other arguments on this matter. Mu Antian’s shoulders slump, but at last she sighs, bowing to him.

“Yes, San-gongzi.”

When Nie Cheng next sees Mu Lingyan, the boy cannot keep the wide grin off his face. He bounces up to Nie Cheng, unable to help himself from throwing his arms around Nie Cheng. Nie Cheng accepts his enthusiastic affections, patting Mu Lingyan on the back.

“Thank you, San-gongzi!” Mu Lingyan beams. His round face and short stature always made him seem younger than he actually was. Perhaps that’s why Mu Antian was so bent on protecting him. Nie Cheng can easily picture Mu Lingyan as twelve or thirteen, bright-eyed and always cheerful. “You’re the best!”

“Make sure to take care of her, alright?” Nie Cheng says. Mu Lingyan nods, his hair flying up and down behind him. Nie Cheng can’t stop himself from smiling; this is what he was fighting for. To make sure his men could live in peace for the rest of their lives, never having to worry about their family getting killed or dying in battle. The Wens could try to fight as much as they want, but Nie Cheng would be there to deflect every blow until they were finally crushed into the ground, never able to hurt anyone ever again.

He sets off for Langya on his sword, the rest of the cultivators accompanying him strong enough to follow behind. Nie Cheng pushes them a bit more, makes them fly a bit faster, wanting to get there as soon as possible. Once they land, he meets with a Jin general who takes him to Jin Guangshan. As much as Nie Cheng detests him the Jin sect leader was a skilled cultivator, wielding his own spiritual sword with ease and pride. Of course, his cultivation could have been better if he wasn’t spending all his time sleeping around with multitudes of women.

“Nie-gongzi,” Jin Guangshan says, rising to greet him. Nie Cheng bows to him, straightening his back to look at Jin Guangshan. He tries to find the resemblances between him and Meng Yao, and while he could find some, Meng Yao hadn’t lied when he said he looks more like his mother. Jin Guangshan’s features were strong, with a square jaw and a long nose bridge. He was objectively handsome, though Nie Cheng found him a bit too sleazy.

Nie Cheng speaks with Jin Guangshan for a few moments, mostly detailing the men and supplies he had brought to assist them. Jin Guangshan tells him about the status of the battle, and what their next move was to be. There was a strategy meeting in the evening that he was to attend, where Nie Cheng would definitely have some words to add.

“Some of the other sects have sent their men out here,” Jin Guangshan says. “Perhaps Nie-gongzi would like to acquaint himself with some of them. And with the Jin sect as well, of course.”

“Of course,” Nie Cheng echoes, nodding. He would have to ask around and take an estimate of how many cultivators they had on their side. More were still coming in, but Nie Cheng needed at least a rough count to know what he would be able to do with them in order to best fight against the Wens.

For now, though, he was going to find Meng Yao.

Nie Cheng walks through the camp the Jins had set up. Instead of asking for Meng Yao, he asks for the location of Meng Yao’s commander; it was hard to recognize a single face in a literal army of men, but everyone should know of their higher ups. One Jin disciple told him that Meng Yao’s commander could usually be found in a secluded clearing practicing at this time. Nie Cheng follows their directions, walking through large crowds of golden robes. He pulls his shoulders back, straightens his posture, and keeps his chin up. Nie Cheng is starkly aware of the fact that his behavior represents the entirety of Qinghe Nie right now, and he tries his best to make sure the people who see him have nothing but positive thoughts.

He follows a winding path through the nearby woods; it eventually opens up to a small clearing surrounded by tall trees that shade the area. And that’s when he sees it.

Meng Yao circles around a man, sword in hand as he lunges. It’s a quick and bloody scene, and by the time it’s over the man is lying on the ground, unmoving. Meng Yao stands over him, eyes flaring as he drives his sword through the man’s chest. It serves no purpose-- the man was already dead-- but Meng Yao does it over and over again, his breathing getting more labored by the moment.

His head shoots up as if able to feel Nie Cheng’s presence. Upon seeing him, Meng Yao drops his sword, the metal blade thudding to the ground as Meng Yao runs toward him. “Wanyin!”

Meng Yao crashes into Nie Cheng, placing his hands on Nie Cheng’s cheeks. This close, Meng Yao’s face hides the body from Nie Cheng’s eyes, though that doesn’t stop Nie Cheng from feeling the blood on Meng Yao’s skin transfer to his. It was still warm.

Meng Yao studies Nie Cheng’s face for a few moments, his lips frozen into a small smile. He strokes his thumb across Nie Cheng’s cheekbones, lips parting to reveal a tone that was airy, so casual it bordered on being suspicious. “Have you been sleeping well recently? There are bags under your eyes.”

“Are you hurt?” Nie Cheng blurts out. “Did he touch you?”

Meng Yao startles at the questions, but it quickly turns into relief. His shoulders slump down, and the man practically slumps against Nie Cheng as he beams up at him. Meng Yao rests his hands on top of Nie Cheng’s shoulders, placing his hands behind Nie Cheng’s neck. Meng Yao’s hands are awfully warm, and the calluses on his fingers tickly against the thin skin.

“I’m fine,” Meng Yao assures him. “He was… that was my commander. I didn’t particularly enjoy being under his command; sometimes he got too close to me, stared at me for too long. It was all self-defense, I swear.”

Nie Cheng’s blood runs cold; he knew the dangers of leaders abusing their powers to take advantage of others, had even listened to Mu Antian talk about her own experiences with them. But this was Meng Yao, who was so gentle he wouldn’t hurt a fly on the wall unless made to. Meng Yao, with his delicate cultivation and soft touch; Nie Cheng couldn’t bear the thought of him being hurt. Even if-- even if he was like that--

“Were you scared?” Nie Cheng asks. Always asking, building their relationship off both direct and hidden questions, listening and reading between the lines to answer the real curiosities. Still, he feels he can’t move his body, every limb locked in place even as Meng Yao leans in to press their noses together.

“A little,” he confesses, eyelashes fluttering. “He started coming up to me and I just didn’t know what to do, I reacted before I could even think. Everything was so overwhelming.”

Nie Cheng stays silent, lips pursed. Meng Yao tilts his head, pressing his thumb against the edge of Nie Cheng’s jaw. “Wanyin? What’s the matter?”

“Why did you do that?” Nie Cheng asks.

Meng Yao frowns, tightening his grip on Nie Cheng. Nie Cheng can feel his fingers start to press into his neck, not enough to choke him yet but enough to remind him of Meng Yao’s presence. “I already told you, he was coming onto me and I didn’t like it. You… you don’t think I’m a monster now, do you? Will you make me confess my sins?”

“That doesn’t matter; you did what you had to,” Nie Cheng says. He could care less about a random Jin member dying if it meant Meng Yao was safe. Nie Cheng had killed for less before. He shuts his eyes, unable to look at Meng Yao as he speaks. “But when you did, you… you fought like a Wen.”

The techniques Meng Yao used weren’t of Nie origin. Nie Cheng would know, he was the one who had taught Meng Yao how to properly wield a sword and use it to defend and attack. So why had Meng Yao used a Wen technique, why had he reminded Nie Cheng of Wen Xu and Wen Chao and Wen Ruhuan and all the other men who had torn his family apart?

Meng Yao is silent for a moment. His palm is flat and warm against Nie Cheng’s neck, but his fingers are digging deeper and deeper into his skin. Nie Cheng wonders if it would be a bad time to tell Meng Yao he was cutting off Nie Cheng’s airways.

“I didn’t realize it was a Wen technique,” Meng Yao says, shame visible on his face. He ducks his head down, expression hidden from Nie Cheng. “I thought it was… Perhaps I had seen them use it so much I unconsciously started copying them. I didn’t know it was from the Wens, I swear.”

“Please don’t ever do that again,” Nie Cheng begs. He doesn’t want to watch Meng Yao fight and see the men who murdered his father and brother, who razed his sect to the ground and killed so many of his men. “I’ll help you practice more. Just try and forget whatever you’ve picked up from them. We’ll work on Nie techniques instead, okay?”

“Okay,” Meng Yao agrees. “I really am sorry, Wanyin.”

“It’s not your fault,” Nie Cheng sighs. Nie Cheng knew it was a personal problem, that his experiences with the Wens had shaped his paranoia. From his family dying to nearly being assassinated himself as a child, Nie Cheng was alertly aware of the dangers they posed. Still, that doesn’t mean he should blame Meng Yao, who didn’t know any better. He had been fighting for his life, after all.

Nie Cheng forces himself to relax, shaking out his limbs to get them to move once more. He was safe; it was just Meng Yao, who would never hurt him. Ignoring the voices screaming at him from inside his mind, he places an arm around Meng Yao’s waist, pulling him in close. “I’m glad you’re okay. I missed you.”

Meng Yao leans into his embrace, tilting his chin up to press a kiss against the side of Nie Cheng’s mouth. He smiles at Nie Cheng like he’s silently praising him, clear delight shining in his eyes. Even covered in dirt and blood, Meng Yao was still beautiful, like a lotus blossom growing from muddy waters. “I missed you as well. I’m so happy I can see Wanyin again.”

He brushes his lips against Nie Cheng’s face, as always avoiding his mouth. But Meng Yao presses kisses on his cheeks, his eyelids, and his nose, showering him with boundless affection. It feels like sprouts of green blossoming from underneath a blanket of decayed flora, like the start of spring after a long winter. Nie Cheng feels so warm, like sunbeams are dancing across his skin, and he’s so caught up in Meng Yao’s touch that he doesn’t notice when Meng Yao lowers his hand to wipe the blood off them.

Meng Yao tells Nie Cheng to go ahead first, vaguely gesturing to the dead commander that he had to deal with. Nie Cheng offers to help, but Meng Yao rejects his offer, saying he doesn’t want Nie Cheng to get involved. Meng Yao was awfully considerate about his reputation, Nie Cheng thinks fondly. Always looking out for him, always making sure Nie Cheng was okay.

Nie Cheng walks through the camps while waiting for Meng Yao to finish. From the distance, he thinks he can make out some Lan disciples, though he doesn’t spot any of the Lan brothers or their elders. There are no Yu disciples, or disciples from any of the smaller sects. It seems Jin Guangshan had just reached out to the other great sects. Nie Cheng wrinkles his nose; the old man’s pride would be his hubris one day. There were many other sects that could have helped in the matter with the Wens, especially if the problem was just because the Jins needed more manpower. Alas, with Jin Guangshan still in charge it would be difficult for the Jin sect to rebrand.

The Jin cultivators are mulling about, casually strolling through the camp or making conversation with those around them. Considering the fact that they were in the midst of a losing battle, it was an awfully domestic scene.

“What should I get my wife for her birthday?” Nie Cheng overhears one soldier asking another.

“Why don’t you ask someone who has already been married?” the other suggests. “Like Jin Sidiao.”

That was the name of Meng Yao’s commander. Or, well, ex-commander. Nie Cheng tilts his head to the side, angling his ear so as to hear the most of their talk. He averts his eyes, making it look like he’s simply waiting for someone else, or looking out into the distance. Nie Cheng wasn’t able to sneak up on people like Nie Huaisang liked to do, but he held his own in eavesdropping.

“That’s a good idea,” the soldier says. “Just the other day I was watching him draft a letter to his wife. He tells her everything he does like she’s the one he reports back to! He even told her about all the cultivators under his leadership, and what he ate for dinner two nights ago! Does she truly need to know that much?”

“Young love will make one act in the most irrational ways,” the other laughs. “Though I suppose he and his wife have been married for some time. They still act like they’re courting, still utterly devoted to each other. He’s sure to have some good ideas on what to give your wife, I’m sure.”

“I heard he had someone proposition him once, and he turned her straight down!” the soldier replies. “Says he doesn’t want a mistress or any sort of second wife.”

“Now that’s the best gift you could give your wife,” the other says. They talk some more, but Nie Cheng tunes them out as they shift the conversation over to pearl jewelry and dried flowers. In the distance, he spots Meng Yao approaching and lights up, walking over to meet him in the middle. Meng Yao grabs his hand, squeezing it for a moment before letting go.

“I really can’t believe you’re here,” he laughs. “It feels like I’m dreaming.”

“Am I as handsome as your dream of me?” Nie Cheng asks. It feels surreal for him as well, to finally be able to breathe the same air as Meng Yao and see him right in front of Nie Cheng. He’s almost tempted to touch Meng Yao once more, just to confirm that it wasn’t an illusion. He wants to be with Meng Yao at all times, to attach their souls to each other so they follow after one another for eternity. The months they had been separated felt like agony, like something had been missing by Nie Cheng’s side. Now that Meng Yao was here, Nie Cheng is finally whole again.

Maybe this is what falling in love feels like.

“Of course,” Meng Yao smiles. “Wanyin is the most handsome when he’s in my eye. When I’m with you, I see nothing but your beauty.”

Nie Cheng flushes, resisting the urge to cover his face. He was used to seeing Meng Yao’s affections splayed out in ink against parchment, but hearing them enter his ears was something else. He almost wants to glow, as if to show Meng Yao that he was worth the affection he gave to Nie Cheng.

“I have a gift for you,” Meng Yao says. He reaches into his robes, pulling out a small orchid blossom to hand to Nie Cheng. It’s the exact same shade as the ones that grow in Qinghe Nie, and Nie Cheng treats it to the gentlest of touches as if holding a newborn.

“Where did you get this from?” he asks. Meng Yao smiles, placing a hand on his chest. He looks awfully pleased with himself, perhaps reveling the large grin that split across Nie Cheng’s face. He couldn’t help it; Nie Cheng felt as if his heart was about to explode, like he had been too filled with affection and couldn’t take any more.

“I took some seeds and grew them here to remind me of you,” Meng Yao says. “Do you like it?”

“You’re the best,” Nie Cheng breathes out. He has the sudden urge to kiss Meng Yao, but quickly squashes that desire down. Meng Yao didn’t like the kiss. Or perhaps he didn’t like to kiss Nie Cheng, but he did like growing him his favorite flowers and writing him sweet letters filled with honey and peach blossoms, and maybe that’s what mattered more. Meng Yao smiles, soaking in Nie Cheng’s praise as a plant takes in rays of sunlight.

“Let me take you around camp,” Meng Yao says. He places a hand on Nie Cheng’s arm as if casually steering him in the direction they needed to go. Meng Yao navigates through the Jin camp with ease, like a fish swimming through water. It was like he had been here all along, like he had been a Jin cultivator the whole time. He was so good at blending in, Nie Cheng realizes with a pang, that perhaps this was where he was meant to be. But it had felt that way back home as well, with Meng Yao neatly inserting himself into the inner workings of Qinghe Nie until Nie Cheng couldn’t imagine how they did it without him.

They pass by many Jin cultivators until the golden robes start getting replaced with other colors as well. Nie Cheng is relieved: he doesn’t think he could handle seeing any more of the Jin sect. The other great sect’s cultivators are mulling about, mostly keeping to themselves and their own sects. It would take some time to get used to each, but hopefully, the meeting in the evening would help. If the sect’s leaders started working together, eventually the rest would follow.

“I’m excited to meet so many new people,” Meng Yao says. “Are there any sect heirs or notable cultivators here that I should take note of?”

“I’m not seeing any,” Nie Cheng says, eyes scanning through the crowd. “They seem to be regular disciples to me. If there is someone, they would be greeting Jin Guangshan right now, or perhaps gathering their sect together. You would be able to spot them.”

Perhaps he spoke too soon, because as soon as Nie Cheng looks away he feels himself get jumped at. A distinctly familiar arm wraps around his shoulder, pulling him into a side embrace.

“Nie Cheng!”

“Shixiong?”

Wei Wuxian grins at him, hair messed up with loose strands sticking out of his ponytail. He waves, reaching up to ruffle Nie Cheng’s hair and pat his head. Nie Cheng lets him, still processing the shock at seeing Wei Wuxian, of all people, at the Jin’s camp.

“What are you doing here?” Nie Cheng asks, unable to keep a smile off his face. He had thought it would just be him and Meng Yao and the rest of his men, but now that Wei Wuxian was here he wasn’t as alone. “I thought you hated the Jins!”

“Don’t remind me,” Wei Wuxian sighs. “But my shijie wanted to come to support Jin Zixuan, and I couldn’t let her go alone. I told her ‘You two aren’t engaged anymore, there’s no need to go see him’, but she insisted, so here I am. But luckily I did, or else our family’s Xiao Cheng would have been left all by himself! Look at you, so distressed without your favorite shixiong! Chengcheng, you missed me, didn’t you?”

“Who wants your company?” Nie Cheng grumbles, elbowing him. Wei Wuxian lets out a fake cry, dramatically slumping down and leaning against Nie Cheng’s side. “And my favorite is Wangji-ge, not you. You’re ranked last. Ge, Wangji-ge, and Yu-shijie are tied for first, and you’re last.”

“That just means I’m second in your heart,” Wei Wuxian winks. Nie Cheng snorts, shoving him off. Wei Wuxian is laughing even as he has to steady himself so he doesn’t fall. His dizi is missing from his side, but Suibian is there as always. Nie Cheng can only assume the other weapon is hidden so as not to give away his resentful cultivation.

“Hello, Gongzi.” Meng Yao’s voice snaps Nie Cheng out of his pondering; he’s bowing to Wei Wuxian, an unsure look on his face. “Apologies, but I’m not familiar with you…”

“Oh! This is Wei Wuxian,” Nie Cheng says, gesturing over to Wei Wuxian who bows to Meng Yao as well. “I told you about him once, remember? He’s the Jiang sect’s ward.”

He then turns to Wei Wuxian, placing a hand on Meng Yao’s shoulder. “Shixiong, this is Meng Yao. He’s been staying with me at Qinghe Nie, and then he came to help the Jin sect a few months ago.”

“You’ve made a new friend?” Wei Wuxian says, looking Meng Yao up and down. He smiles, extending out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Meng Yao. Thank you for taking care of Nie Cheng for us.”

Nie Cheng rolls his eyes; he wasn’t some child! And Wei Wuxian was barely older than he was! Meng Yao smiles back, reaching out to grasp Wei Wuxian’s hand and shake it. “The pleasure’s all mine, Wei-gongzi. I must say I’m surprised; Wanyin’s never mentioned you to me before.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, wrapping an arm around Nie Cheng’s shoulders again. “Xiao Cheng’s prickly like that! Ah, you really know how to hurt my heart; are you embarrassed to be associated with someone as brilliant as me?”

“I can’t have people knowing I hang out with an idiot such as yourself,” Nie Cheng teases back. Wei Wuxian pinches his cheek, shaking the skin between his fingers back and forth as Nie Cheng lets out a muffled protest.

“Speaking of, I need your help talking with Jin Guangshan,” Wei Wuxian says. He continues holding onto Nie Cheng, patting his shoulder. “I’m trying to request a solo assignment. I’ll assign my team to you instead. The other Jiang generals already have too many men to manage.”

Nie Cheng nods. A solo mission would keep Wei Wuxian’s cultivation from getting exposed, especially since they haven’t told the Jin sect about the newfound resentful cultivation yet. Lan Wangji had brought it up, but no one volunteered, or seemed that eager to involve them. Thus, they continued to be left in the dark. Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest move on their part, but they were still teenagers; an impulsive decision once in a while wasn’t out of the norm.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” Nie Cheng tells Meng Yao. “I need to go help Wei-shixiong first.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later,” Meng Yao smiles. He takes ahold of Nie Cheng’s hand, clasping it between his own. Nie Cheng’s cheeks heat up, even as Meng Yao lets go just a moment later. “Stay safe.”

Nie Cheng lets Wei Wuxian lead him away, listening to the man babble about whatever was on his mind. They stay linked together, Wei Wuxian’s arm never straying from Nie Cheng’s shoulder. Meng Yao watches them go with an absent smile, a careful look in his eyes. At last, he sighs, patting off his robes before turning around and walking off.

- - - -

Little by little, they manage to start pushing back the Wen forces. Nie Cheng does eventually end up with both Nie and Jiang men under his command. The Jiangs don’t seem to mind being switched around; Wei Wuxian must have put in a good word for him. It was a bit strange, Nie Cheng has to admit. It was all too easy to picture that they were his men, and that the gray robes on his body were purple instead.

Nie Cheng wonders what would have happened if he had chosen to stay. Would he be leading the front lines like Wei Wuxian? Or would Jiang Fengmian not have trusted him, and forced him to stay back and do mundane tasks instead? Perhaps it was a bit irrational to vilify Jiang Fengmian as such, but Nie Cheng had seen nothing but his cruel hand and unyielding favoritism. It still stung to think about, sometimes, even after Nie Cheng had become another man’s son.

He ends up spending a lot of time with Wei Wuxian and, by proxy, Jiang Yanli. She seemed to be doing fine after her broken engagement, though Wei Wuxian’s angry mutterings would say otherwise. Jiang Yanli really liked to smile, Nie Cheng noticed-- he had started paying attention to the way everyone else’s mouth would move once he became enamored with Meng Yao’s. She was like a gentle flower swaying in the wind, drowning in the flood of the thunderstorm but continuing to dance nonetheless, simply moving along with the windy droplets. Always smiling, always enduring, never reaching for more. Just as a flower couldn’t grow into a tree, Jiang Yanli couldn’t be the fiancee Jin Zixuan wanted. She couldn’t be the sister Jiang Cheng had needed.

She had been trying, though, trying to show off her prettiest petals and softest leaves. Wei Wuxian had told Nie Cheng that Jiang Yanli had been leaving bowls of soup for Jin Zixuan at his door. Personally, Nie Cheng would have spilled one over by now, but Jin Zixuan seems to have been careful enough.

Nie Cheng sees the culmination of Jiang Yanli’s silent gestures as he’s walking through the halls one day. Rather, he hears the culmination of it first, hears the way Jin Zixuan’s voice echoes through the halls like a pounding drum.

“How dare you steal the credit of another maiden’s work? Jiang Yanli, do you have no shame!? We’ve already spilt, so would you leave me alone?”

“I really was the one who made it,” Jiang Yanli insists. Her voice is softer than usual, as if afraid to speak back against Jin Zixuan. Nie Cheng presses his back to the wall; not wanting to be spotted. “I know I can’t do much for the war, so I’ve been working in the kitchens to make you some extra soup.”

“All you’ve done is follow me to the battlefield for your own personal gain! You’re out here lying while people die!” Jin Zixuan snaps. “You just use your position to take credit for other people’s work because they have no status. Have some self-respect!”

Nie Cheng can hear no response from Jiang Yanli after that. He can, however, make out a quiet sniffling, and thus can only come to the conclusion that Jin Zixuan’s words had made her cry. Typical. When was Jin Zixuan not bringing people to tears?

The next thing he knows, Nie Cheng is listening to the sound of fist hitting skin and an affronted yelp from Jin Zixuan. A voice that’s intimately familiar rings through, snapping at Jin Zixuan with such sharpness that Nie Cheng can practically picture blades coming from his mouth.

“You dirty dog, how dare you make Shijie cry?”

“Tell your beloved Shijie to leave me alone! With how she always follows me around, she’s the one who should be called a dog!”

“Say that again, I dare you!”

Nie Cheng wonders if he should intervene. But it’s already been so long since he had stumbled upon them that it would be awkward now. Plus, Nie Huaisang always told him not to meddle in the affairs of other families. It wasn’t their business, his brother would say, if they want to maul each other then let them. What effect would it have on Nie Cheng?

Wei Wuxian was his friend, Nie Cheng reasons rather unhappily. If he gets hurt Nie Cheng would be forced to take care of him. But still… this really seems like a matter that should be handled between the Jiangs and the Jins. And besides, Nie Cheng doesn’t know how to comfort a crying woman.

Making up his mind, Nie Cheng tries to slowly inch his way back toward where he came from when Jin Zixuan’s words stop him.

“One day you’ll definitely die by my hands,” Wei Wuxian threatens.

“Good!” Jin Zixuan snaps. “That’s just another sect heir to add to your list of victims, then.”

Nie Cheng freezes, limbs locking up as he hears Wei Wuxian let out a string of curses. He doesn’t see the culmination of their words, once again, but he hears the way Wei Wuxian lunges at Jin Zixuan, and the way Jin Zixuan fights back. Jiang Yanli shrieks something, probably trying to get them to stop, and Nie Cheng lets himself get out one resigned sigh before turning around and running towards them.

“Shixiong! What are you doing!?” He grabs Wei Wuxian’s arms, yanking him away from Jin Zixuan. Wei Wuxian struggles in his hold, trying to grab at Jin Zixuan once more. They were like feral wolves, like dogs biting at each other’s necks to try and get the other to submit. Nie Cheng continues to tug him away, gesturing at Jiang Yanli to help him. Together, they manage to separate Wei Wuxian and Jin Zixuan. Wei Wuxian is panting heavily, a bruise already forming on his cheekbone as he wipes the sweat off his forehead. Jin Zixuan is in no better condition, hair messed up and one eye sporting a darkening circle around it. He glares at Wei Wuxian, holding his right arm close to his chest.

“What is wrong with you?” Jin Zixuan says.

“Go ask that cultivator yourself,” Wei Wuxian growls. “If you’re so confident that Shijie was stealing her work, go ask her and see if she knows anything about the soup that keeps getting delivered to you. And when she proves you wrong, don’t come back crying to my shijie.”

“As if I’d ever do that,” Jin Zixuan snorts, his eyes narrowing. Nie Cheng decides it’s best to separate them before they start fighting again. He drags Wei Wuxian away by the arm, not even bothering to acknowledge Jin Zixuan as he leaves. Jiang Yanli follows after them, scurrying behind Nie Cheng and Wei Wuxian as Nie Cheng leads him to a secluded pavilion.

A stone table is laid out with wine and some leftover dried meats. Nie Cheng hadn’t found himself particularly hungry recently. What he really craved was the tea Meng Yao liked to make for him; though bitter on first sip, the taste was nostalgic, reminding him of something he used to drink in his childhood. Nie Cheng couldn’t recall what, but it left him feeling warm like someone had wrapped a blanket around him and was trying to lull him to sleep. He dumps Wei Wuxian onto a table, taking the seat next to him. Jiang Yanli sits across from them, rubbing her eyes with her sleeve.

“I don’t understand why he’s being so cruel,” she sobs, burying her face in his hands. “I feel so humiliated. I really didn’t steal someone else’s work; who would do such a horrid thing?”

“That bastard!” Wei Wuxian yells. He grabs Nie Cheng’s cask of wine, knocking open the top and directly taking a swig from it. Nie Cheng sighs; he has a feeling he knows how this is going to go.

He’s quickly proven right when half a shichen later Wei Wuxian is completely drunk and forcing Nie Cheng and Jiang Yanli to listen to him spout off nonsense. Nie Cheng drags a hand through his hair; if he knew this would happen, he would’ve at least brought some more cups for them, perhaps a platter of peanuts to eat as he lets Wei Wuxian tire himself out.

“That good for nothing, dirty dog-scheming, whore’s bastard!” Wei Wuxian says, banging his hand on the table. His words are still relatively clear, through Nie Cheng can hear a vague slur in his tone. Wei Wuxian drops his head onto the table, voice muffled as his face is hidden in his arms. “Shijie, you’re too good for him, understand? Xiao Cheng, don’t you agree?”

Just how had Nie Cheng managed to get himself dragged into this mess?

Jiang Yanli, whose tears had long dried up by now, smiles and places a hand on the back of Wei Wuxian’s head. “A-Xian, you’re drunk. Don’t say such rude words. I’ll make you some hangover soup tomorrow, okay? But you can’t drink anymore.”

“I’ll listen to Shijie,” Wei Wuxian mumbles. Jiang Yanli strokes his hair, helping him sit up and making sure Wei Wuxian wouldn’t regurgitate all over himself. She rubs his back in small, soothing circles, gently encouraging him to let go of the wine that had been stuck to his hand since they got there. Seriously, Nie Cheng hadn’t had a single sip! And it was his to begin with!

“You’re a good sister,” Nie Cheng observes. Jiang Yanlli shakes her head, too humble to accept any praise. She lets go of Wei Wuxian, placing her hands in her lap as she sighs.

“I’ve just had some experience, is all,” she says. “Fuqin and Muqin are always busy, after all, and though Fuqin tries to make time to spend with A-Xian, he still needs a maternal figure in his life. Muqin… ah, her relationship with A-Xian is too formal, and so I’ve had to step up to look after him.”

After finishing speaking, Jiang Yanli startles, fingers raising up to touch her mouth. An almost surprised laugh escapes her lips. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came upon me. I don’t usually talk so much.”

“It’s alright,” Nie Cheng shrugs. The night is quiet, save for the occasional rustling that came from the bushes around them. The leaves seemed to almost rub against each other, creating a quiet melody of nature. “Wei-shixiong’s really lucky to have a shijie like you. Especially if your soups can help with his hangover.”

“Thank you,” Jiang Yanli says. “Though, I must say I’m surprised you believe I can cook. Not that I can’t! It’s just, most cultivators tend not to see any truth in my words until proven otherwise.”

Nie Cheng raises an eyebrow. The statement does seem a bit improbable: a sect leader’s daughter, his eldest child, squirreling away in the kitchen? Making soups, of all things? Far-fetched, to be sure, but Nie Cheng doesn’t doubt Jiang Yanli for a second, if only because he can still taste the phantom lotus and pork broth lingering on his tongue.

”Is is ready yet?” Jiang Cheng asks, pushing himself up onto the top of his toes to try and peek over the counter. He’s still too short, and thus can only rely on the small stepstool the servants had provided. Not fair! One day he would grow big and tall and would loom over these counters, just wait!

“Almost,” his sister says, stirring a wooden spoon with both hands. The pot is bubbling, and fragrant aromas drift from it to Jiang Cheng’s nose. He takes in a deep breath, reveling in the warmth of the kitchen and of his sister’s bright smile.

Pork and lotus root soup was one of his favorite foods, and it was especially good when it was his sister that was making it for him. Jiang Cheng liked the idea that she had made it just for him because she was Jiang Cheng’s sister and she loved him. Nothing tasted better than knowing he was loved.

“I want to help Jiejie next time!” Jiang Cheng declares, placing his hands on his hips. “Then Jiejie and I can make the soup even faster, and we can eat together before Mama finds us!”

“Okay!” his sister beams. “A-Cheng and I will work together! We’ll be the best team forever and ever!”

“Wei-shixiong mentions it a lot,” Nie Cheng says. “He likes to talk about you.”

“That A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli sighs fondly. Wei Wuxian mumbles something back, too quiet for Nie Cheng to make sense of it. Nie Cheng stands up, rolling back his shoulders as he looks up at the sky. It was already dark, the moon round and bright as it lights up the sky. There were a few starts scattered about; Nie Cheng wonders if he could find the North Star from here, standing in the midst of the Jin camp.

“I’m headed to bed,” he tells Jiang Yanli. “I’ll leave first then, Jiang-guniang. Have a good night.”

“Goodnight, Nie-gongzi,” she says. “Thank you for looking out for A-Xian all the time.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he replies, because it really was. Wei Wuxian was handsome, smart, and charming, everything that made him so desirable to the cultivators he encountered. But he was also loyal, so heart-achingly loyal to Nie Cheng that he hadn’t realized he was also looking at the boy he lost all those years ago. And despite that, Wei Wuxian still liked him, regardless as to if he was Jiang Cheng or Nie Cheng.

Nie Cheng heads towards his room, rubbing his eyes as he yawns. On his porch, he spots the silhouette of a familiar figure. Meng Yao clings to him as soon as he can reach Nie Cheng, burying his face in Nie Cheng’s chest.

“What’s wrong?” Nie Cheng asks, all sleep immediately leaving his body. He wraps an arm around Meng Yao, ushering him inside his room. Meng Yao looks up from his chest to blink at him, hair musses up from his slumber.

“I had a nightmare,” Meng Yao murmurs. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

It was perhaps one of the times Meng Yao had been most direct with his words. Nie Cheng frowns, patting down Meng Yao’s arms and torso. He finds a leaf stuck to the back of the yellow outer robes and plucks it off, dropping it to the ground as he helps Meng Yao out of his robes. “Are you injured?”

Meng Yao shakes his head, silently crawling into Nie Cheng’s bed. He places a hand around Nie Cheng’s wrist, pulling him in as well. Nie Cheng goes willingly, laying down beside him and watching Meng Yao’s face with curious eyes. He wraps an arm around Meng Yao, cradling him in a warm embrace. Meng Yao lets out a content sigh, eyes fluttering shut as he leans his head against Nie Cheng’s shoulder.

Nie Cheng can feel puffs of air hit his skin as Meng Yao breathes in and out, the rise and fall of his chest gradually slowing down as he drifts off. Nie Cheng, once again, isn’t quite sure how he ended up here. Meng Yao hadn’t provided much of an explanation, but Nie Cheng wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He draws Meng Yao closer toward him, pressing a shy kiss to the crown of his forehead.

This was nice, Nie Cheng drowsily thinks. If the two of them could remain like this forever, wouldn’t that be perfect?

- - - -

A few weeks later, they successfully manage to defeat the Wens in battle. Finally, Langya is overtaken by the four sects. Nie Cheng gladly leaves the battlefield, taking his men and Meng Yao with him. Luckily, they had suffered no casualties, though a few of them were substantially injured. Still, Nie Cheng would rather have a few cracked bones and sore bruises than a cold body.

At home, they’re greeted with a warm welcome and a nice feast at night. Nie Cheng sits to the right of Nie Huaisang, silently listening in on his brother’s conversations. He’s missed Nie Huaisang’s voice, ever peppy with an edge of laughter to it. Usually it was nervous laughter as Nie Huaisang tried to avoid the hard questions thrown at him by his advisors, but it was his, and Nie Cheng treasured every moment he got to hear it. He missed listening to Nie Mingjue’s booming laugh, and regrets not spending enough time just being around his eldest brother, taking all of him in and searing his image into his mind. Nie Cheng’s greatest fear is that he will one day forget the voice of Nie Mingjue, that he will no longer be able to picture the exact way his eyes creased when he laughed and the feeling of his calloused fingers against Nie Cheng’s hair. He won’t ever forget, not until the universe steals his memories away from him in his old age.

Nie Cheng spends the next few days recuperating before returning back to training. He’s started sparring with Mu Lingyan as well, though he doesn’t put in his full effort as he does with the boy’s sister. He’s still young, after all; eager to learn and learning at a startling pace, but still a child. Nie Cheng does not envy Mu Antian, who is watching her brother grow up too fast before her eyes.

“Again!” Mu Lingyan says, even as he has to pick himself up from the sand. He bounces around on his feet, holding his sword in his hands. “I have a new idea I want to try! San-gongzi, do you think I could do what you just did with your sword?”

He waves his sword around in a vague mimicry of Nie Cheng’s previous moves, causing Nie Cheng to laugh. He lowers his sword to pat Mu Lingyan on the head, the boy frowning as his hair gets ruffled. “Wait till you get your spiritual sword first. Then we’ll see. But it’s important to develop your own style as well; don’t just copy a move you see because you think it looks nice. You must be comfortable doing it; it could save your life one day, after all.”

“If you want to perform sword tricks you could always become an actor,” Nie Huaisang calls out from the side. Today was one of the rare days that he didn’t have much to do, and so he decided to spend his time following Nie Cheng around. Nie Huaisang was playing a game of weiqi against himself while watching Nie Cheng and Mu Lingyan spar, having staunchly refused Nie Cheng’s offer to train with them as well.

“I’m not handsome enough to become an actor,” Mu Lingyan frowns. Nie Huaisang waves away his concerns, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

“Who cares so much about appearances?” Nie Huaisang says. “The actor’s guild isn’t picky; so long as you can speak your lines, you can act. And besides, it would do them good to have some differing facial features in their rooster.”

“I would rather fight,” Mu Lingyan says simply. Nie Huaisang dramatically sighs, dropping a white weiqi piece onto the board. Nie Cheng laughs again; Mu Lingyan was perhaps a bit too front-facing when it came to cultivation. He knew what he wanted to be and wouldn’t settle for anything else. It was an admirable trait, especially coming from one so young.

Suddenly, Mu Antian comes running in, her face pale and ghastly as she places her hands on her knees, rapidly gasping in breathes of air. She steps forward and nearly collapses, only standing up due to Nie Huaisang catching her in his arms.

“Zongzhu,” she breathes out. Her eyes are open wide, the pupils inside enlarged just as well. “San-gonzgi, A-Ling, I need to tell you— there’s something— they—“

She isn’t able to finish her sentences, too busy trying to take in gulps of oxygen. She had obviously overexerted herself, hands trembling as she tried to pick herself up. Mu Lingyan lets out an audible gasp when Mu Antian raises her arm and her sleeve falls back to reveal a deep gash on her arm. Mu Lingyan’s eyes widen, a silent cry on his face as his face pales. He’d never seen such a raw injury, Nie Cheng realizes, Mu Antian always came back to him bandaged and semi-healed. Not like this, not looking like she has just cut herself right in front of them, blood threatening to drip out.

“Accident,” she says, brushing off their concerns. Even after standing still, she’s still taking in quick breaths of air. Nie Cheng frowns; her cultivation should provide her a better stamina than that. He’s seen her run further and faster before. “Zongzhu, I need— there’s something— my stomach— I was with the refugees and I— there was too much—”

Though she’s addressing Nie Huaisang, Mu Antian’s eyes are darting between Nie Cheng and Mu Lingyan. She reaches out to her brother, and Mu Lingyan follows her lead, stretching out his hand until their fingers interlace. Mu Antian continues babbling indecipherable words, gesturing to various parts of her body. She gags on one occasion, hand flying up to cover her mouth as she quickly breathed in and out to calm herself down. Mu Lingyan winces as she does, looking as if he was about to vomit himself.

“I’ll take you to the infirmary to bandage your arm,” Nie Huaisang says gently, a hand on her back. He frowns, pulling back to feel her pulse instead. “You might be ill, Antian. Your pulse is too weak. Let’s go, before it gets worse.”

Mu Antian stutters, letting Nie Huaisang drag her along. She turns her head back to stare of Mu Lingyan and Nie Cheng, mouth continuing to move with words Nie Cheng could no longer hear. Mu Lingyan watches her go with a troubled frown on his face. His sword is sitting abandoned on the ground, having been dropped in Mu Lingyan’s haste to hold his sister’s hand. He looks down at his own now, clenching his fist tight before spreading out his fingers, like a flower blooming from its bud.

“Her palm was clammy like she was in cold sweat,” he tells Nie Cheng. “Does she have a fever? Will she die?”

“She won’t die from a fever,” Nie Cheng assures him. “Your sister is just too overworked. She tired her body out too much, and it tried to shut down on her. That’s why Zongzhu had to take her to the infirmary just now, so he could get her wounds tended to and so she could rest.”

He actually doesn’t know what happened to Mu Antian. He couldn’t make any sense of her mutterings, and that cut on her arm was deeply concerning. But Nie Huaisang was dealing with it now, and Nie Cheng trusted him to make it right. Besides, he couldn’t worry Mu Lingyan, and if a little white lie meant he wouldn’t be overthinking his sister’s illness, then Nie Cheng was more than willing to do as such. He looks at Mu Lingyan and sees it clear on his face, the very real fear that something was going to happen to his sister and that the cruel hands of fate were going to take away his last living relative. It was a paranoia that Nie Cheng shared with him, the thoughts that any little thing could spiral and ruin their lives.

Mu Lingyan nods, bending down to pick up his sword once more. He sways on his feet as he positions himself this time: a little more nervous than last time, and not because of Nie Cheng’s greater strength. “She’ll be fine, right? She can be easily healed?”

“Of course,” Nie Cheng assures him. He raises his own sword, letting Pulao crackle with energy. It catches the attention of Mu Lingyan, who watches with rapt fascination, drawing his attention away from his sister. Nie Cheng quietly breathes out a sigh of relief; he doesn’t think he could answer any more questions about Mu Antian without leading to Mu Lingyan thinking the worst. “Do you want to test out your new methods? Let’s spar again, alright?”

Mu Lingyan nods, a small smile on his face as he moves in first. Nie Cheng easily blocks his attack before lunging forward with his own. He uses less of his strength to make sure the match can last for a bit longer than last time. The more time Mu Lingyan spends not worrying about his sister, the better.

Nie Cheng can’t help but look back at where Nie Huaisang and Mu Antian went off to, though. In the distance, he can make out the pathway leading to Nie Huaisang’s public office, the one he worked in during the daytime when people wanted to find him. Tall trees are growing along the wooden route, casting shadows upon it with their long branches. Nie Cheng is brought back to the last days he spent with Nie Mingjue, in that little town they had set up camp in. Everything was okay, and then it wasn’t, like a ripple in the water causing a wave to sweep over his home and destroy everything inside.

For Mu Lingyan’s sake, Nie Cheng desperately hopes it’s not the same.

Chapter Text

Time, in all its curious, mystical, and wondrous nature, leaves scars and new wounds behind in its wake. Years of battling mature Nie Cheng in a way no other experience would have. He doesn’t know if it was necessarily a good thing, but the blood his hands brought forth has permanently stained him, like dying a white flag red.

The longer the war goes on, the more paranoid Nie Cheng gets about his brother’s safety. On one occasion, he nearly dropped to his knees as he pleaded for Nie Huaisang to take refuge at the Cloud Recesses. Nie Huaisang had refused, of course; he was ever loyal to his sect, a trait Nie Cheng had picked up from him. Nie Cheng usually admired him for it, but he can’t the thought of danger out of his head.

“There’s work to be done,” Nie Huaisang says, absentmindedly fiddling with a stray weiqi piece he had lying on his desk. He places three pieces side by side, two white and one black, the white circles surrounding the black one on two sides. Nie Huaisang slides the white piece over, knocking into one of the black pieces and ultimately snatching up both in his hands. “You know as well as I do that I can’t abandon my position. I’m the sect leader, Xiao Cheng— stop worrying and let me protect you instead, alright?”

Perhaps it was a good thing that Nie Huaisang had denied his request because just a few weeks later Nie Cheng is on his way to Gusu Lan to assist the Lans in a battle against the Wen. Meng Yao follows him, of course; he had been working with Gusu Lan and helping them with their displaced civilians just as he did with Qinghe Nie. He was good at management, always organized, and skilled at directing people to move efficiently. He would make a good sect leader, Nie Cheng thinks, if only he ever had the chance.

Visits to Gusu Lan are always awkward with Meng Yao. He hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary with Lan Xichen, not since the first time they had reunited, but there was a swirling pit in Nie Cheng’s stomach, fear that he would be replaced in Meng Yao’s heart for someone better, for someone more favored. He usually just tries to avoid his thoughts by throwing himself into work. If Meng Yao notices his strange attitude, he doesn’t say anything, but Nie Cheng always finds a bouquet of orchids waiting for him back home.

This time around Nie Cheng didn’t even need to go looking for a distraction; he simply ran into one, bumping into Wei Wuxian as he was getting off his sword.

“Ow,” Nie Cheng grumbles, scowling at the laughing Wei Wuxian. “What was that for!?”

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian chuckles. “I was trying to surprise you, but I got too close. Does Xiao Cheng need me to bandage his little injury?”

“Whatever,” Nie Cheng says, rolling his eyes. He watches as Meng Yao greets Lan Xichen, clasping his arm, his hand wrapped firmly around Lan Xichen’s forearm. Even after all these years, Nie Cheng can’t help but think of it as Nie Mingjue’s greeting. He was one of the first things the war had taken from Nie Cheng, and the reason why he was also so hesitant to split up siblings when grouping his cultivators together. At least he had been by Nie Mingjue’s side when he passed; Nie Cheng can’t imagine receiving nothing but a broken sword back, the shattered metal and empty air heartbreaking indicators of a life-altering event.

“I came to help Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, wrapping an arm around Nie Cheng’s shoulder. He pulls Nie Cheng along the familiar paths of the Cloud Recesses, past crowds of white robes and trailing ribbons. “But he’s been so prickly recently! I don’t get why he hates me so much…”

Wei Wuxian mumbles it with a petulant sort of tone in his voice, joking but also partially serious. Nie Cheng can already feel the headache throbbing in his temples. He was going to have to play mediator between these two idiots, then, if he valued his sanity. Yu Jiaxin always told him to let them figure it out by themselves, and Nie Cheng has tried, but all that led to was arguments between them. So until Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji could get it together, Nie Cheng was stuck between them like an unwilling bystander watching two beasts circle around each other.

They work well together, though, no matter how upset Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are at each other. The three of them move in sync, compatibility honed after years of battling together. Nie Cheng usually works alone, or as a leader guiding the rest of his men. He likes working by himself, but he also likes having someone to watch his back. It let him hit harder and act just a bit more recklessly, knowing there was a safety net he could fall back on.

“Look out!” he calls to Lan Wangji, who raises his sword to block an incoming attack. Bichen shines against the bright sun, pushing back the Wen cultivator. Nie Cheng catches him by the collar, running Pulao through his stomach. Lan Wangji didn’t like to kill; it went against his rules, or something. Nie Cheng had no such moral compass; he was willing to shoulder the responsibility for Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian pulls out his dizi, raising it to his lips to blow out a trilling tune. Lan Wangji’s face darkens, a disapproving expression even as Wei Wuxian uses it to clear the area around him. Wei Wuxian makes sure to only ever use his resentful cultivation when there are only a few survivors. Some news has gotten out about his dizi playing that can assist in battle, but no one’s truly figured it out. Most assume it’s something similar to the Lan’s musical cultivation. Nie Cheng lets the rumors fester and mutate as they please, never saying anything. That’s what Nie Huaisang had taught him, after all.

“He’s protecting you,” Nie Cheng reminds Lan Wangji. “Wei-shixiong cares about you.”

“I will play Cleansing for him afterward,” Lan Wangji says.

“You know he doesn’t need that, right?” Nie Cheng sighs, patting him on the shoulder. Resentful cultivation didn’t affect a golden core the way Nie Cheng’s cultivation did; it hurt Wei Wuxian’s mind in different ways, though. He tells Nie Cheng that everything feels darker afterwards, though Wei Wuxian’s careful use of the cultivation prevented it from actually affecting him. “Wei-shixiong only agrees to it so he can spend more time with you.”

“Focus on the matters at hand,” Lan Wangji hisses, which meant he was too embarrassed by Nie Cheng’s words to say anything else. Nie Cheng simply shrugs, listening to Lan Wangji as he returns his attention to the battle.

It's easy to get in a flow when working alongside Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian; Nie Cheng feels the flow of adrenaline rush through his veins, spiking him with boundless energy. With the three of them side by side, it doesn't take long to push the Wen forces back. Nie Cheng has lost his fair share of battles, but right now he feels undefeatable, like a warrior who has gained immortality.

"Good fight," Wei Wuxian says, patting Nie Cheng on the shoulder. They're sitting on the wooden patio in front of Lan Wanji's house, waiting for said man to finish meeting with his brother. Briefly, Nie Cheng wonders if Meng You is in the room with them. Just as Nie Cheng worked well with his friends, Lan Xichen and Meng Yao made a formidable duo Perhaps Nie Mingjue would have made their group a trio. He would have liked Meng Yao, who was already ready to step up and help others. A bit different from Nie Huaisang, who adored Meng Yao for his gift in the arts, but the general sentiment was the same.

“Did you develop something new?” Nie Cheng asks Wei Wuxian. He had done something Nie Cheng hadn’t seen before, using his dizi to play a tune that led a dead Wen to attack one of its previous comrades. It was a bit horrifying to watch, Nie Cheng had to admit, thick resentful energy surrounding the corpse and essentially puppeting it around like a doll on strings.

“I’ve been experimenting,” Wei Wuxian says, shrugging. “Actually, that was my first time doing that. It’s not easy to find a dead body to test it on! I’ve mostly been researching and taking notes, and then actually implementing them when I fight.”

Hate or love him, no one could deny that Wei Wuxian was a genius. Nie Cheng’s come to terms with it over the years. They had strengths in different areas, and it wouldn’t have mattered if Jiang Cheng was as much of a prodigy as Wei Wuxian was, he still would have been left behind. Nie Cheng’s known Wei Wuxian as himself longer than he’s known Wei Wuxian as Jiang Cheng by now, anyways, and he was one of Nie Cheng’s dearest friends. Though you’d never hear him say that out loud, of course; there was no need to inflate Wei Wuxian’s ego even more.

Wei Wuxian and Nie Cheng sit in comfortable silence as they continue to wait for Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian plays a cheerful tune on his dizi; it was fascinating how the musical instrument could be both a weapon of destruction and art, one moment controlling tendrils of resentful energy to lash out at enemies and the next moment playing along to the joyful singing of a courtesan. Nie Cheng can’t say he’s particularly knowledgeable about instruments, but whatever Wei Wuxian’s doing with his dizi, he’s doing something right.

In the distance, Nie Cheng can spot Lan Wangji, his familiar silhouette getting closer and closer. Behind Lan Wangji, Nie Cheng sees someone else as well: Meng Yao. Wei Wuxian finishes his song, winking at Lan Wangji as he blows out the final note. Lan Wangji simply scowls at him.

“Everything good?” Nie Cheng asks. Lan Wangji nods, standing by Wei Wuxian’s side as Meng Yao takes a seat next to Nie Cheng. Despite having worked with them countless times, Meng Yao was still shy around Nie Cheng’s friends. Namely Wei Wuxian; he always stuck to Nie Cheng more when the other man was around.

“Good work today, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian grins. “Ah, it truly is a blessing to work beside you.”

Nie Cheng nearly gets his eyes stuck up in his head from how hard he rolls them. He elbows Wei Wuxian, who dares to laugh at him, wrapping an arm around Nie Cheng’s shoulders to pull him in closer. Nie Cheng wiggles around in his hold, resisting the urge to bite Wei Wuxian’s hand. Lan Wangji purses his lips, his hands behind his back in a stiff position. Nie Cheng eyes him carefully, keeping an ear open to listen for what Lan Wangji was inevitably going to mumble.

“You too, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says. He’s practically silent, just as Nie Cheng had inferred from his expression. “I enjoy working with you.”

Wei Wuxian freezes, looking up at Lan Wangji with wide eyes. After a moment a wide grin spreads out across his face, his entire face practically lighting up as he lets go of Nie Cheng to wrap his arms around Lan Wangji’s legs. Wei Wuxian looks like a child that had just been promised their favorite treat from their parents, clear delight shining on his face. “I knew you liked me, Lan Zhan!”

“Gross.” Nie Cheng wrinkles his nose; Wei Wuxian was so embarrassing, sometimes. Lan Wangji obviously felt the same way, given the way his ears turned bright red. Nie Cheng turns to Meng Yao, nudging him with his knee. “Let’s go to bed. I can’t stand being around them any longer.”

“Alright, Gongzi,” Meng Yao agrees. He always insisted on referring to Nie Cheng by his proper title when they were outside the sect. Nie Cheng doesn’t really understand the reason why, but if it made Meng Yao happy, then there was no reason for him to resist it.

“Goodnight, Xiao Cheng!” Wei Wuxian calls out from behind. Nie Cheng waves an arm through the air in acknowledgment.

“Idiot,” he murmurs, but there’s a small smile on his face. Meng Yao watches him, waiting till they’re far enough away to link their hands together. Their fingers slot between each other like perfect puzzle pieces, like two sides on the same coin, finally reuniting. Meng Yao’s hands were smaller than Nie Cheng’s, and still smooth despite the years of work he had done. On the other hand, Nie Cheng’s hands were full of callouses and small scars from when he had nicked himself.

“How was your day?” Meng Yao asks.

“Good,” Nie Cheng says. He can’t say much about their mission, given that Wei Wuxian had been using his resentful cultivation, but he tries to tell Meng Yao as much as possible. Meng Yao was always curious about his missions, wanting to know about everything that happened. Nie Cheng thinks Meng Yao’s had dreams of becoming a cultivator. Too bad his late development put him behind the rest of their peers; he could have been on par with Jin Zixuan, or even better.

In the peaceful quiet of the night, Nie Cheng and Meng Yao catch up. It’s a good routine to have, one filled with stability and comfort, like the familiar touch of an old blanket that’s protected you from the cold so many times. Even amidst a war, there are times you can find peace, tucked away in hot dinners amongst friends or moonlit walks through the sect.

This is it, Nie Cheng thinks, surely it can’t get any better than this. He is strong, happy, and loved, so dearly loved in a way he thought he’d never be able to achieve. Everything he had ever wanted was in his hands now; he’d made it.

- - - -

Once they arrive home, Nie Cheng and Meng Yao make to report to Nie Huaisang. Instead of finding him working, though, they spot him teaching Mu Lingyan how to paint. No longer an over-eager youth, the boy had grown up and matured into a fine cultivator, constantly improving his skills by practicing with Nie Cheng whenever he had the chance.

As for what he was doing with Nie Huaisang, Nie Cheng had no idea.

“It’s good to educate the children!” Nie Huaisang says, ignoring Mu Lingyan’s quiet protests about how he wasn’t a child anymore. “A well-rounded cultivator is a better cultivator, after all.”

“All he’s doing is drawing swords,” Nie Cheng points out. While Nie Huaisang had a variety of landscape and animal sketches around him, Mu Lingyan had instead drawn his newly-received sword from different angles, the loose brushstrokes forming a vague depiction of a blade. “Where’s your keeper, Lingyan?”

“Jie said she wasn’t feeling well,” Mu Lingyan says, a frown on his face. “But then I saw her helping out some of the other senior disciples, so I think she was trying to avoid me. She passed me on to Zongzhu to be ‘babysat’, as she said. I said I could take care of myself, but she didn’t believe me.”

“Your sister just wants to make sure you’re safe,” Meng Yao reasons. Mu Lingyan sighs, unable to argue with his elders. He drags his brush across the paper again, leaving behind a long stroke of ink.

“When I can go on missions with you?” he asks Nie Cheng, looking up at him. “I can be useful as well!”

“Even if you were allowed to go on missions, you would be stationed with the rest of the junior disciples,” Nie Cheng replies. “You wouldn’t be on the front lines until you had more experience.”

And with just Wen Ruohan left to track down, Mu Lingyan may never gain enough experience to fight. The sect leader was proving to be a tricky target, however, Nie Cheng doesn’t think he has long before he falls. The sun would be eclipsed soon, overtaken by the rest of the cultivation world working together against him.

“I suppose,” Mu Lingyan sighs. “It was worth a shot.”

“Don’t think about such trifle things,” Meng Yao says, smiling. “It’s nice to be home sometimes, yes? You should focus on enjoying what you have now.”

Meng Yao was good at giving advice, like a wise sage others would travel across mountains for, just so they could listen to him preach. Nie Cheng had never gotten as good as he was at speaking, preferring to use his sword to communicate instead. Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang had a knack for rallying an audience or persuading people to their side. Nie Cheng wasn’t nearly as talented.

It was always peaceful at home, the place Nie Cheng feels he can relax the most. He watches Mu Lingyan continue to draw even more weapons before finally deciding to shoo him away, letting the boy run off on his own so they could speak to Nie Huaisang in private. After reporting back to Nie Huaisang, Nie Cheng and Meng Yao had some free time. Nie Cheng decides to spend the rest of the day with Meng Yao, doing simple, mundane tasks like watching the junior disciples practice their sword dance or wandering through the flower gardens. Nie Cheng likes these smaller moments: they always made him feel more present.

“Our hero returns!” Mu Antian says when she meets Nie Cheng at dinner. “I trust everything went well, San-gongzi? I wish I could have been there to help.”

“You always say that,” Nie Cheng says, shaking his head. “We did well even without General Mu’s assistance, though you’re always welcome to accompany my team.”

“No thanks; Po-yisheng would kill me before I could step out of the sect!” Mu Antian laughs. After falling ill a couple years ago, the sect doctor had advised that she take up fewer missions, though her workload still had much to be desired. Still, it meant she had a lot more free time on her hands, which Mu Antian wasn’t exactly happy with, though Nie Huaisang says she had recently been finding tasks to busy herself with.

After dinner, Nie Cheng retires early, eyes lighting up at the orchid bouquet already having been placed in the base by his window side. He rubs some of the petals between his fingers, admiring the soft and smooth texture.

Nie Cheng places his sword by his bedside and drops his qiankun pouch on his desk. For a moment he considers pouring the contents inside the pouch out to organize it but ultimately decides to push it off for the next day.

“Are you about to sleep?”

Meng Yao appears in his doorway dressed only in his inner robes, carefully holding a steaming cup of tea in his hands. He passes it on to Nie Cheng, who gratefully takes a sip. The taste is nostalgic as always, and the knowledge that Meng Yao had made it just for him warms Nie Cheng more than any fire could. Meng Yao sits down on Nie Cheng’s bed, and when he lays down his hair fans out behind him, framing his face like a pitch-black sea. When Nie Cheng swallows his last mouthful of tea he sets the cup down next to his qiankun pouch and slips off his outer robe, slinging it over the back of a chair.

“Tired?” Nie Cheng asks Meng Yao, lying down next to him to wrap his arms around the other man. Meng Yao hums, eyes closed as he lays his head against Nie Cheng’s chest. Nie Cheng yawns as well, tilting his head open to press a series of faint kisses against the top of Meng Yao’s head.

“A little bit,” Meng Yao confesses. He presses up against Nie Cheng like a cat rubbing against its owner, hands coming up to grip Nie Cheng’s robes. “There’s lots to do tomorrow. I don’t know if it’s possible to get everything accomplished.”

“Since when has that stopped you?” Nie Cheng laughs, his eyes fluttering shut as they grew heavy with sleep. Meng Yao was always determined to get everything done, even if he didn’t have to. “Besides, you’ll always have me by your side. You don’t have to handle everything alone; let me help you.”

“I have to do this myself,” Meng Yao says. “My father—”

“Is an idiot if he doesn’t understand the benefits of working together,” Nie Cheng sighs. “Just hearing of your father makes me want to stab him. Come, let’s go to sleep. I’ll wake up early to help you out tomorrow.”

“I suppose so,” Meng Yao smiles, pushing himself up to kiss the corner of Nie Cheng’s mouth. Nie Cheng hums, feeling his mind start to twist and it lulled itself into the tender embrace of sleep. Meng Yao presses his lips against the shell Nie Cheng’s ear, his breath tickling Nie Cheng as he whispers in his ear. “I love you, Wanyin. Goodnight.”

The next day Nie Cheng wakes up uncharacteristically late, the sun already past its highest point in the sky and starting to dip down once more. His bed is cold, and empty, and Meng Yao is gone.

- - - -

The days blur by.

At first, Nie Cheng had assumed that Meng Yao was already off at work. But there was no sign of him in the sect, no trace of his presence other than the memories he left in people’s heads. If it weren’t for the fact that everyone knew of him, it would have seemed like he was never there, like a ghost who vanished without a trace.

It’s my fault, Nie Cheng thinks to himself. Perhaps he should have known that Meng Yao was going to leave. He had always wanted more, to have his own glory, to be acknowledged by his father. Nie Cheng was dragging him down by forcing him to stay at Qinghe Nie.

But what if Meng Yao hadn’t left by his own will, and now Nie Cheng was sullying his name by thinking so poorly of him? Would Meng Yao, who had promised Nie Cheng his loyalty for a lifetime, just leave him so suddenly? Perhaps he had been kidnapped, or forced to go. Nie Cheng wasn’t so sure now. All he knew is that it hurt.

Just as Nie Cheng learned to live with Meng Yao, he know had to relearn how not to. The empty air by his side was a constant reminder that something was missing. Nie Cheng tries looking for him, even sending a message to Lan Xichen asking if he had seen Meng Yao. He hadn’t.

Enough days pass that the orchids on his windowsill start to wilt, but Nie Cheng only throws them out once the stems are completely limp and sagging, and the leaves have fallen down around the vase like a smattering of dead bodies. Nie Cheng regards his now empty vase, examines the hollow insides of the porcelain, and places it in his closet. There was no need for it anymore, after all.

Instead, his room gets filled with other trinkets, folded cranes Nie Huaisang had made for him and paper cutouts Yu Jiaxin sent over that she thought he might like. Nie Cheng hangs up Wei Wuxian’s drawings, oftentimes portraits of their friends or doodles of animals with allegory to cutting off Jin Zixuan’s head. He tucks that one away in a quiet corner hidden by his wardrobe, just in case anyone stops by his room. Lan Wangji sent over another carving of a small dog after learning that Nie Cheng’s room had been burned down. It was the first gift Nie Cheng had ever received from Lan Wangji; he places the carving on his windowsill, replacing the vase that had previously been there.

Nie Cheng gets gifts from his martial siblings, and gifts from the civilians in town. They’re all scattered around his bedroom, trying to fill up the space Meng Yao had occupied with his orchids and tea. It works, though it simply pushes the hole to the side instead of filling it up. Still, it helps Nie Cheng heal.

Slowly, his room returns to its previous state, before Nie Cheng had met Meng Yao, before the Wens had burned down Qinghe Nie. He learns to live with the grief just as he lives with Nie Mingjue’s, and their father’s. In the meantime, Nie Cheng continues leading his men like nothing had changed. If the Wens were aware that the Nie sect had something missing in their ranks, they would take it as a weakness to exploit. War doesn’t wait, not for a lover or brother or anyone else, and so Nie Cheng pushes forward.

A few months after Meng Yao’s disappearance, Nie Cheng is summoned to Lotus Pier for his assistance. He meets with Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, watching as the other sects file in. The Jiang sect, or rather Yu Ziyuan, had asked the Yu sect to come along as well. Nie Cheng watches as a group of women fly down onto the pavilion, landing on grass. Nie Cheng blinks, and suddenly he’s taken back to watching Jiang Fengmian flying off from this spot only to return with a child in his arms. But that was neither here nor there.

“This one greets Yu-zongzhu,” Nie Cheng says, hopping past the railing he was leaning on to bow at the sect leader.

“What did you just call me?” she scowls. The metal flowers in her hair sway as she crosses her arms, glaring up at Nie Cheng. “I taught you better than this, didn’t I?”

“Did you?”

“Wanyin!”

“Sorry,” Nie Cheng laughs. “Hi, Shijie.”

Yu Jiaxin rolls her eyes, reaching up to pat Nie Cheng’s head. She tousles his hair, tugging on a few strands in the back. “Sect leader or not, I’m still your shijie, understood?”

“Of course,” Nie Cheng easily agrees. Wei Wuxian comes up from behind him, picking out a hair pin from Yu Jiaxin and placing it in Nie Cheng’s bun instead. Nie Cheng scowls, batting his hands away to feel the pin for himself. He tugs it out, rubbing his thumb against the cold metal swirls and Yu motif.

“Yu-jiejie looks so charming,” Wei Wuxian teases. “Or should we call you Yu-zongzhu now?”

“You call me Zongzhu,” she replies, wrinkling her nose. Wei Wuxian bursts out laughing, no doubt attracting the attention of everyone around them. Nie Cheng sighs, pressing a hand to his forehead; how embarrassing. Still, he can’t help but bask in the warmth blossoming in his chest, happy that he was in the presence of his friends once more.

It was a rather dangerous encounter this time around, hence the need for so many different sects. Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan were accompanying them, and though they were known for their powerful abilities and strong cultivation, Nie Cheng wishes they were alone. It’s bad enough that Wei Wuxian and Yu Ziyuan seemed to be actively ignoring each other, but Jiang Fengmian was doing the opposite and speaking to everyone. Including Nie Cheng.

“How have you been, Wanyin?” he asks. Yu Ziyuan eyes them, silent but clearly listening in on the conversation. “I heard from A-Xian that you were working with Wangji some time ago.”

“I’ve been fine,” Nie Cheng replies. He tries to look Jiang Fengmian in the eyes for a second before settling on his mother instead, a much safer target. He clears his throat, trying to pretend he’s speaking to only her. “We appointed one of my martial siblings to be a sect elder in the future. Her great-aunt was one. Uh, I’ve been training her brother as well.”

“I remember when A-Xian was younger and still a disciple in training,” Jiang Fengmian laughs. “He started around the age of eight or so, I believe. Even then all his teachers would praise him as being the top of his class!”

“Shut your mouth,” Yu Ziyuan hisses as Nie Cheng smiles, his expression a bit strained. Yu Ziyuan is less discreet about her displeasure, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes as a cold air surrounds her. She levels her gaze onto Nie Cheng, who blinks back at her. “You. Tell us about the intel you have.”

Nie Cheng gratefully complies, spouting off everything he had been told about the Wen’s activity near Yunmeng Jiang. They had been getting more information as of late, mainly through Lan Xichen. He and Nie Huaisang were Nie Cheng’s primary sources of intel, though they usually collaborated together anyways.

Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian strategize a plan for them, splitting the four disciples into two teams led by the adults.

“A-Xian can come with me,” Jiang Fengmian offers almost immediately.

“Absolutely not,” Yu Ziyuan snaps. “We don’t need you getting distracted in the middle of the fight because of him. You take A-Xin and Lan Wangji.”

That means Nie Cheng was left with Yu Ziyuan and Wei Wuxian as his team. That was… well, that was an interesting combination if nothing else. He does wonder how they’re going to communicate if neither were willing to speak to the other.

They split off, trekking through the twisting woods nearby to hunt for any Wen camps. Yu Ziyuan leads the way, with Wei Wuxian and Nie Cheng following behind her. Wei Wuxian seems on edge, though whether because of the Wens or because of Yu Ziyuan is something Nie Cheng doesn’t know.

From behind, Nie Cheng picks up a subtle rustling of leaves. He unsheathes his sword, holding it up in front of him as he scans the area. Before he can blink, an arrow flies by Nie Cheng, nicking him in the ear but not doing any real damage. Nie Cheng angles himself towards the source, scowling as a hoard of Wen cultivators surround them.

He works with Wei Wuxian to fend off the cultivators approaching them while Yu Ziyuan attacks them solo. She was a sight to see in action, her whip surrounded her in purple lightening that made her eyes seem to glow. She was quick and sharp with her movements, appearing behind one enemy in a flash and knocking them out, her whip curling around them like a snake wrapping its body around its victim. She was beautiful in the way a flock of beasts was, prowling together to complete a hunt, confident in their stride and fierce in their attack.

With a team like this, it should have been easy to finish off the Wens and continue on, even if they weren’t exactly the best at communicating with each other. But something’s off this time: the Wens seem to be avoiding Wei Wuxian, instead focusing in on Nie Cheng and Yi Ziyuan. It gives Wei Wuxian ample time to pull out his dizi, though, and that’s when everything changes.

“Cut him off!” one Wen cultivator tells another. “He’s going to use his resentful cultivation!”

Nie Cheng freezes for a split second, his instincts being the only thing that saves him as his arm goes through the motions of running his blade through a Wen by itself. Wei Wuxian startles as well, playing the wrong note before regaining his senses.

The Wens pull out talismans, the paper disintegrating into ashes as they get activated. Nie Cheng breathes in and nearly chokes at the lighter quality. They’re purifying the air, he realizes, making it so that Wei Wuxian would have less resentful energy to harness. They came prepared with counter measures against his methods. Methods that were supposed to be a secret.

Just what had happened?

The purified air doesn’t just affect Wei Wuxian; Nie Cheng, whose cultivation relied on the resentful energy of creatures, felt his cultivation growing dimmer as well. He lets out a groan from between his teeth, grabbing a Wen by the collar and slicing Pulao through their neck. If they wanted to get rid of the resentful energy, then Nie Cheng would just put it back there by killing them all. A sword was still a blade at the end of the day, after all, and it was deadly even without the backing of cultivation. All that mattered was the hands it was being used in, and Nie Cheng had plenty of experience skinning a Wen dog.

The fight is more harrowing than usual, with the Wens deflecting their attacks. Having Yu Ziyuan here was good call, her whip allowing her to attack multiple enemies all at once. Nie Cheng is hit more times than ever, especially as the trees crowd them in and force them into a smaller space. His robes are stained with the blood of multiple people, but mostly his, and he’s pretty sure one of his arms is dislocated.

Wei Wuxian is playing as loudly as he can, utilizing what little resentful energy is left into attacking. Nie Cheng is a little farther away, having chased down another Wen. His boots crunch against fallen, dried leaves, making so much noise that he doesn’t hear the second set of footsteps following behind him. What he does hear is a bloodcurdling scream from Yu Ziyuan, high-pitched and desperate and filled with a sense of terror that sends chills into his core.

“Turn around!” she screams. Nie Cheng, never one to disobey his mother, does as such. His eyes widen as he processes the sword coming down onto him, body locking up in fear. Pulao seems to raise itself up to try and defend the attack, but its too slow.

This is it. This is how Nie Cheng’s going to die.

He wonders if he’s lived a good life, and if they’ll mark him as a martyr, and simply write him off as yet another tragedy caused by the Wens.

As blade meets skin, pain courses through Nie Cheng’s body, his nerves alight and feeling like they’ve been set on fire. He can feel blood trickle down the side of his neck, though it can’t do much more damage to his already bloodied appearance. Nie Cheng jerks his head back, but all that serves to do it make the cut deeper. He closes his eyes, willing himself to be brave in what may possibly be his last moments. He hopes he’ll get to see Nie Mingjue again in his next life.

And then everything stops.

Not the pain, of course; Nie Cheng’s body was screaming at him, and it felt like nails were scraping the inside of his skin. But he couldn’t feel the cold press of the blade anymore, and the cut on his neck wasn’t getting any bigger. The Wen in front of him freezes, eyes blown wide as they drop their sword onto the ground. Then they collapse as well, hands clutching their hair as they let out a muffled scream. And behind them is Wei Wuxian.

His eyes are alight with a red glow, a bright scarlet that dances at the edge of his dilated pupils. Dark, stormy resentful energy surrounds him in a hazy black air, looking almost like smoke made of ashes. A chilling tune echoes through the forest, and Nie Cheng nearly collapses in relief once he fully processes the fact that he was safe, the music sounding more like a comforting nursery rhyme to his ears.

The Wen on the floor screams out once more, blood seeping from his eye sockets as he rolls around the floor. He digs his own nails into his skin, long streaks of red being dragged from the top of his face down. Wei Wuxian places his boot on the Wen’s torso, stepping down on his stomach. Nie Cheng scrambles for his sword, quick to kill the man. He steps away from the body, nearly stumbling over the body of the other Wen he had just killed.

Wei Wuxian changes his music, playing a different tune that causes the newly dead Wen to rise to their feet once more, flexing out their fingers like they were claws. They respond to Wei Wuxian’s music, swaying towards the other living Wens.

“Kill them all,” Wei Wuxian says, his tone soft yet dangerous. “Murder your own comrades and let them join you. You’ll never touch him again, scum.”

The rest of the battle goes rather smoothly. Yu Ziyuan flanks Nie Cheng, never straying too far from his side. Even afterward she stays nearby, hovering around him as they reunite with the others. Sometimes her hand hovers around him, like she was barely stopping herself from touching Nie Cheng. Wei Wuxian stands on his other side, both of them guarding Nie Cheng with a silent ferocity.

“Was that strange for you as well?” Yu Jiaxin asks him once they meet up. She looks worse for wear, a cast on her left arm and black circles around both her eyes. Her bottom lip was swollen, and Nie Cheng doesn’t even want to think of the number of cuts her robes must be hiding. “It’s like they knew we were coming! They managed to catch us off guard; stupid bastards broke my arm.”

“They knew about Wei-shixiong’s cultivation,” Nie Cheng frowns. “Where’s Wangji-ge?”

“In the infirmary,” Yu Jiaxin replies. “He got knocked unconscious. The doctor says he’s not taking any visitors right now.”

Nie Cheng feels his heart sink. Just how much harm had they all been through? Today was dangerous, much more dangerous than it should’ve been. The Wens had been a step ahead of them all this time, and they sects had made the mistake of thinking they were two steps behind instead.

“I’m going into town,” he says. Wei Wuxian and Yu Jiaxin follow him; the empty space where Lan Wangji usually resides seems to almost scream at Nie Cheng.

Nie Cheng needs to clear his head. He thought he’d be able to do it by walking through town, maybe buying snack from the food stalls or a gift for the children back home. What he doesn’t expect, however, is to feel his anger in his heart swell up even more as he catches wind of the whispers around them.

“Wei-gongzi…cultivation…”

“Resentful energy… horrifying… monster…”

“Who said that!” Nie Cheng barks, glaring at the civilians around them. “If you have something you’d like to say, say it to my face! Don’t be such a sniveling coward!”

“Nie Cheng!” Wei Wuxian cries. “Don’t say that! These are my people!”

“Well they aren’t mine,” Nie Cheng snaps. Why should he respect them when they obviously couldn’t hold the same courtesy for Wei Wuxian? His resentful cultivation was what had been saving them from the Wens. It saved Nie Cheng’s life only a few moments ago.

“How did the news get spread?” Yu Jiaxin asks. “It was supposed to be a secret amongst the sect leaders, and we didn’t even tell the Jin sect!”

“There’s a spy,” Wei Wuxian says, his expression darkening. Even as he tries to defend and defuse the situation, Nie Cheng can see the panic in the corners of his eyes as the civilians keep talking amongst themselves. “Perhaps this is a good thing; it’ll keep me on my toes to develop new techniques they can’t fight against.”

“How could any of this be good?” Nie Cheng asks. “Everyone’s going to be against you now!”

“We’ll figure something out.” Wei Wuxian purses his lips, eyes scanning the path in front of them. He blinks, and a cheery smile finds its way onto his face, though even Nie Cheng can tell it’s fake. “Let’s keep moving, then. It’ll look bad if we run back to the sect now. Come on, I’ll take you two to my favorite meat bun stand. There’s a liquor store right next door that sells imported wines; I’ve been requesting that they acquire some Emperor’s Smile. Maybe they’ll have it in stock today.”

Nie Cheng scowls but follows along nevertheless. He doesn’t know who told the Wens about their plans, but once he got his hands on them it would be over. Nie Cheng’s friends could’ve died today. The thought is sobering and drags him back down to the grounds of reality.

Never again, Nie Cheng vows. He’ll find the spy himself, or kill off every last Wen with his bare hands. This war had to end now, before anything else could happen.

- - - -

Things get tense after that. Wei Wuxian has to deal with the fallout in the aftermath of his resentful cultivation being exposed. The Jins were upset that they hadn’t been informed, and were trying to slander Wei Wuxian’s reputation by calling him immoral and dangerous. Wei Wuxian is trying to calm the situation down as much as possible, though he refuses to let Nie Cheng help.

“I’m not dragging you into this,” he tells Nie Cheng, patting him on the head. “Xiao Cheng just needs to worry about his own matters, okay? I have this one covered.”

Lan Wangji fully recovers from his injuries. Nie Cheng isn’t there when he wakes up, but he receives a letter from Lan Wangji reassuring him on his healed state. Nie Cheng desperately wants to see him again, if only to confirm with his own eyes that his friend was fine. Ghostly images of Nie Mingjue flash through his mind that Nie Cheng has to force down, telling himself it wasn’t the same. Not this time.

Nie Cheng actually has a meeting scheduled in Gusu Lan in a week or so to discuss inventory with Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren. He’ll use that time to find Lan Wangji and ask Lan Xichen for any updates on Meng Yao’s status. Even after months of nothing Nie Cheng hasn’t given up, and though Lan Xichen also hasn’t heard anything, Nie Cheng always asks just in case.

For now, however, he was in Yangquan, on a short trip with Nie Huaisang. It was unprompted, Nie Huaisang having suggested it as a means to relax while also scouting for any intel the civilians may have heard.

“Do you want to buy your brother any gifts?” Nie Huaisang asks Mu Antian, who had joined them on their trip as a bodyguard. She was sitting with them, the rest of their men in the surrounding tables.

“A-Ling’s spoiled enough as is, he doesn’t need any more,” Mu Antian says. Nie Cheng raises an eyebrow; he knew for a fact there was a bag of candied peels in Mu Antian’s qiankun pouch right now that were meant for her brother. Mu Antian levels a stare at Nie Huaisang, taking a sip of her tea. It was a regional speciality, apparently. Nie Cheng thought the taste was rather odd, but it would be impolite to refuse. “Do you want to go shopping, Zongzhu?”

“A little bit,” Nie Huaisang confesses. He strums his fingers against the wooden table, the tips of his nails hitting the surface in continuous clicks. “There are some calligraphy brushes that I was looking into purchasing. Oh! And I want a new fan.”

“You have enough fans,” Nie Cheng tells him. Forget Mu Lingyan, the one most spoiled was Nie Huaisang. Nie Cheng finishes off the rest of his tea, reaching out to refill his cup and top off Mu Antian’s. “You don’t need any more fans than you already have.”

“But Xiao Cheng,” Nie Huaisang whines. Nie Cheng ignores him, setting down the teapot to pick up his cup once more. Nie Huaisang sighs, fiddling through his robes to pull out his money pouch. “I’m getting a new ink stone, at least. And those brushes I mentioned before; the store is only a few buildings down, so it shouldn’t take long.”

“I’ll go for you,” Nie Cheng offers. Between the store that sells brushes and the tea shop they currently resided in was a small stand that sold fans and hair accessories. Nie Cheng knew his brother wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Why can’t I go?” Nie Huaisang pouts. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes, holding out his hand expectantly and smiling when he feels the weight of Nie Huaisang’s coin pouch settle on his palm.

“I’ll come with you, San-gongzi,” Mu Antian says. Nie Cheng nods, standing up from his seat as Mu Antian follows. She adjusts her robes collar, trying to look as presentable as possible. Personally, Nie Cheng thinks she looks like she always does, but perhaps Mu Antian noticed something he didn’t. It wouldn’t be the first time that happened, anyways.

Nie Huaisang turns around, speaking to some of the Nie disciples around them, and about a quarter stand up to follow Nie Cheng as well.

“How old do you think I am?” Nie Cheng asks, scowling at Nie Huaisang. His brother simply laughs, pulling out a fan to wave at Nie Cheng. This is why Nie Huaisang doesn’t need anymore of those things; he practically had enough for every day of the year.

“Xiao Cheng is always a baby in my heart,” Nie Huaisang says, placing a hand over his chest. “Besides, some of them have their own shopping to do. Better to travel in numbers, yes?”

“Fine,” Nie Cheng huffs. He knew Nie Huaisang wouldn’t have let him go without them anyways. And there weren’t that many of them; they had already only brought so many disciples along, and Nie Cheng was only taking a fraction of them. Together the group leaves the inn, with Nie Cheng and Mu Antian at the front.

However, they barely make it out before Nie Cheng feels a hand over his eyes and throat, dragging him back into an alleyway. He struggles in his assailer’s grasp, but his body seems to suddenly give out, and Nie Cheng finds he can’t move his arms or legs. He’s been paralyzed, somehow.

The last thing he thinks before he gets knocked out is “at least it wasn’t Ge”.

- - - -

Nie Huaisang quietly sits in the inn, humming a cheerful tune to himself. He’s quite hungry; perhaps he should go out and order something. But Nie Cheng’s just taken his money away. Alas, he’ll have to wait for his brother to come back so they can eat together.

Suddenly, he hears the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching. Two of the Nie disciples that had been with Nie Cheng are standing in front of him, panting. One of them is visibly shaking.

“San-gongzi’s been kidnapped!” one of them says. Nie Huaisang feels his blood chill, like his veins had just turned into delicate strands of ice that were about to shatter. “We got ambushed and they took him and the others!”

“What!?” Nie Huaisang cries, drawing the attention of the Nie disciples around them. “This can't be true!”

Nie Cheng had to be okay. He was going to be okay.

“We got away because we were lagging behind,” the other one adds. “Zongzhu, we have to go after them!”

“Go!” Nie Huaisang orders. “Search the area you last saw them in for any clues. The rest of you follow them as well.”

“Yes, Zongzhu,” the disciples chorus. In a flash they’re running out the door, all pilling out and leaving Nie Huaisang alone, surrounded by empty tables. They left in disarray, with half finished plates and chairs pushed out and fallen over. All in an attempt to try and get there as soon as possible. It was fruitless; Nie Huaisang knew they weren’t going to find anything.

He takes his cup, untouched and still filled with now-lukewarm tea, and pours its contents back into the teapot. There’s a small smile on his face and a strange glint in his eyes, something nearly maniac that eats away any semblance of a peaceful man that Nie Huaisang had. He looks like a beast that had been awakened, ready to pounce and catch all of his prey. Nie Huaisang raises his cup up to the empty air in a mock toast.

“Let the games begin,” he grin. “Your move.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Nie Cheng hears when he wakes up is Mu Antian’s voice. It flows through his ear like running water, slowly easing him back into consciousness.

“San-gongzi, wake up! Wake up!”

Nie Cheng’s eyes flutter open, vision blurry before focusing in on his surroundings. His head is pounding, a heavy aching in his skull that makes him want to claw at his mind. Mu Antian kneels over him, a concerned frown on her face.

“You’ve been out the longest,” she says. Nie Cheng blinks; he was leaning against a fall, but he still felt like his body was going to collapse at any moment. “Glad you’re finally up. We’ve been taken.”

Nie Cheng looks around the dark room they’re in: the walls are barren and filled with strange stains, and there are barely any windows, and they’re all placed near the ceiling, too high up for them to climb to. Not that it would’ve worked anyways; a few twists squirming around confirms that Nie Cheng’s arms have been bound. The other Nie disciples he was walking with have been taken as well. Nie Cheng does a headcount, feeling his heart rate quicken when the number doesn’t come out to what he expected.

“Where are Pao Bu and Hou Mian?” Nie Cheng asks, craning his neck to scan the room once more, just in case he missed anything. Nothing; they weren’t there. “They were with us, weren’t they? Where did they go?”

“They didn’t get caught,” Mu Antian reassures him. Nie Cheng sighs in relief, shoulders slumping down as his eyes lock onto the wooden door hidden in the corner. He can just barely make out the heavy thud of footsteps, muffled but still there.

“Everyone get back,” Nie Cheng hisses. There’s a bit of scrambling, and Mu Antian stays by Nie Cheng’s side, but eventually, everyone is sufficiently far enough away from the door. Nie Cheng keeps his eyes locked forward, not letting his face show any emotion when Wen Ruohan bursts, taking long, confident strides until he’s standing in front of Nie Cheng.

“Well, hello,” he smiles, a pleasant expression on his face as if he hadn’t just kidnapped and tied up Nie Cheng. “Fancy seeing Nie-gongzi here.”

“Fuck you,” Nie Cheng spits out. He had never been known for being the best at formalities, and Nie Cheng certainly wasn’t going to start now. He tries to look past Wen Ruohan and through the open door, but all he can see is pitch black leading to a long hallway. Nothing that would help identify where they were.

Wen Ruohan’s face morphs, one second happy and the next upset. His smile drops so fast that Nie Cheng nearly misses it, although there was no way he would’ve missed the way Wen Ruohan grabs him by his hair, yanking up on Nie Cheng’s scalp to pull him closer. It stings, though Nie Cheng’s face remains neutral and unchanging as if made of stone.

“In case you forgot, you’re under my control now,” Wen Ruohan hisses, spitting in Nie Cheng’s face. His saliva is warm and drips down Nie Cheng’s face, a slimy feeling that leaves him wanting to grimace. “I’d like to see how to Nie sect will continue to function without their leader.”

“In case you forgot, I’m not the sect leader,” Nie Cheng says.

“Please,” Wen Ruhohan scoffs. He drops Nie Cheng to the ground, raising his boot to stomp down on Nie Cheng’s stomach. Pain erupts from Nie Cheng’s core, and he can’t help but let out a muffled groan, body curling up to protect his stomach. “Everyone knows that head shaker can’t do anything by himself.”

“Watch what you say about him,” Nie Cheng warns, narrowing his eyes. We Ruohan laughs at him, continuing to press his foot down on Nie Cheng’s body.

“I wonder if the rumors are true,” he muses, kneeling down to meet Nie Cheng’s face. “If you two really are a split soul, when you die will he die as well? Should we test it out?”

Instead of replying, Nie Cheng chooses to spit in his face. Wen Ruohan recoils, rearing his head back with a loud yelp. Nie Cheng lifts himself up, ignoring the way his body aches. Wen Ruohan wipes the saliva off his face, eyes blown wide as he grins at Nie Cheng.

“Fine; if that’s how you’d like to play, then let’s play,” he says. Wen Ruohan cups a hand over his mouth, tilting it back to yell at into the dark void past the door. “Meng Yao!”

Nie Cheng freezes. No— surely not— Wen Ruohan had gotten to Meng Yao as well. Nie Cheng can only imagine the amount of torment Meng Yao had to go through under the hands of someone like Wen Ruohan. No wonder Nie Cheng hadn’t been able to find him. He had been trapped here, in the capture of the Wens. Nie Cheng braces himself, waiting to see what kind of state Meng Yao would be in.

It’s to his immense relief, then, that Meng Yao strides in on his own two feet, looking to be in a healthier state than ever. Nie Cheng’s first reaction upon seeing him is joy, then utter confusion. How was Meng Yao alive? More than that, how was he able to stand in front of Wen Ruohan, to be dressed in such extravagant clothes without offending the sect leader? Why was he unharmed?

“Wen-zongzhu requested my presence,” Meng Yao says, bowing to Wen Ruohan. He doesn’t even look Nie Cheng’s way, instead turning his whole body to face Wen Ruohan, who smirks.

“Meng… Yao?” Mu Antian murmurs. Nie Cheng startles, looking back to see the Nie disciples who were just as confused as he was. Meng Yao had been popular within their sect, known for always being willing to help out no matter what the task was. It must be surprising to them to see him by Wen Ruohan’s side.

“Look at the fruits of your labor!” Wen Ruohan grins at Meng Yao, gesturing to the captured Nie disciples. “I must say, Meng Yao, this is even more than I expected. All senior disciples, and you’ve even managed to snare the sect leader’s brother himself.”

“Thanking Wen-zongzhu,” Meng Yao says. He’s dressed in the same white and red robes that Wen disciples wear, and the dots are starting to form a line in Nie Cheng’s head, connections he previously hadn’t let himself see.

“What is the meaning of this?” Mu Antian says, her tone sharp. “Meng Yao, how dare you betray the Nie sect like this? After all the generosity San-gongzi has showed you, this is how you repay him? How you repay Qinghe Nie?”

“You and Wen Ruohan are both good for nothings!”

“We never should’ve trusted you. Just wait till Nie-zongzhu comes!”

It was one thing to know it in his mind, and another to hear it said out loud. Betrayal. That’s what Meng Yao had did. Nie Cheng’s head was spinning, filled with past memories and contradicting thoughts. How could this have happened?

“Nie Huaisang?” Meng Yao laughs. “I’d like to see him try. What can he do? Such a pathetic man, it’s honestly surprising the Nie sect hasn’t fallen yet.”

“Meng Yao!” Nie Cheng snaps, finally looking up to glare at the man. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Can’t you see, Wanyin?” Meng Yao gestures to the room around them, to the bound Nie disciples and dim windows, to Wen Ruohan. “I wanted more. I found that with Wen-zongzhu; power at my very fingertips, status greater than what I could’ve ever imagined.”

“You said you were happy with me.” Nie Cheng’s throat feels dry, like he had just swallowed the ashes of the relationship burning down in front of him.

“Oh, Wanyin,” Meng Yao smiles, the same smile he would always give Nie Cheng to praise him, sweet and bright. “You were never enough.”

Nie Cheng freezes, eyes widening as he stares at Meng Yao, unable to look away. Mu Antian growls, leaning forward to block Nie Cheng’s view.

“Shut your mouth,” she says. “You don’t deserve our San-gongzi!”

A chorus of voices follow hers, protests over Meng Yao’s words and their current conditions. Wen Ruohan’s face tightens, displeasure clearly written across it. Such an ugly expression, Nie Cheng thinks.

Wen Ruohan crosses his arms, chin jutting out towards the Nie disciples. “Take care of one of them, Meng Yao.”

“As you wish, Zongzhu,” Meng Yao says. Nie Cheng watches as he strides towards of the disciples, one that had been particularly vocal in insulting Wen Ruohan. Meng Yao kicks them in the chest, knocking them down onto the ground before grounding his foot in their face. Nie Cheng hears a crack echo throughout the room followed by a loud shriek. He can’t look away, eyes drawn towards the scene like a moth drawn to an open fire.

“Please,” the disciple begs. “Spare me. Please, I have a family; my daughter, she’s only three years old. Don’t do this.”

“Do it,” Wen Ruohan growls.

Meng Yao pulls out a small knife from his robe sleeves, neatly inserting it between the cultivator’s eyes, right above the bridge of their nose. Nie Cheng watches as the life seems to seep out of their eyes, flowing out through the blood spewing from the cut.

Meng Yao steps back, a neutral expression on his face as he pulls out the knife, uncaring of the blood staining his robes. Nie Cheng’s never seen his face so blank before; it feels like a mask, one to hide his true identity. Or maybe this was who he always was. Maybe the Meng Yao who loved him was the real mask all along. Nie Cheng doesn’t know anymore.

“I’ll kill off one of you every day,” Wen Ruohan says, a manical grin spreading across his face. His eyes are alight with sadistical pleasure, glowing despite the lack of light in the room. He’s insane, Nie Cheng thinks, and means every word he says. “Until there’s none but the esteemed San-gongzi left. How about that? You’ll have to watch all of your men die in front of you, knowing there’s nothing you can do.”

Nie Cheng doesn’t give him a response, choosing instead to silently glare at Wen Ruohan. The man takes it as fear, laughing in delight as he stolls out the room. Meng Yao follows, not turning back once. The door shuts behind him, and from the other side Nie Cheng can hear it lock with a resounding click.

The Nie disciples are left alone, sitting in a dark room with a rotting body and nothing more. Nie Cheng twists his body around, looking at the remaining Nie disciples. “Can anyone release themselves from their restraints?”

Nie Cheng was securely tied up, his wrists bound with a rope that had been infused with spiritual energy. It was blocking off part of his own cultivation, leaving him feeling drained. The Nie disciples collectively wiggle around for a few moments before shaking their heads. One disciple, known for being particularly flexible, has managed to pull their hands over their back and legs, holding up the arms that were now resting in front of himself. Nie Cheng nods; that would be enough.

“Close their eyes,” he orders. Si Ganmao had been a senior disciple for decades. They had watched Nie Cheng’s father become sect leader, then Nie Mingjue, and finally Nie Huaisang. They deserved a proper burial, not this.

“What are we going to do, San-gongzi?” Mu Antian asks.

Nie Cheng sighs, leaning back against a wall. “Zhang Shoutui.”

“San-gongzi.” The disciple who had managed to regain partial control of their hands looks at him, their back straightened.

“See if you can untie anyone’s restraints,” Nie Cheng says. “You don’t need to bother with mine.”

Zhang Shoutui moves towards each of the disciples, tugging on the ropes tying their hands together. He manages to loosen up a few, allowing for a little over half of the disciples to slip out of their bonds. Mu Antian flexes her hands, stretching them out in front of herself. She moves Nie Cheng up into a more comfortable position, tugging on his ropes.

“It’s no use,” Nie Cheng says. “You need a spiritual sword to cut these.”

“Then we’ll find a spiritual sword,” Mu Antian promises. Nie Cheng nods, managing to crack a small smile at Mu Antian’s reassurances.

“The next time Wen Ruohan comes in, we’ll attack,” he tells the room. “I’ll distract him first. Wait for my signal, then move together. We’ll have to keep his arms and legs pinned, okay?”

“Yes, San-gongzi!”

Wen Ruohan comes back the next day, once again dressed in extravagant robes, a big smile on his face as he kneels down in front of Nie Cheng. “Did you miss me?”

“In your dreams.” Nie Cheng bares his teeth, pulling back his shoulders. He’s kneeling on the floor, feet planted firmly beneath him.

Wen Ruohan laughs, mouth open to speak once more, but before he can Nie Cheng lunges at him, using his feet to push himself forward. He sinks his teeth into Wen Ruohan’s neck, biting down as hard as he can. Nie Cheng pushes down until he feels skin break, but before he can do much more he’s pushed off, thrown back and hitting his head against the stone wall. But that was enough.

The Nie disciples surround Wen Ruohan, tackling him to the ground and replacing Nie Cheng in attacking him. They manage to keep his limbs down, one disciple sitting on each of them. Everything seems to be going to plan; Nie Cheng gets up, ignoring the way the world spins in front of him. He stumbles his way towards Wen Ruohan, ready to deal a final blow. As long as he manages to pierce an artery in Wen Ruohan’s neck, the man would die. They would be free.

What they didn’t account for was Meng Yao.

He comes running into the room, Wen Ruohan’s sword in his hand as he easily cuts through the Nie disciples around Wen Ruohan. Nie Cheng screams, pushing himself towards them, but it’s too late. Four heads roll onto the ground, their frozen expressions of terror searing themselves into Nie Cheng’s mind. Wen Ruohan lets out a bark of laughter, pushing himself up with the sword Meng Yao handed him.

“I didn’t expect you to try to escape so early on!” he says. “Guess I underestimated you, hmm? Too bad you underestimated me as well. I’d like to see you try again soon; it will give me an excuse to kill you off faster.”

He grabs Nie Cheng’s arm, breaking it with a quick snap. Nie Cheng groans, panting heavily as he knocks Wen Ruohan back with his head. Wen Ruohan lets him, simply grinning as he picks up one of the heads of the dead Nie disciples. He digs his fingers into the cut muscle and veins, hand letting out squelching sounds as he twists his wrist. Wen Ruohan holds the head up in the air, blood dripping down onto his arm.

“I think this would make some nice decor,” he muses. “Don’t you, San-gongzi?”

“You’re insane,” Nie Cheng spits out.

“Just enough to get whatever I want,” Wen Ruohan agrees. He turns around, sliding the head off his fingers to tuck under his arm. “Meng Yao, pick up the rest of the heads. Leave the bodies.”

“Yes, Zongzhu,” Meng Yao bows. He grabs each head by their hair, letting them swing around in his grip as if they were the heads of slaughtered beasts. He has enough nerve to look at Nie Cheng this time, locking eyes with him for a split moment before following after Wen Ruohan.

The third day Wen Ruohan returns once more, this time with his sword securely strapped to his side. Meng Yao follows behind him; Nie Cheng can’t bear to look at him any longer, focusing his sights on Wen Ruohan instead.

“No more pathetic escape attempts?” Wen Ruohan asks. “A pity; and here I thought you would’ve been smart enough to come up with something new. I guess you really are just as dull as Meng Yao said you were.”

“What do you know?” Nie Cheng snaps back. His chest tightens, nearly choking itself on heartbreak. Nie Cheng blinks back tears threatening to form in the corners of his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. The air smelled like rotting flesh. They had managed to push all the bodies to one corner, but the scent permeated every fiber of the room, as if it had been built upon the skeletons of the slain.

“I know plenty about you,” Wen Ruohan grins. “All thanks to Meng Yao. Tell me, Nie Wanyin, was he as good of a lover as he is a spy?”

“Leave him alone,” Mu Antian says, narrowing her eyes. Nie Cheng purses his lips; he wishes Mu Antian wouldn’t speak, for her own safety. Who knows what Wen Ruohan would do? He can take the insults, but he wouldn’t allow her to be harmed on his behalf. “Our San-gongzi doesn’t have to speak to you, or to Meng Yao.”

“Oh, but that’s the best part!” Wen Ruohan says, clapping his hands together. “He’s not even your San-gongzi, did you know?”

“What?”

Nie Cheng stills, muscles locking in place as his eyes widen. Wen Ruohan takes note of his expression and laughs, placing a hand on Meng Yao’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you tell them?” he says. “I’ll give you that pleasure, seen as you were the one who found out for me.”

“Tell me what you mean by that, Wen Ruohan!” Mu Antian demands, anger clearly written across her face.

Meng Yao looks at them from besides Wen Ruohan, eyes scanning across the room. “Nie Wanyin has been lying to you all this entire time. Pretending to be the sect leader’s brother, when in reality he isn’t anything more than an abandoned child, unloved by his real family.”

He fixes his stare towards Nie Cheng, shooting him a pleasant, easy-going smile that reveals two dimples across the sides of his lips. “Isn’t that right, Jiang Cheng?”

Nie Cheng can’t speak. He’s never been able to say anything when being confronted like this. He’s taken back to when Lan Qiren had questioned him, fearful he would be forcefully taken back Lotus Pier. But at least Lan Qiren had good intentions; Meng Yao was doing nothing but hurting him.

“Isn’t that hilarious?” Wen Ruohan asks. “From a sect heir to a third son. Just what made you give up that life, Jiang Cheng? Or perhaps it was because you had never been wanted in the first place? Your baba was never going to make you his heir, was he?”

“Your san-gongzi never existed,” Meng Yao adds quietly. “All that stands in his place is an imposter, and a thief.”

Nie Cheng can’t bear to look at the people around him. He swallows, averting his gaze to the bloodstained floor. His nose stings, face heating up with shame. How did Meng Yao find out? More importantly, how could Nie Cheng ever have thought that he could get away with it? All liars would be exposed sooner or later; Nie Cheng was just lucky enough to have scraped by for the last few years.

They must be so upset. Nie Cheng had led them straight to death, and he wasn’t even their real leader. They had let an imposter kill them from the inside out, like a posion that ran through their veins.

“So what?”

Mu Antian’s voice is quiet, but her fury carries throughout the room. “You think that we would believe anything that came out of your mouth, Meng Yao? And even if it were true, San-gongzi’s done more for the Nie sect than anyone else here.”

“Yeah!” one disciple echoes. “Who cares about his blood? Don’t we all bleed red, anyways?”

“San-gongzi’s been here for as long as I can remember,” another disciple says. He was older than Nie Cheng but had started training later than him. Nie Cheng still remembers sparring against him with wooden sticks, slacking off when they should’ve been practicng their spiritual foundations. “Who are you to call him an imposter? If anyone’s an imposter and a thief that’s you, Meng Yao.”

Nie Cheng looks up to see a look of near disbelief on Meng Yao’s face. Wen Ruohan crosses his arms, lips tugging down into a frown.

“What an interesting reaction,” he says. “Certainly not what I had expected. Well, no matter; kill two of them, Meng Yao.”

As always, Meng Yao follows his commands. Nie Cheng should be used to it by now, but still every scream and plead pierces through his heart, tearing it apart with its sharp claws. And though Wen Ruohan didn’t like to dirty his hands with killing, he seemed to be perfectly fine with doing everything else. He grabs Nie Cheng by the chin, wrapping a hand around his neck and squeezing until Nie Cheng is gasping for air, squirming around in his restraints to try and grasp at Wen Ruohan. The sect leader lets him struggle until black spots dance in the corner of Nie Cheng’s view, and his head feels lighter and lighter.

The last thing Nie Cheng sees before he passes out is Meng Yao turning back to look at him, an undecipherable expression on his face.

The same patterns continue day after day: Wen Ruohan struts in with Meng Yao by his side, injuring a few of the disciples before getting Meng Yao to kill off one of them for him. By now there are more dead bodies than living ones in the room. One side of the stone wall is dedicated to housing them; Nie Cheng and the others stick to the other side. They huddle together, starving and cold.

Even those that are still alive aren’t faring well: two of them have broken down in hysteria, sobbing into Nie Cheng’s shoulder as they recall the murders of their martial siblings. One has gone completely unresponsive, a continuously vacant stare in their eyes as they look past the stone walls painted with dried, flaking blood. When Meng Yao drives his knife through their heart, Nie Cheng’s relieved: now, they can be at rest.

The days pass in a blur. Sometimes Nie Cheng passes out for shichens and doesn’t wake till he is shooken away by someone else. The only way he’s able to keep track of the time is by counting the number of dead bodies piling up across from him. After the third day, Wen Ruohan was true to his word, killing off one disciple per day.

Eventually, it’s just him and Mu Antian left. Mu Antian, who has refused to leave Nie Cheng’s side, stubbornly sticking to him even as she is repeatedly punished for it. Nie Cheng started fearing for her life after the fifth day, always afraid she would be the next to be taken away. When another dies instead, however, he can’t say he feels much relief.

“It’s true, you know,” he says to her, head hung down. In the dark room, only Mu Antian can hear him. The dead tell no secrets, after all. “What Meng Yao said before.”

“And I mean what I said beforehand as well,” she replies. She looks worse for wear, lips cracked and dry, body constantly wrecked with shakes. There was a green and yellow bruise on the side of her jaw, and her nose had been broken by Wen Ruohan two days ago. But her eyes were still filled with just as much determination as ever, as if she were looking at Nie Cheng from besides him on a battlefield. “I don’t care. No one cares, San-gongzi. It’s been an honor to fight by your side; that doesn’t change just because you’ve got some bastard’s blood running through you.”

“He’s not a bastard,” Nie Cheng chuckles. It hurts to laugh, agitating the injuries across his chest and stomach. “He was born into a very noble standing.”

“He is if he didn’t see how good you were,” Mu Antian says. “That’s what my ge always said.”

“You never talk about your brother,” Nie Cheng notes. The one that had died, of course. Mu Antian would go on about Mu Lingyan for forever if given the chance.

Mu Antian sighs, scrunching up her nose as she frowns. “It’s too fresh on the mind. Everytime I try to talk about him I freeze. I regret it, now; I should have left more stories for A-Ling to remember him by. He was only thirteen when Ge passed; I’m worried he’ll grow up to forget about him.”

“He won’t,” Nie Cheng promises. He hadn’t forgotten about his father, or about Nie Mingjue, even after all the years apart from them. Some of the details had faded, of course, but Nie Cheng could still picture their laugh, the booming sound that would fill a room with pure joy. He still remembered the way they would bring him back goods from their trips, souvenirs that had been turned to ash by the Wens flames. But he carried their memory with him wherever he went, wore their legacy in the way he held his sword and did his hair. Nie Cheng was a culmination of the lasting effects they had on him. And besides, Mu Lingyan had known his brother for much longer than Nie Cheng had known his father or Nie Mingjue.

Nie Cheng shivers; he was always cold, nowadays. Mu Antian leans towards him, sharing her meager warmth. They’re silent, too tired to talk any more. Nie Cheng nearly dozes off before he hears the familiar stomping of footsteps in the distance. Instantly, his body freezes, minute tremors traveling down his arms. It’s like he had been conditioned to fear the door opening, to quake in terror as Wen Ruohan appears once more, Meng Yao not too far behind.

“Look at this pair of lovebirds,” Wen Ruohan grins. “Moving on so soon, Jiang Cheng?”

They had refused to refer to Nie Cheng by any other name after Meng Yao’s reveal. It felt like rocks were being thrown at him, but eventually everything crumpled, and there wasn’t anything left to hit. Nie Cheng stares up at him, upper lip curling up in displeasure.

“You and I both know what’s going to happen,” Wen Ruohan sighs. “It’s gotten a bit boring, don’t you think? What do you say, Jiang Cheng: should I just let you two go free? Would that be more amusing?”

Nie Cheng ignores him; Wen Ruohan wasn’t the one dealing the final blow, in any case. That honor was granted to Meng Yao. Meng Yao, who had refused to meet his eyes ever since the first day, In the time spent here, Nie Cheng’s had time to think, to reflect back on their past relationship. He tries not to, but there isn’t much else to do while trapped.

“You’re pathetic,” Mu Antian spits. “You and Meng Yao both, nothing more than a bunch of cowards trying to act bigger than you are. You know you’re losing the war; what you’re doing now is just dragging out the inevitable.”

“Mu Antian,” Nie Cheng hisses, urging her to be silent. She doesn’t listen.

“You wanted power? Glory?” she asks Meng Yao, who watches her with a blank expression. A terrifying mask, ready to do anything Wen Ruohan commanded of him. “You’ve got it, but not for long. And when it comes back to bite you, Meng Yao, I hope you choke on it and die, you sniveling whore’s son.”

“See? This is much more fun.” Wen Ruohan’s eyes light up, delight shining in his pupils. He pulls out his sword, handing it off to Meng Yao. “Keep running your mouth, bitch. If you think I’m dragging out the inevitable, just you wait. Meng Yao, keep her alive for as long as possible. Make her suffer.”

“No!” Nie Cheng cries, but it’s too late. Meng Yao places the tip of Wen Ruohan’s sword against Mu Antian’s eye, pushing it forward. Blood squirts out everywhere, landing on Nie Cheng, the warmth of the liquid oddly soothing in a way that makes him nauseous. Mu Antian doesn’t cry, doesn’t scream, lets out no reaction other than a grin that stretches across her cheeks.

“Is that all you’ve got?” she asks, even as blood flows out from her shut eye. Meng Yao smiles, ever-gentle, pulling out the sword to move towards the side of her face instead. He cuts off her ear, letting it fall to the floor. Still, Mu Antian remains smiling, even if it becomes more strained.

Nie Cheng pushes himself forward, covering Mu Antian’s body with his own. She lets out a quiet protests from behind him, but Nie Cheng won’t move. Unfortunately, Meng Yao has other plans. He knocks against Nie Cheng’s head with the flat side of the blade; not enough to draw blood, of course, but for Nie Cheng, who had received numerous injuries to the head already, it was enough to send him tumbling to the side.

“San-gongzi!” Mu Antian cries.

“Wrong person to focus on.” Wen Ruohan clicks his tongue, swirling his mouth around to gather saliva before spitting on Mu Antian’s face. “Really, the person you should be most concerned about is yourself.”

“Don’t hurt her,” Nie Cheng pleads, struggling to get up. “Take me instead. I’m the one you want, aren’t I?”

He had to buy Mu Antian more time. Even if it was only a day more; surely Nie Huaisang had been searching for them. He would find them, Nie Cheng just knew it. As long as Mu Antian stayed alive by then, she could still be saved. She could reunite with her brother.

“Didn’t I already lay down the ground rules before?” Wen Ruohan says. “I have to save the best for last. Such a bad boy you are, Jiang Cheng, trying to break my rules. I think someone should be punished for that, don’t you? Meng Yao.”

Meng Yao grabs Mu Antian’s hand, using his sword to slice the top flesh of her arm off. Nie Cheng can see the pink muscles and white bones underneath it. There was so much blood; too much. At this rate, Mu Antian would die from blood loss. Wen Ruohan seems to have come to the same conclusion, given the way he barks out an order for Meng Yao to hurry it up.

As Nie Cheng crawls towards them, Meng Yao takes Mu Antian’s hands, her other ear, and her hair. He draws cuts along her face, disfiguring her until she’s past the point of recognition. And still, she keeps speaking.

“You’re pathetic,” she tells Meng Yao, barely croaking out the words. “You never deserved San-gongzi’s love, not even if you lived a thousand lives. Abandoning everything you had as soon as you find something else you want, do you have no loyalty? Or perhaps it’s simply because a monster like you can’t feel anything but greed. I expect nothing less from the bastard son of two sluts.”

“Shut your mouth,” Meng Yao snaps, speaking for the first time that day. He raises his sword one last time, driving it through Mu Antian’s heart. Mu Antian chokes but remains smiling, almost mocking Meng Yao with her grin.

Meng Yao steps back, allowing Nie Cheng to lunge forward, laying his body atop Mu Antian’s. His eyes fill with tears, nose stinging as he feels the blood seeping past his robes, dampening his skin.

“You can’t die,” he whispers. “Stay alive, Antian. You have to keep living.”

“I see him, Gongzi,” Mu Antian whispers back. “My ge. He’s here.”

Mu Antian lets out a vague gurgle, but can’t speak anymore. She manages to tilt her head to press their foreheads together, providing Nie Cheng with one last comfort before finally passing. Nie Cheng closes his eyes, reveling in the rapidly fading warmth.

“I think that was the best one yet,” Wen Ruohan says, placing his hands on his hips. “Well, tomorrow’s the big day. Just you wait, Jiang Cheng. We’ll be back!”

Nie Cheng doesn’t even register when they leave. He fades in and out of consciousness, resting against Mu Antian’s cold body. Nightmares plague his mind, disciples dying over and over again before his eyes. Mu Antian getting torn apart by Wen Ruohan’s hands in front of Nie Cheng, who was unable to do anything.

Oh god, how was he meant to tell her brother about this? That his last remaining family member had been killed, that he was now destined to walk the rest of his life alone, haunted by the ghosts of his past?

The next time Nie Cheng is fully awake is when he hears the same pair of footsteps edge closer and closer. The door creaks open; Nie Cheng doesn’t even bother looking at them anymore. He buries his face in Mu Antian’s neck, breathing in the smell of rotting flesh. It burns his nose, a putrid scent that makes Nie Cheng nearly gag in the back of his throat.

“This is it,” Wen Ruohan says, humming a cheerful tune. “Finally, I’ve been waiting for so long. I’m almost sad that it’s over so soon.”

He stomps up to Nie Cheng, jerking his face towards him with a hard tug. Wen Ruohan smiles, stepping back to spread out his arms and gesture to the room around them, filled with decomposing corpses and flies. Maggots had started growing on that side of the room, their bodies wiggling amonst the dead flesh. Nie Cheng tried to squash any that came too close to him.

Meng Yao, once again, has Wen Ruohan’s sword in his hand. He presses it against Nie Cheng’s neck, hard enough to draw blood. “Should I kill him now, Zongzhu?”

Nie Cheng looks up at him, feeling his heart drop into his stomach, the acid eating away at it until there was nothing left. Perhaps it had been foolish of him, but he hadn’t thought Meng Yao would actually harm him. Some part of his soul still believed that Meng Yao loved him, that there was a reason for all of this. Nie Cheng hadn’t been too severely injured throughout the past week fews, after all, and all of his injuries came from Wen Ruohan’s hands.

But Meng Yao had offered to kill him. He had never done that before, had always waited until Wen Ruohan gave the order to act. Did he resent Nie Cheng that much? Was this payback for the life Nie Cheng had ruined for him?

“I like what you did yesterday,” Wen Ruohan says. “Play with him some more.”

“As you wish,” Meng Yao says. He leans in towards Nie Cheng, placing a hand on his cheek. Meng Yao’s touch is warm, and Nie Cheng can almost dellude himself into thinking that it was affectionate.

He braces for the blow, feeling the cold metal against the side of his head. Nie Cheng closes his eyes, not wanting to watch it happen.

And then something else happens instead.

Suddenly, a loud noise erupts from the side. The door bursts open, and all Nie Cheng can hear is the cry of multiple voices. He opens his eyes, watching in near disbelief as a flood of cultivators surround them. There’s heavy pounding from the other wall as well, and it gets knocked down before Nie Cheng’s very eyes, stone crumbling to the floor light shines down on Nie Cheng for the first time in weeks. It was too bright.

Meng Yao’s eyes widen as he takes in the scene around them. He turns away from Nie Cheng, thrusting his sword forward. Wen Ruohan lets out a cry as he’s stabbed, gripping his own sword to try and pull it out from himself, but Meng Yao doesn’t budge, not until Wen Ruohan lets out once last muffled scream and falls to the ground. Multiple cultivators surround his body, and even more point their swords at Meng Yao, who has already turned back to face Nie Cheng once more. But it’s too late.

“Nie Cheng!”

Nie Cheng turns his head towards the sound of his name. He knew that voice.

Wei Wuxian’s face appears in front of him, an almost stern look as he grabs Nie Cheng. Lan Wangji and Yu Jiaxin appear soon after him, the three of them circling around him and protecting him from the mess around them. Yu Jiaxin cuts him out of his restraints, the ropes finally falling away from his wrists after scraping them red and bloodied. Lan Wangji pours spiritual energy into him, the qi joining his own in repairing his body.

“You found me,” Nie Cheng chokes out.

“We found you,” Wei Wuxian confirms. He brushes Nie Cheng’s hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear. “You’re safe now.”

“What happened, Wanyin?” Yu Jiaxin asks, a dark look on her face. “Did Wen Ruohan do this to you?”

“They ambushed us,” Nie Cheng coughs. “We were out on a trip… Ge wanted new brushes…”

Oh. Oh.

It was supposed to be Nie Huaisang, Nie Cheng realizes. Nie Huaisang was supposed to be the one going out, before Nie Cheng had volunteered to take his place. That ambush was for Nie Huaisang.

It would’ve been Nie Huaisang who had gotten kidnapped, who had to watch his men die. Nie Huaisang, who had always had a weaker cultivation and a weaker temperament than Nie Cheng. Wen Ruohan would’ve tortured Nie Huaisang until he was nothing but a broken shell.

Meng Yao would’ve killed his brother.

Nie Cheng raises his eyes to look at the man. Meng Yao was still surrounded by the other cultivators, though he had dropped Wen Ruohan’s sword, his hands raised in the air. Nie Cheng slowly picks himself up, ignoring the concerned voices of his friends and stumbling towards Meng Yao. He raises his arms, glad to finally have control of his hands back so he could lunge at Meng Yao.

They both go tumbling to the ground, the cultivators stepping back as Nie Cheng digs his nails into Meng Yao’s skin, dragging them down to leave red streaks across his face. There’s a blank expression on his face, like his facial muscles had gone slack, the only sign of life being the burning fury lit up in his eyes.

Nie Cheng lifts up his hand, about to do more, before he gets pulled away. He struggles, looking up to find it was Lan Xichen who had restrained him. Lan Xichen doesn’t let go of him even as Nie Cheng struggles in his hold, a panicked look on his face.

“Wanyin, calm down!” he says. “It was A-Yao who was helping us! He was double crossing the Wens to provide information to us!”

“I don’t care!” Nie Cheng spits out, elbowing Lan Xichen. Still, the sect leader doesn’t budge in his hold, not until Lan Wangji and the others arrive by his side.

“Xiongzhang!” Lan Wangji says. Lan Xichen deposits Nie Cheng into Lan Wangji’s arms. Lan Wangji holds him carefully, as if afraid Nie Cheng would break. He resumes transferring spiritual energy to Nie Cheng, healing his broken arm enough to stop it from hurting.

“Have you no shame, Lan-zongzhu!?” Yu Jiaxin scolds, looking like she was about a second away from attacking Lan Xichen. From behind her, Wei Wuxian crosses his arms, in obvious agreement with her sentiments. “Wanyin’s obviously injured! How could you manhandle him like that!?”

“Apologies, Yu-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen says, pursing his lips. “But Wanyin, you must understand. A-Yao was on our side; that’s how we got the information we needed to defeat the Wens, and to find you. He had to do what he needed to in order to keep his cover.”

“Wanyin,” a soft voice says. Nie Cheng freezes, pressing closer to Lan Wangji, who covers his body with his arm. Meng Yao’s face appears in front of him, for once a frown instead of a smile across his lips.

“Wanyin,” he says again. “I didn’t mean anything I said. You know that, right?”

“You killed her,” Nie Cheng says. “You killed them all.”

“He forced me to,” Meng Yao says, his face falling. His big eyes widen even further, damp and glistening. “If I hadn’t he would’ve killed me. I’m truly sorry, Wanyin. Really, I was just trying to keep you safe. I love you; you know I do.”

Nie Cheng tries to turn his face away but Meng Yao places a hand on his cheek, preventing him from doing so. Meng Yao strokes his thumb across Nie Cheng’s cheekbone, gentle so as not to press on the bruise Wen Ruohan had inflicted on him. Nie Cheng flinches, averting his eyes. Meng Yao leans in even closer, brushing their noses together.

“I love you,” he pleads. “Wanyin, you have to believe me.”

He presses his lips against Nie Cheng’s, properly kissing him for the first time. Meng Yao’s lips are warm and soft, and for a moment it feels like bliss and like coming home. But then Meng Yao pulls back and Nie Cheng can’t see anything but the way his hands gripped his knife, driving it down into the head of so many Nie disciples. He sees the way Meng Yao stood over Mu Antian, dragging Wen Ruohan’s sword through her body, tormenting her to the verge of death before finally finishing the job.

“Get away from me,” Nie Cheng says, throat contracting as he gags, opening his mouth to dry heave. Though Meng Yao doesn’t move, Lan Wangji does, stepping back to create distance between Nie Cheng and Meng Yao. Meng Yao follows after him, a desperate look on his face.

Before he can get any closer, however, he’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder, clothed in gray and gold. Meng Yao turns around, obvious anger on his face that rapidly fades once he sees who it is.

“Step away from my brother, Meng Yao,” Nie Huaisang says. His tone is quiet but grave, carrying through the air. Nie Huaisang has a grin on his face, teeth bared towards Meng Yao as his fingers dig into his shoulder. “Or I’ll kill you myself.”

Chapter Text

Here’s the thing: Nie Huaisang wasn’t stupid.

Sure, he wasn’t the best at spiritual cultivation, or arithmetic, or really anything other than the arts. Maybe he cowered in fright whenever people yelled at him, which was often. His reputation wasn’t the best: a “head shaker”, as they called him.

“I don’t know!” he would cry, rapidly shaking his head from side to side. But Nie Huaisang knew. He knew everything, of course.

Nie Huaisang had a knack for hearing things he shouldn’t. A little spy in the making, his mother would affectionately call him, pinching his round face. Nie Huaisang liked to listen, and people liked to tell him things. He was cute, and besides, who would believe the tales of a dim-witted child? No one ever thinks that a child could think, could really, truly plan and plot for themselves. That was their first mistake.

A-Sang was always little, always the youngest. His mama had adored him from birth, even if she died only a short while after. But A-Sang still had his baba and his gege, two figures who promised to look after him forever, like trees who grew tall and strong to shade his little garden. And so Nie Huaisang could grow up sheltered, and cause however much trouble he liked with his eavesdropping and scheming. He was spoiled rotten, given everything he could possibly want. Everything except a younger brother, that is.

Gege said he had to ask Baba. Baba said he had to ask Gege, and then, once A-Sang figured out their circular ploy, told A-Sang it was immoral to as for another human. Whatever. If they weren’t going to help, then A-Sang was going to find a didi on his own!

It was pure coincidence that Nie Mingjue would go on to rescue Jiang Cheng. Pure luck that Jiang Cheng had even chosen to go north towards Qinghe Nie. But Nie Huaisang likes to think of it as fate, the stars aligning to grant him his biggest wish.

Xiao Cheng was bigger than Nie Huaisang; he always had been, ever since the fateful day they’d met. But he was also Nie Huaisang’s didi, his precious younger brother forever and ever, until the stars faded and the universe ended, and past then as well. No longer was Nie Huaisang little. He was a gege now, and that was a big responsibility. Xiao Cheng was his responsibility.

That’s what he and Wei Wuxian had in common, Nie Huaisang muses. The only difference being that Nie Huaisang wouldn’t mess it up, of course.

Nie Huaisang was useful in his own way, even as a child. Sure, he couldn’t grow a tall tree like the rest of his family could, but he could plant weeds to ensnare someone, grow flowers to make someone smile or cry, raise butterflies to fly off and distract others while he got what he needed. And that’s the thing: Nie Huaisang had never been stupid, not once, not ever. He just never had a reason to not. It was easier to scrape by in life if everyone thought you were dull, after all.

But for Nie Cheng, Nie Huaisang could be smart.

- - - -

Meng Yao was trouble.

Nie Huaisang saw it in the way he clung to Nie Cheng, in the way his gaze lingered for too long on his brother’s face, on the throne Nie Huaisang sat on, the extravagant embroidery that ran through their robes. Nie Huaisang sits, and smiles, and observes.

Nie Cheng, he was… well, for lack of a better term, smitten. Perhaps on another occasion, it would be a moment to celebrate, his Xiao Cheng finally growing up and falling in love. Nie Huaisang would let him be, perhaps give him a nudge in the right direction, some good advice to set him on the right track. But with Meng Yao, something else had to be done.

Let it be known that Nie Huaisang was not a controlling man. When he wanted to, sure, he could have all the pieces in his hands. But he didn’t stop Nie Cheng from continuously seeking out Wei Wuxian’s company. He let Yu Ziyuan reunite with her lost son, prickly as she was. Nie Huaisang just wanted Nie Cheng to be happy, even if it meant Nie Huaisang wasn’t happy with all the choices he made. He knew he couldn’t control every part of Nie Cheng’s life, that he would have to learn to love and hurt on his own, just as everyone else did. It was better to let Nie Cheng experience it by himself rather than let him learn simply through hearing stories. That’s what would make Nie Cheng happy, in the long run.

And Meng Yao? Meng Yao would make Nie Cheng light up with joy, positively over the moon with how happy he would be. Meng Yao would lead Nie Cheng on, stringing him on and on in false love until Nie Cheng was too ensnared within his web to do anything. And that’s when Meng Yao would strike.

His brother would be too loyal to his lover; just one of the unfortunate habits he had picked up from Lan Wangji, Nie Huaisang thinks with a scoff. He wouldn’t be able to let Meng Yao go once the man “picked” him, choosing Nie Cheng as the one to settle his heart and make him happy.

That’s where Nie Huaisang draws the line. There was a difference between learning from bad experiences and being destroyed by them. Nie Huaisang would let Nie Cheng grow with every scrape to his skin and wound to his heart, but he was still ultimately Nie Huaisang’s responsibility to protect. Nie Huaisang would step in when necessary, and this time it was of utmost importance. Nie Huaisang would make Meng Yao regret ever thinking about messing with his brother.

So Nie Huaisang welcomes Meng Yao into Qinghe Nie, slowly biding his time. He assigns Meng Yao to look after the refugees and assigns more men to assist him. He turns a blind eye when papers start disappearing and getting misplaced on his desk, even placing confidential letters in plain sight to be snatched away. Nie Huaisang smiles on as Meng Yao neatly assimilates into the sect, charming people left and right and bringing flowers to Nie Cheng. Young love was sweet; there was no need for Nie Huaisang to ruin that.

Besides, there wasn’t anything Nie Huaisang could do, not unless he wanted to be exposed early on. Meng Yao was smart, smart like Nie Huaisang was. He was a thinker, a planner, he knew what he wanted and how to get what he wanted, moving around pieces on the board until everything belonged to him. It was too bad he had to rope Nie Huaisang’s brother into this, otherwise, he would’ve been left alone.

If it was a game Meng Yao wanted to play, then Nie Huaisang would play his game. He would play, and win.

- - - -

Meng Yao’s first mistake was underestimating Nie Huaisang, but everyone did, so Nie Huaisang wouldn’t hold that against him. No, Meng Yao’s first true mistake was Lan Xichen.

Xichen-xiong was always so sweet, so quick to trust, and slow to doubt his friends. That’s what Meng Yao took advantage of, and what he tried to hold over Nie Cheng’s head. Purposely brewing jealousy, planting seeds of doubt before ripping them out and replacing them with buds of affection instead. A push and pull, a chill that would make Meng Yao’s warmth afterward feel even hotter.

Nie Huaisang wasn’t too concerned, in all honesty. He knew it would work, that Nie Cheng would fall in line with Meng Yao’s plan, walking step by step straight into his arms. Nie Cheng wanted love and affirmation, and that’s what Meng Yao would give him, luring him deeper and deeper into his web. Nie Huaisang couldn’t do anything about that, but what he could do was make a move when Meng Yao pushed Nie Cheng away. For those few precious shichens, Nie Huaisang would strike.

Nie Cheng would have Lan Wangji at the Cloud Recesses; they always sought each other out, taking every opportunity they could to meet in the middle of war. Nie Cheng wouldn’t be alone and would have someone to stand as a reminder that he was already loved, regardless of Meng Yao’s feelings. Once Nie Cheng came back home, that’s when Nie Huaisang would take over.

“I think something’s wrong with me,” Nie Cheng tells him. “Xichen-xiong and Meng Yao know each other. Meng Yao saved Xichen-xiong.”

“They know each other from before?” Nie Huaisang asks. Meng Yao had housed Lan Xichen when he escaped the Wen’s fire, according to his sources. The start of a beautiful friendship, and of Lan Xichen’s worst mistake.

Nie Cheng was jealous; Nie Huaisang tells him as much. Nie Cheng was upset, for obvious reasons, and though Nie Huaisang knew it had to be done, his heart still ached to see Nie Cheng so downtrodden. He wraps his arms around his brother, pulling him in close, tucking him against Nie Huaisang’s side. Nie Cheng is warm, and he smells like smoke and rain and home. He was Nie Huaisang’s home, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to make sure Nie Cheng stays safe.

When Nie Cheng comes to him beaming and with a vase of orchids in his arms, Nie Huaisang smiles alongside him. He congrats Nie Cheng, watches his brother flush red with embarrassment, but with happiness as well. Nie Huaisang is happy for him; his Xiao Cheng deserves to feel loved. What he didn’t deserve was the heartbreak Meng Yao was going to give him as well, shattering a glass heart that had wanted nothing more than to look it’s best for him.

“Do you think it’ll work out?” Nie Cheng asks Nie Huaisang, curled up in a chair in his office. He looks so small and unsure, so hesitant because he of how much he wants. Nie Huaisang can practically feel the desire roll off his body.

“Xiao Cheng is a good man,” Nie Huaisang hums, signing off on another document. His men-- not the sect’s, but his-- were going on some reconnaissance missions for him. He needed to know of the Wen’s locations, to be able to track and pin them down on a map. Another group was investigating brothels around Lanling Jin; that was a personal project of his. “Why wouldn’t it work?”

“What if he wakes up and decides there are better men than me?” Nie Cheng mumbles. A direct effect of Meng Yao’s actions. Self-confidence was never one of Nie Cheng’s strongest traits, and Meng Yao had basically guaranteed that it never would be. Nie Huaisang presses his brush against the paper just a little bit harder.

“Who would be better than Xiao Cheng?” Nie Huaisang asks, smiling. “Look at how tall and strong you are! Such a handsome boy, and so kind too! Just the other day I overheard some of the junior disciples whispering about you. They said, ‘San-gongzi is so charming, don’t you think? When he swings his sword I want to swoon all over him!’.”

“Ge!” Nie Cheng whines, hiding his face in his hands. “You’re so embarrassing! You sound just like the aunties in town.”

“I’m serious,” Nie Huaisang says. He takes a blank sheet of paper, doodling some vaguely crude drawings that could be interpreted as cultivation instructions. He places it on the edge of his desk; Meng Yao would have to help him fetch some documents from his office later on. It wouldn’t do to give him completely true information, after all. “Xiao Cheng, don’t worry about comparing yourself to others. All you can do is try your best. And if he doesn’t think you’re the best, he’s wrong, obviously—”

“Ge!”

“—But that’s also something you can’t control,” Nie Huaisang continues. He sets his brush down, raising his head to look up at Nie Cheng, who was running his fingers along the wooden armrest. “Don’t think for a second that you aren’t good enough because he doesn’t think so.”

“When did you get so mature?” Nie Cheng asks. Nie Huaisang laughs, smoothing out the collar of his robes which had gotten messed up. He always got so disorganized when he was working; it was embarrassing, honestly.

“I’ve always been this mature,” Nie Huaisang replies. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes, pushing himself up and dragging his feet out Nie Huaisang’s office. Nie Huaisang waves him off, tilting his head to the side when Nie Cheng turns around to look at him.

“You know who it is, don’t you?” he asks, a scrunched-up look on his face.

“Of course I do,” Nie Huaisang grins. “You and Meng Yao aren’t that subtle, you know. And I did have to be the one to tell you that you were feeling jealous over Xichen-xiong.”

“Whatever,” Nie Cheng grumbles. His cheeks are a bright pink, though Nie Huaisang manages to refrain from laughing at it. It wouldn’t do to bully Nie Cheng too much, after all. Nie Cheng stomps out, though he’s gentle when he closes Nie Huaisang’s door.

When Meng Yao chooses to go to Langya, chasing after his father’s affection, Nie Huaisang writes him a glowing recommendation letter. Xiao Cheng’s lover deserved only the best, after all, since he was so dearly beloved to Nie Cheng. He scours through his office to find where he had misplaced it, hiding a smile behind his sleeve when he notes that his desk has been messed with. He hands off the recommendation letter for Nie Cheng to give, taking back the papers on resentful cultivation that he had let him hold. There’s a crease in the corner of one of them; Nie Huaisang straightens it out, mindlessly running his thumb over the soft parchment.

Good riddance, he thinks, though not for long. Once Meng Yao came back, however, Nie Huaisang would as well. So long as Meng Yao was continuing to manipulate Nie Cheng, Nie Huaisang would chase after Meng Yao, setting trap after trap for him to fall into. And he would fall: Nie Huaisang was going to make sure of it.

- - - -

Meng Yao’s second mistake was Wei Wuxian. Nie Huaisang… to be honest, Nie Huaisang didn’t really understand this one at first.

It seemed almost irrational how much Meng Yao disliked him. As far as Nie Huaisang knew, they had only met once Nie Cheng introduced them. But Nie Huaisang would listen to Nie Cheng talk about his friend, and how Meng Yao would bite back with a sentence bordering on passive-aggressiveness. It would fly over Nie Cheng’s head, but Nie Huaisang heard it. He heard everything.

Sure, Nie Huaisang didn’t exactly have the best first impression of Wei Wuxian. But at least he had a reason to do so: Wei Wuxian had hurt his brother, after all. Their brother, though Nie Cheng technically wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s brother anymore, what with the semantics of switching households. Nie Huaisang knew it wasn’t intentional, and that’s perhaps the only reason he was able to accept Wei Wuxian as quickly as he did.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t get in a hit or two when the timing fit, though. Family visitation at the Cloud Recesses had been so fun, even if it meant Yu Ziyuan getting to see her son again.

But Wei Wuxian was charismatic, able to befriend anyone. Charming almost to a fault; poor Lan Wangji, though it’s his fault for always being around the Jiang disciple with that nasty frown on his face. Nie Huaisang doesn’t really understand Meng Yao’s heavy distaste for Wei Wuxian; it should be a mild, but generally unconcerned dislike at most. Nothing was adding up, and that scared Nie Huaisang. He needed as much accurate information as possible if he was going to one-up Meng Yao, whose mind was almost as clever as his own.

They didn’t have any hidden background, Nie Huaisang was sure of that. Their first meeting had been when Nie Cheng visited Langya, when he introduced them to each other. Nie Cheng had actually told him of the event while recalling the events of his trip. A Jin commander had been murdered, by Meng Yao’s hands no less. Nie Cheng seemed upset on Meng Yao’s behalf, a consistent scowl on his face while he retold the story to Nie Huaisang.

“And he harassed Meng Yao!” Nie Cheng cries, pacing back and forth in Nie Huaisang’s office. He drops into his usual seat, sighing as he places his hands on the armrests. “I wish I could’ve helped him.”

“You made it there before anything happened, and that’s what matters,” Nie Huaisang reassures him, patting Nie Cheng’s shoulder. As if anything would’ve really happened. Meng Yao was bitter, upset that his ideas were being stolen from him by his commander. Nie Huaisang would feel bad if not for the fact that all semblances of sympathy for Meng Yao had long since faded away.

“At least Wei Wuxian and Meng Yao got to meet,” Nie Cheng says. “I think they’d get along well. Wei Wuxian’s always coming up with something new, and Meng Yao likes learning about anything he can. They’d be able to have a lot of academic conversations together.”

“That’s true; Wei-xiong always did like to go on about whatever project he was working on,” Nie Huaisang muses. Did Meng Yao feel inferior to Wei Wuxian? Perhaps he desired to be as brilliant as Wei Wuxian; he would know about Wei Wuxian’s newfound cultivation, having dug through and read all of Nie Huaisang’s papers over it.

“You could have intellectual conversations with Wei-shixiong if you two would stop talking about useless things all the time,” Nie Cheng tells him.

“But he’s the only one who understands my tastes in books!” Nie Huaisang protests, jutting out his bottom lip in a pout. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes, reaching out to flick Nie Huaisang on the forehead.

“Your taste in yellow books, more like,” Nie Cheng murmurs. Nie Huaisang simply laughs, flicking his sleeves back. His yellow book distribution at the Cloud Recesses served as a good means to earn some profit and expand his web of information. People were always willing to share some gossip if it meant they didn’t have to pay real coins, especially information they didn’t think was important or about people they didn’t like. Nie Huaisang had eyes and ears all across the Cloud Recesses without any of his informants being truly aware of it.

Nie Huaisang had tried to rope Wei Wuxian into it, to keep him close by and keep track of him. But Wei Wuxian was always too busy getting himself into trouble or tagging after Lan Wangji that Nie Huaisang eventually gave up on that endeavor. Besides, it was less conspicuous if only one person was doing it.

Where would Meng Yao have fit in at the Cloud Recesses? Nie Huaisang thinks he still would’ve stuck with Lan Xichen, easily able to pin him as someone whose gentle demeaner could be used to his advantage. Perhaps he would’ve sought after Nie Cheng as well, but maybe not: at the Cloud Recesses, Nie Cheng was surrounded by his close friends. He had no need to reach out to new people, not unless Meng Yao somehow would’ve managed to get to him first. The way Nie Cheng and Meng Yao really met, alone at night after a battle, was the perfect setting to slip into Nie Cheng’s heart, striking at a more vulnerable time when Nie Cheng was alone.

If Meng Yao really was a Cloud Recesses disciple, perhaps he would hate Wei Wuxian less, Nie Huaisang thinks. It still didn’t make sense to him, not even after gathering every bit of information he could on Meng Yao and Wei Wuxian’s interactions. Meng Yao was usually so collected; Nie Huaisang could practically follow his thoughts step by step. What was different this time around?

It wasn’t until Wei Wuxian visited Qinghe Nie that Nie Huaisang finally understood. He’s able to watch the three of them interact in person for the first time, and suddenly everything clicks.

“Did Xiao Cheng miss me?” Wei Wuxian coos, wrapping an arm around Nie Cheng’s shoulders. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes, shoving at Wei Wuxian’s face, his palm pressing into Wei Wuxian’s cheek. Meng Yao watches from the side, his eyes carefully following the every movement of Nie Cheng’s hands.

Oh.

Meng Yao was jealous, Nie Huaisang realizes with a growing delight, nearly unable to prevent to wide grin from splitting across his face. He feels like a child who had been unexpectedly gifted a basket of sweets, like a student whose teacher just gave them full marks. Oh, the irony.

Wei Wuxian had always been touchy; a lack of personal space seemed to be a common theme among Nie Cheng’s new friends, between Wei Wuxian and Yu Jiaxin. He liked to tease Nie Cheng as well, something that never failed to draw out a reaction from Nie Cheng. It was amusing to watch, though Nie Huaisang doesn’t think Meng Yao finds it nearly as funny.

Meng Yao can use all the subtleties he wants to try and pry Wei Wuxian and Nie Cheng away, Nie Huaisang knows it won’t work. Nie Cheng wouldn’t get it, not unless Meng Yao told him outright that he should distance himself from Wei Wuxian, and that certainly wouldn’t go well, at least not for Meng Yao. Nie Cheng was loyal to his friends, a loyalty that he received in turn. Nie Huaisang was happy that Nie Cheng had met good people to stay by his side; he deserved only the best, not someone who was only using him for their personal gain.

When Meng Yao disappears, leaving a heartbroken Nie Cheng behind, Nie Huaisang is tempted to abandon his careful planning and go straight after Meng Yao himself. But Nie Cheng was determined to hold himself together for his men, and if he could then Nie Huaisang could do the same for his brother. Besides, it meant he could finally start organizing his desk in a better way; god knows that being messy on purpose has led him to actually misplacing his favorite fans and brushes.

Nie Cheng travels a lot more to the other sects once Meng Yao is gone. He misses having company, Nie Huaisang knows, and was trying to distract himself by charging headfirst into the war effort. It does mean Nie Cheng visits Lotus Pier a lot more, which Nie Huaisang has his qualms about. Wei Wuxian was one thing; the Jiang family was another. Nie Huaisang hates the Jiang family, doesn’t care if they meant well or had their own problems. They hurt Nie Cheng, and for that, Nie Huaisang would never forgive them. He hates with all of his being, a burning flame that never extinguishes, always alight in the core of his chest.

Nie Huaisang tries not to hate; it overtakes a Nie, as his father used to tell him. Hate eats at your heart and devours your mind until nothing but primal urges are left, base instincts that work well with a Nie’s usual style of attacking, but not with Nie Huaisang, who relies on his brain. What his father didn’t tell him was that other emotions could do the same. Love, for one: Nie Huaisang loves his brother so much that he’s willing to do anything for him, that the desire to see him happy and safe drives his every move, as present as his need for water and air. Love, hate, anything could make a person irrational.

And in Meng Yao’s case, that emotion was jealousy.

He tipped off the Wens about Wei Wuxian’s resentful energy. Well, he had already been doing that, of couse, but this time Meng Yao told them a little too much. He knew too much; a result of Nie Huaisang secretly feeding him information. But exposing all of that at once would raise flags, something Nie Huaisang thought Meng Yao— calm, careful Meng Yao— would never do.

But not only did Meng Yao give the Wens enough information to counterattack Wei Wuxian’s resentful cultivation, but he also sent out people to spread rumors about the man as well. When one of Nie Huaisang’s spies hands him a poster slandering Wei Wuxian, complete with a crude drawing and even cruder words scribbled across the bottom, Nie Huaisang can’t help but laugh.

“They got his eyebrows wrong,” he muses, poking the two-dimensional eyes. “So charming, Wei-xiong, I’m sure you’ll have even more suitors after this!”

It’s less amusing once he learns that Lan Wangji had been injured to the point of unconsciousness. Yu Jiaxin had broken her arm. Nie Cheng… his brother had almost died. Nie Cheng never told him this, trying to protect his brother from any potential hurt. Nie Huaisang understands: he had been doing the same, after all. But it doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Still, this was worse for Meng Yao, whose actions had directly been the cause of Nie Cheng’d dearest friends getting injured. That was something Nie Cheng might not be able to forgive; it would depend on how Meng Yao would try to excuse himself, once his actions got exposed. But Nie Cheng would be out for blood. Already he was trying to find out who the spy was, who leaked their information to the Wens and almost got them killed, who his target to enact revenge on was.

Honestly, Meng Yao was practically digging his own grave. Nie Huaisang didn’t even have to do anything at this point.

Well, almost anything.

- - - -

Meng Yao’s third and final mistake was Mu Antian.

This one Nie Huaisang was a bit more hands-on with. The first two were completely Meng Yao’s own fault, unintended consequences of plans he was trying to enact. In all honesty, Nie Huaisang hasn’t had to do much, simply stepping in when the time was right. That’s the difference between him and Meng Yao: Meng Yao was actively planning to harm Nie Cheng, whereas Nie Huaisang’s scheming came from a place of wanting to counteract his actions.

But this time Nie Huaisang was the mastermind, the one pulling the strings and setting the stage for Meng Yao’s greatest mistake yet.

Mu Antian was the great-niece of Mu Huangli, one of the sect elders who had raised Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang while they were growing up. Mu Huangli reminded him of Lan Qiren at times, always so strict with their education and training. But she was also one of the first to pick up on Nie Huaisang’s sharp wit, to look past his round features and playful demeanor and see into his mind instead. She was there the very time Nie Huaisang ever took anyone’s life. He had only been twelve at the time, left in charge after Nie Mingjue had to go to the Cloud Recesses’ lectures.

You never truly forget your first: Wang Junmei was stupid for thinking she could get away with her plan, Nie Huaisang thinks. It was for Nie Cheng; it always had been, ever since the very first day they met. Something had rewired in Nie Huaisang’s brain, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him and guiding him away from the lackluster life he thought he was going to live. But being able to grow up with Nie Cheng, to watch his eyes light up as his cheek glowed from his smile, made everything worth it. Nie Cheng was worth it.

Nie Huaisang handled everything before Nie Mingjue could even come home. He couldn’t take any credit for it, pushing it onto Mu Huangli instead, who had been with him every step of the way. He had talent, but she had experience: she taught him more than he probably should’ve learned, shaping the way Nie Huaisang utilized his mind.

Mu Antian was just as brash as her great-aunt, though she much preferred to think with her sword instead. Nie Huaisang could respect that; more than that, he respected the way she took care of her younger brother, how she had to step up after their parents passed, and even more so after her older brother got killed as well. She was just like them, and because of that, she would be the perfect parallel. Something to help Nie Cheng see what Meng Yao could do to him. To them.

It helped that Mu Antian was aware of Meng Yao’s actions as well.

“Zongzhu,” she breathes out. She had just run up to him out in the training field, where Nie Huaisang had been watching Nie Cheng and Mu Lingyan spar. Nie Huaisang likes being in the presence of Nie Cheng; it made him feel safer, feel more relieved. It was like part of his brain could stop worrying once he’s able to see Nie Cheng in front of him. Mu Antian’s eyes are open wide, the pupils inside enlarged just as well. “San-gonzgi, A-Ling, I need to tell you— there’s something— they—“

She keeps needing to catch her breath, and there’s a long gash on her arm that seems like a fresh cut. Nie Huaisang narrows his eyes on her pale face, as if the blood had been drained out beneath the skin.

“Zongzhu, I need— there’s something— my stomach— I was with the refugees and I— there was too much—”

Though she’s addressing Nie Huaisang, Mu Antian isn’t looking at him, but rather towards their younger brothers. My Antian reaches for Mu Lingyan’s hand, babbling out words while her other hand flies over various parts of her body. She gags on one occasion, and that’s when Nie Huaisang decides to step in.

“I’ll take you to the infirmary to bandage your arm,” Nie Huaisang says gently, a hand on her back. He frowns, pulling back to feel her pulse instead. It was faint, too faint for a normal civilian, let alone a cultivator with a strong golden core. “You might be ill, Antian. Your pulse is too weak. Let’s go, before it gets worse.”

Mu Antian stutters, letting Nie Huaisang drag her along. Nie Huaisang places an arm over her shoulders, practically dragging her towards his office. The one he works in during the day, and the one with a side room where Mu Antian can lie down, and where Nie Huaisang can get some answers.

“Raise your legs,” Nie Huaisang orders, placing a warning talisman on a blanket that he places on top of Mu Antian’s torso. Her breaths are shallow, though she does as he says, resting her feet on a chair in front of her while lying down. “You’re in shock, Antian”

“Zongzhu—“

“Rest first,” Nie Huaisang says, interrupting her. “You can tell me later, I promise.”

She does so just a quarter of a shichen later, able to sit up and drink some water. Her breathing has returned to normal, and there’s a pink flush on her cheeks, the skin less pale than before. Nie Huaisang sits down on a chair in the corner, looking toward Mu Antian.

“I was volunteering with the refugees,” she says. “And I swear on my life that I’m not lying, Zongzhu, but I saw Meng Yao and he— there was someone talking to him, and they didn’t wear any Wen robes but I could still tell, the cut of their sword is as typical of one of those Wen blacksmiths, and Meng Yao was telling him everything about the sect. And then there was a refugee who caught them talking and said he was going to report to you and he— Meng Yao and the Wen tortured him until he promised not to say anything, and then they still killed him. It was horrible.”

Nie Huaisang is silent for a moment, eyes scanning through and searching Mu Antian’s face. She frowns, holding a hand up to cover her mouth. “Zongzhu, please, you have to believe me. I swear I’m not a liar, you can kill me if I am. Please.”

“I believe you, Antian,” Nie Huaisang reassures her, grabbing an empty bowl from the corner. He holds it under her chin, angling it towards her lips. “I’m simply trying to figure out a way to prevent you from regurgitating.”

“Truly?” Mu Antian asks, her eyes widening. “But why?”

“There are many sides of a person we aren’t able to see at first glance,” Nie Huaisang says. “What kind of sect leader would I be if I let myself be acquainted with only one side of someone?”

“Then why do you let him stay?” Mu Antian asks. Nie Huaisang hums: it’s a good question. Meng Yao grew into more and more of a threat with every passing day. The best option, at the surface, would be to strike at the throat. But it wouldn’t be enough.

“I’m biding my time,” Nie Huaisang responds. “I need a way to make sure Meng Yao can never be redeemed.”

“Isn’t he already irredeemable?”

“Not in the way that matters,” Nie Huaisang says. He needed to make sure Nie Cheng would never forgive him, to make sure Meng Yao couldn’t plead his way out of this. “In the meantime, however, how would you like to run some missions for me? I need intel; but I need it done in secret. Since you’re already aware of Meng Yao’s true nature, you’d be the perfect fit.”

“I’ll do it!” Mu Antian says, a determined look on her face. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect the sect.”

She then proceeds to throw up in the bowl, which Nie Huaisang had accurately predicted. But that was fine, Nie Huaisang had gotten what he wanted. More manpower was always good, especially someone like Mu Antian, who was both resourceful and strong. She might not have inherited Mu Huangli’s knack for scheming, but she was clever in her own right, able to pick up on subtle hints and minute details.

Nie Huaisang works with her for the next few months, sending Mu Antian out for private missions. He works with the sect doctor to create an excuse of illness for her; she can’t go on too many sect outings if she’s sick, after all.

“You’re probably one of my best workers,” Nie Huaisang says, fiddling around with a stray weiqi piece on his desk. He never properly cleaned up after his games, leading to an assortment of black and white stones constantly scattered across his workspace.

“Probably?” Mu Antian says, arms crossed. She’s sitting in the seat Nie Cheng usually sits in, leaning back as she looks at Nie Huaisang. “How many trips do you send me on? Can I not even be called your best?”

Nie Huaisang laughs, flicking his wrist to toss a black weiqi piece to Mu Antian. She responds to his invitation, pulling the weiqi board off the shelf. Nie Huaisang pushes stacks of papers to the edge of his table, clearing a space for the board.

“You’re the best at weiqi,” he says, tapping on the board.

“And yet you still beat me everytime,” Mu Antian replies, rolling her eyes. Nie Huaisang can’t do anything but shrug, unable to refute her as he sets up the board. Mu Antian was the best in the fact that she could keep up with him the best. She also understood the responsibilities of taking care of a younger sibling, and the sacrifices they had to make. But it was worth it; everything was worth it, and that’s what Mu Antian understood in a way no one else did.

Really, Nie Huaisang was going to miss her once she was gone.

Meng Yao’s final mistake would draw out for years, never reaching its climax until the near the end of the Sunshot Campaign. That was how Nie Huaisang planned it, how he set up the stage for the final act.

Here’s the thing: Nie Huaisang wasn’t stupid, yes, but everyone thought he was. That’s what mattered.

Who would go after the head shaker, so incompetent he can’t even run his own sect? Why not instead go after his right hand man, his better half, the Nie sect heir? The mighty Nie Cheng, renowned for both his strength and wit in battle. The master strategist of Qinghe Nie, their best at leading battles and commanding men. Such a tempting catch, who could resist?

The attack wasn’t for Nie Huaisang. It never had been for Nie Huaisang. The Wen’s target was Nie Cheng; they had been planning this for weeks. Nie Huaisang had known about it for just as long.

He takes Nie Cheng out on an excursion, not wanting the rest of the sect to get attacked as well. Nie Huaisang brings only senior disciples along their excursion in the hopes they would be able to protect Nie Cheng at least a little.

“I’ll go for you,” Nie Cheng says after Nie Huaisang mentioned wanting some new calligraphy supplies. Nie Huaisang knew he would; he knew everything that was going to happen. Everything was going according to plan, down to the disciples who were leaving with Nie Cheng. All part of Nie Huaisang’s inner group, all who knew about what was to occur. Mu Antian locks eyes with Nie Huaisang, giving him a subtle nod.

As Nie Huaisang waits for the bad news to arrive, he can’t help but clutch at the fan he had brought with him today. It was one Nie Cheng had gifted him recently; his old collection of fans and paintings had been destroyed when the Wens burned down their sect. Nie Cheng had insisted on replenishing his collection himself, even as he complained about Nie Huaisang having too many.

Nie Cheng was going to be alive. Nie Huaisang had all but guaranteed that. And yet, staring at the empty chair in front of him, Nie Huaisang couldn’t help but want to throw up. Nie Cheng wasn’t just supposed to be alive, he was supposed to be safe and cared for and happy, and none of those things were possible.

Sickening guilt curls up in Nie Huaisang’s stomach, eating at his insides and making him want to lay down. He grabs his hair, tremors riding up his arms. Nie Cheng would be fine. This was going according to plan. Nie Huaisang was in control, not Meng Yao. He was going to crash and burn, and Nie Huaisang would be the one to light the spark.

It takes less than two weeks to find Nie Cheng; it was easily the worst time of Nie Huaisang’s life. He was plagued with sleepless nights and a heavy pressure on his chest. One wrong move and everything would come crashing down.

But it worked, and when Nie Huaisang steps in stop Meng Yao from further approaching Nie Cheng, he gets a glimpse of his brother for the first time since he lost him. Nie Cheng looks pale, a horrified look in his eye as he trembles in Lan Wangji’s arms, staring up at Meng Yao. His arms are pulled close to his chest as if to protect himself. Nie Huaisang tightens his grip on Meng Yao’s shoulder, fingers digging into his robes.

Nie Huaisang drags his eyes over to the room they had just broken into. It was empty, stone walls covered in flaking blood stains. On the left wall was a line of rotting bodies, the skin falling apart to reveal bone underneath. They each wore the signature gray and gold robes of Qinghe Nie, the clothes matted and stained. Maggots crawled along the cloth as flies buzzed around foul-smelling air. Nie Huaisang shifts his view: on the right wall is a single corpse. Fresh, recently deceased, the hands and ears dismembered and randomly strewn across the rest of the floor. The skin on the face is cut up from forehead to chin, an empty eye socket creating a dark void. And yet, despite the obvious torture the victim had experienced, their lips were turned up into a smile. A mark of success.

Mu Antian had done her job, it seems.

“I need a favor from you,” Nie Huaisang says. He’s playing weiqi against Mu Antian, the two of them sitting in a secluded pavilion. “A big favor.”

“What is it, Zongzhu?” Mu Antian asks. Her brows furrow as she looks down at the board, trying to find the best spot for place her piece.

“The Wens are going to kidnap Xiao Cheng. Meng Yao will be there.” Nie Huaisang patiently waits for Mu Antian to make her move before continuing. “I need you to be there as well. And I need you to die.”

The last sentence makes Mu Antian look up, obvious shock drawn across her face. “I never knew you hated me so much, Zongzhu.”

“Meng Yao will ask for forgiveness once he gets revealed as the double spy,” Nie Huaisang says. “And Xiao Cheng will forgive him unless something big happens. That’s where you come in. You’ll be my catalyst.”

“So you want me to go in and get stabbed, is that it?” Mu Antian sets down her game pieces, placing her hands in her lap. Nie Huaisang is willing to get they’re shaking: it’s not everyday your sect leader tells you that you need to die, after all.

“I need you to die by Meng Yao’s hands, and I need it to be painful,” Nie Huaisang replies. His chest aches at having to command Mu Antian to do so, but he kept telling himself it was necessary. Meng Yao needed to be stopped, and Nie Cheng couldn’t get involved with him any further. “Draw out a reaction, make him snap. He needs to drop the mask he’s been wearing in front of Xiao Cheng. Xiao Cheng won’t believe it otherwise.”

Mu Antian is silent, her lips pursed. Nie Huaisang gives her as much time as needed. He knows it was a big ask of anyone, let alone someone like Mu Antian who had countless other responsibilities on her shoulders.

“If I do this,” she says. “What will happen to A-Ling?”

“He’ll be taken care of as if he was my own brother,” Nie Huaisang promises. “He’ll never want for anything else in his life.”

“He’ll want his family,” Mu Antian argues. Nie Huaisang dips his head, admitting mistake.

“That’s something he’ll never stop wanting,” Nie Huaisang says softly. “But I’ll make sure you leave a legacy behind for him to remember you by. He’ll be comforted in his grief, and for all the decades after when it feels like the hole in his chest will never heal. He’ll never be alone. And, when this succeeds, he’ll never have to become a soldier. Your actions will end the Sunshot Campaign.”

Mu Antian sighs. It’s a deep, designed sound, echoing through Nie Huaisang’s bones like a sharp whistle reverberating through an empty hall. Nie Huaisang feels exhausted, all of a sudden, but he pushes through.

“I’ve always wanted to die a hero,” Mu Antian muses. Her words are wry, though Nie Huaisang can detect the way her tone is unstable, wobbly like an unkempt bridge about to break apart. She looks at Nie Huaisang, determination in her eyes even as she’s afraid. “I’ll do it, Zongzhu. I’ll be your catalyst.”

“Thank you, Antian,” Nie Huaisang says. He picks up his own weiqi piece, placing it on the tile next to Mu Antian’s. It traps her, the black pieces surrounded by the white. A total victory for Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang looks at Mu Antian’s mutilated body, various emotions flashing through him. Grief, sorrow, relief, satisfaction, guilt. His plan had worked, as it always did. Nie Huaisang just wishes it didn’t have to require the sacrifice of so many people.

But he looks at Meng Yao, who is still unable to approach Nie Cheng without the other man flinching away, and Nie Huaisang knows it was worth it. For Nie Cheng, it would always be worth it. Nie Huaisang would fight off the entire world if it meant that Nie Cheng would be okay. Meng Yao could play all the games he wanted; Nie Huaisang would be there every time, ready to block any moves he made. As long as Nie Huisang was alive, Meng Yao would never win.

Game over.

Chapter Text

Nie Cheng feels like he’s just been buried alive and dragged out of the ground by his hair, rising back up to the surface with dirt choking him and filling his lungs. He can’t breathe, can’t think straight, can’t do anything without feeling nauseous.

And then Nie Huaisang came. Nie Huaisang, who was unharmed save for the heavy bags under his eyes. Nie Cheng lets out a quiet sigh of relief. Nie Huaisang was fine. Nie Cheng had taken the blow for him, even if unintentionally. Even if Nie Cheng had known, he would’ve gladly taken Nie Huaisang’s place. Nie Cheng’s brother grins at Meng Yao, a tense air radiating around him.

“Step away, Meng Yao,” Nie Huaisang repeats. Meng Yao’s hands tremble as he turns to bow at Nie Huaisang, head dipping down low.

“Please, Zongzhu—” he begs, getting interrupted by Nie Huaisang raising a hand up to his face, blocking Meng Yao’s view.

“Save me the sweet talk,” he sneers. It is a vicious look, like one a prey would see before getting consumed, and something Nie Cheng has never associated his brother with before. Nie Huaisang was soft, he was gentle. He wasn’t built for war and hardship like Nie Cheng was. A housecat meant to laze around and soak in the sun’s ray drifting down through the window blinds, not a hungry leopard on the prowl for its next hunt, teeth bared and ready to attack. Meng Yao takes a step back from Nie Cheng, positioning himself by Lan Xichen’s side. Nie Cheng’s chest loosened just a little bit now that he wasn’t in as much danger. He clutches Lan Wangji’s arm, using it to steady himself. Wei Wuxian and Yu Jiaxin surround him, careful looks on their faces as they guard Nie Cheng from the side.

Cultivators quiet down as Lan Xichen start to speak; he was obviously their leader, official or otherwise. “This is Meng Yao. He’s been spying on the Wens on my behalf for the last few months. Without his sacrifice, this war would not have been won. Wen Ruohan is dead because of him: Meng Yao killed him with his own sword.”

Sacrifice?

And what about all the cultivators Meng Yao tortured on the behalf of Wen Ruohan? Were those more sacrifices? Necessary casualties? Did Meng Yao have to scar them as hard, to dig the blade in as deep as he did if they had only been necessary sacrifices? Did he have to harm Mu Antian in such a way, just to bring such delight to Wen Ruohan?

“The pleasure is all mine,” Meng Yao says, bowing to the crowd. There is a pleasant, easy-going smile on his face as if he hadn’t just been about to kill Nie Cheng only a few moments ago. “I’m glad I was able to perform my duties to the cultivation world.”

Nie Cheng struggles in Lan Wangji’s hold, who eventually loosens his arms enough to allow Nie Cheng to slip out. He stalks up to Meng Yao, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him forward.

“Wanyin?” Meng Yao asks, eyes widening as he places a hand on Nie Cheng’s chest. “What’s the matter?”

“You’re disgusting,” Nie Cheng spits out. “You’re a cruel monster with no heart. Was it fun when you killed off all my sect members? Did you enjoy it when you took out Antian’s eyes? You seem to have no remorse in you.”

“They’ll haunt me for the rest of my days,” Meng Yao promises, bottom lip wobbling. His eyes are damp, glazed over with unshed tears. He looks just about as miserable as Nie Cheng feels right now. “I know I’ll never be able to atone for my actions, but please, Wanyin, all I want is your forgiveness. Can’t you do that for me?”

“Think of the bigger picture!” one of the cultivators around them calls out. “Meng Yao just saved the cultivation world! Who cares about a handful of cultivators when the rest no longer have to live in fear of the Wens?”

“I care!” Nie Cheng snaps. “They were my men, with their own lives and families they can no longer go back to. You weren’t there to watch it happen; I was. So shut your mouth. How would you like it if your sect mates were murdered? If your brothers had been tortured to death?”

“It was necessary!”

Nie Cheng turns out, letting go of Meng Yao to lunge at the man who had just spoke. “How dare you!”

“Wanyin!”

“Stay out of this, Xichen-xiong!” Nie Cheng roars, raising his hand to punch the man in his hold. He raises his fist to go for another hit, but gets restrained by the other cultivators. His arms get pinned behind his back, but no matter how much he struggles, Nie Cheng can’t free himself.

“Don’t hurt him!” Meng Yao cries, reaching out to take Nie Cheng from the other cultivators. He places his hands on Nie Cheng’s shoulders but gets shoved away, stumbling into the crowd. When he pushes himself up and tries to move toward Nie Cheng once more, Meng Yao gets blocked by Nie Huaisang, who retrieved Nie Cheng’s sword and was now pointing it at Meng Yao.

“Back off,” Nie Huaisang warns. Wei Wuxian pulls Nie Cheng back, wrapping an arm around him. Nie Cheng leans against him, taking solace in Wei Wuxian’s familiar touch. Meng Yao follows the movement of Wei Wuxian’s arm, his eyes never straying even as Nie Huaisang speaks to him.

Nie Cheng should kill Meng Yao. He wants to, wants to rip out Meng Yao’s throat and watch the life drain out of his eyes the way Meng Yao did to so many of his men. Nie Cheng wants revenge, he wants a slow and painful death that makes Meng Yao regret everything he’s done.

And yet.

He can’t. Nie Cheng is angry, and hateful, but most of all he’s hurt. How could Meng Yao have done such a thing? Meng Yao, who always brought him bouquets of orchids and who promised him a lifetime of love and happiness. In all the years Nie Cheng had known him, never once did he expect something like this to come from Meng Yao’s hands. Had everything been a lie?

Nie Cheng wants answers. He wants to kill, yes, but he also wants to scream and cry and beg, to be able to understand everything that had happened and why it did. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt Meng Yao, despite Meng Yao clearly not sharing that same affections towards him. Nie Cheng couldn’t properly avenge his fallen sect mates, all because of his lingering sentiments.

In the end, he was still just a weak, cowardly failure. He wasn’t enough.

- - - -

With Wen Ruohan’s death came the end of the Sunshot Campaign. Meng Yao, now hailed as a war hero, had been formally acknowledged by Jin Guangshan as his son. He had moved to Lanling Jin, not that he had been living at Qinghe Nie for some time anyways. Nie Cheng is relieved; it meant one less threat that would shadow over the Nie sect. Nie Cheng might have lived in constant vigilance if he had stayed. And yet the sect feels just a bit emptier, be it by the lack of men or just the lack of one man.

Meng Yao was now known to the cultivation world as Jin Guangyao. He took on both the Jin family name and part of his father’s name, not recieivng the generational character that the rest of the Jins his age had. Always chasing after and craving for paternal approval, he had finally gotten his wish. Nie Cheng hates it. Why did Jin Guangyao deserve for the world to go his way after ruining Nie Cheng’s?

The Jin sect holds a celebration after the war. A flower banquet, filled with collective joy and relief that wraps around the participants like a warm blanket on a dark winter day. Nie Cheng tugs on the collar of his robes, not used to such elaborate clothes. Nie Huaisang had personally embroidered his sleeves, the Nie motif intermingling amongst trailing vines and hunting dogs.

Lanling Jin was lively, with music echoing from its halls and wine overflowing from its cups. Nie Cheng nurses on his own, eventually swapping it out for plain tea instead. He gladly devours the meal set in front of him, silently laughing at the way Wei Wuxian turns his a shade of bright red from across him. Lan Wangji sits next to Wei Wuxian and across from Jin Zixuan, who doesn’t seem all too pleased to be next to Nie Cheng. Lan Xichen, Nie Huaisang, and Yu Jiaxin were seated in a different area, mingling with the other sect leaders. Well, Lan Xichen seems to mingling, at least; Nie Huaisang and Yu Jiaxin seemed to be lost in their own world, each holding up one of Nie Huaisang’s fans as they gossiped to each other from behind it.

Nie Cheng watches the dancers with half-hearted interest. He doesn’t feel comfortable in Golden Carp Tower, not while knowing who ran the place. Jin Guangshan was a cheating piece of scum, Jin Zixuan was a self-absorbed jerk, and Jin Guangyao… Jin Guangyao was dangerous. That’s something that had been seared into Nie Cheng’s mind, branded there by the hot blood that poured out of Mu Antian’s injuries as she tried to smile up at him.

He leaves as soon as he’s able to, slipping out of the room to get some fresh air. The night is full of chills; Nie Cheng pulls his robes tighter around him, walking around the wooden pavilion surrounding a large pond. He can see his own reflection in it, a somber face, eyes he shared with his mother and with Jiang Yanli, the jaw of Jiang Fengmian, a scar across the side of his neck. Nie Cheng tries to force a smile, pushing up his lips and curving his eyes.

The muted boom of the festivities inside continues, though some others have also started to wander out, joining Nie Cheng in his musings. One pair seems to be running away to rendezvous, with another following Tr. A child is walking around with his mother, no doubt someone from the Jin clan. Though he doesn’t like Golden Carp Tower, Nie Cheng can’t help but appreciate the feeling of everyone being together, relatively safe and united under a common cause.

The smile in the water is genuine now, soft and content, like the gentle curve of small waves washing upon the shore.

“Wanyin.”

And just as suddenly as it came, everything washes away. Nie Cheng freezes, not bothering to turn around as he watches Jin Guangyao through the pond’s reflection come up behind him. He’s dressed extravagantly, fit for the son of a sect leader. His robes were a new color again: pure gold, shedding the grey Nie Cheng used to think he was so comfortable wearing. Guess he was wrong.

“Jin-gongzi,” Nie Cheng greets, not saying anything more.

“How are you enjoying the banquet?” Jin Guangyao asks. Nie Cheng grits his teeth, still stuck in place though not unable to speak.

“Let’s skip the small talk,” he says, his tone closed off and cold. “What does Jin-gongzi want from me?”

“You can still call me Meng Yao,” Jin Guangyao tells him.

“I’d rather not,” Nie Cheng sneers. “So eager to distance yourself from the Jin name? After everything you did to earn it?”

“No,” Jin Guangyao says softly. His eyes are big as always, delicate features distorting amongst the rippling water. Still just as beautiful as always. Nie Cheng feels sick. “But I liked the way you called my name. I liked being Meng Yao, if only with you.”

“Is that what you said to Xichen-xiong as well?” Nie Cheng laughs. Jin Guangyao’s face falls, upset clearly written across it.

“He’s not like you and me,” Jin Guangyao replies, stepping closer to Nie Cheng. At one point, Nie Cheng would’ve craved his touch. Now, all it does is make him tense up even further. Dangerous, his brain tells him. “We’re special.”

Special?

“Meng Yao,” Nie Cheng says softly, the name he’s called hundreds of times easily leaving his tongue. Jin Guangyao meets his eyes through the clear reflection, pupils shining with quiet hope. “Answer me something.”

“Anything,” Jin Guangyao swears.

“Was it ever real for you?” Nie Cheng whispers, taking in a deep breath. His nose stings, as a damp sensation glazes across his eyes. “When you kept our relationship a secret, but proudly paraded around Xichen-xiong, did you ever think about me? I heard you two are becoming sworn brothers, is that right? You wouldn’t tell me where you were going, but you reported your every move to him. You exposed Wei-shixiong’s resentful cultivation to them and nearly got us killed. When you slaughtered all my men, when you drove Wen Ruohan’s blade into Mu Antian over and over again, when you tried to kill me, did you ever once recall the time we spent together? Was I ever enough? Did you ever even love me?”

“Wanyin…”

“I just want answers,” Nie Cheng says. “None of your flowery words.”

“Of course I loved you!” Jin Guangyao cries. “I still love you, Wanyin, don’t you know? You consume my entire being, half of my soul I’ve given to you. Every moment we were apart I spent thinking about you, and being able to see your face again. I would do anything for you. I know I’ve done some bad things, but my hand was forced! Please, Wanyin, surely you know that I love you.”

Nie Cheng turns around, finally looking straight at Jin Guangyao. There is desperation on his face, eyes that persistently bore into his, hands reaching out to take his own. Nie Cheng flinches when they touch.

“No,” he replies. “I don’t think I know. I don’t think I’ll ever truly know.”

He drops Jin Guangyao’s hands, walking past him and towards the hall once more. Nie Cheng lets out a shaky breath, rubbing his hands together to stop them from trembling.

“Nie Huaisang knew about it as well!”

That stops Nie Cheng in his tracks once more. It seems that every time Jin Guangyao spoke that Nie Cheng would be rooted in place. Nie Cheng turns around once more, staring at Jin Guangyao.

“What did you say?”

“Nie Huaisang knew about the ambush,” Jin Guangyao says. He speaks faster than ever, as if trying to get out all his words before a rapidly decreasing time limit. “He sent your men with you knowing they would die. He knew that I had gone to the Wens and would be there when you got kidnapped. He planned all this.”

Nie Cheng is silent. Jin Guangyao sighs in relief, reaching out to Nie Cheng once more. However, just as his hand is about to touch Nie Cheng’s cheek, it gets slapped away.

“How dare you bring my brother into this,” Nie Cheng hisses, his eyes narrowing. He burns with anger, fire eating at his chest and consuming his thoughts. Nie Cheng stalks forward, grabbing Jin Guangyao’s collar. “Did he puppet you around as well, make you perform such cruel acts of torture towards my men? Did he force you to leak Wei-shixiong’s cultivation techniques to the Wens, to help them develop counter-measurements that increased their power? Leave him alone, and if you know what’s good for you, never speak ill of him again, or I’ll make you regret that I didn’t kill you the first time I tried to.”

“Wany—”

“Goodbye, Jin-gongzi,” Nie Cheng snaps. He shoves Jin Guangyao away, not caring of the way Jin Guangyao nearly stumbles back into the pond, and walks away, quickening his pace. A flurry of hurt and hate bounces around Nie Cheng’s chest, choking him with a tight rope of grief around his neck.

“What’s wrong?” Nie Huaisang asks as Nie Cheng slides down next to him. Nie Cheng shakes his head, leaning against Nie Huaisang’s shoulder as his brother links their arms together, patting his hand before returning to speaking to Lan Xichen. Nie Cheng stays by his side for the rest of the banquet, watching the people breeze by. Yu Jiaxin waves to him from nearby Nie Huaisang, making silent facial expressions at him to express her grievances at having to speak to all the other sect leaders. She manages to draw a smile out of him, which makes her beam.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji join him not long after, Wei Wuxian bringing him a bowl of spiced peanuts and Lan Wangji bringing his disapproval at Wei Wuxian’s actions. For a moment, Nie Cheng feels like they’re at the Cloud Recesses once more. Nie Huaisang pulls him in closer, raising a hand to smooth down Nie Cheng’s hair.

In the distance, Nie Cheng spots Jin Guangyao returning from the outside. He looks away, focusing instead on the people around him. Forget about him; Nie Cheng already had everything he needed.

Slowly, he would heal.

- - - -

Just as Nie Cheng had said, Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao had become sworn brothers. Nie Cheng receives the news with an odd feeling settling in his chest. It felt like a betrayal, but from Lan Xichen rather than Jin Guangyao. Well, no matter: it was the other Lan brother whose opinion Nie Cheng valued more, anyways.

Nie Cheng didn’t have his own sworn brothers: he had too many friends, and with Yu Jiaxin being female the process was a bit more complicated. But word of mouth worked just as well as any title did. People knew who they were offending if they hurt Nie Cheng.

He was too busy preparing funeral rites to bother with any other ceremonies, anyway. Nie Cheng stands at the front, mourning all the Nie sect members who had died throughout the Sunshot Campaign. He’s dressed in pure white robes; it almost makes him feel like a Lan, save for the headband and mountains of rules.

Next to Nie Cheng stands Mu Lingyan, donning robes that closely mirror Nie Cheng’s. He’s trying his best to stay silent, but cannot help but sniffle as he aggressively rubs at his eyes. His back trembles are sobs rack down his body, accompanied by a steady stream of tears.

“Jiejie,” he sobs, letting out a quiet wail. “I miss you. Why did you leave me behind?”

He’s so young, Nie Cheng marvels. Realistically, there were only a few years of age between him and Mu Lingyan, but their experiences defined them, and right now all Nie Cheng can think of when he sees Mu Lingyan is young. Mu Antian left behind a legacy to look up to and a lonely child not yet ready to leave his sister’s shadow.

“Lingyan,” Nie Cheng says, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “A-Ling.”

If anything, Mu Lingyan sobs even harder, throwing his arms around Nie Cheng. “I want my Jiejie back! I hate the Wens, I hate them all and I swear when I get older that I’m going to hunt every last one of them down.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Nie Cheng chides, rubbing soothing circles along Mu Lingyan’s back. He bends his knees, allowing Mu Lingyan to cry into his shoulder, the tears seeping through and dampening his robes. It weighed on him as if it were a cartload of stones. “A-Ling, your sister would’ve been glad you don’t have to fight. That’s what she fought for, to keep you safe. She wanted you to live well and be happy.”

“How can I be happy without her by my side?” Mu Lingyan asks. He sniffs, words half muffled as he murmurs into Nie Cheng’s shoulder. “It feels like there’s a tear in my heart that will never heal, like I’ll never feel whole again.”

“That’s what grief feels like,” Nie Cheng tells him. He pulls back, taking Mu Lingyan’s hand and pressing it on his chest. “There’s going to be a hole that never gets filled back up; no one can take your sister’s place. But no one is trying to: we’ll teach you to live with the grief, to always remember your sister’s face and keep it in your heart.”

“Does it ever stop hurting?” Mu Lingyan whispers, his eyes and nose rimmed red. Nie Cheng pats his hand; it was calloused, but not as rough as a soldier’s. Mu Lingyan still retained some characteristics of a child yet untainted by battle. Good: Nie Cheng knew it wouldn’t stay that way, but for now it was a reminder that Mu Antian had gotten what she wanted, that she had died knowing her brother was safe and taken care of.

“No,” Nie Cheng says, shaking his head. “It always hurts. But one day it’ll hurt less than it did the day before. As long as you remember, it’ll hurt. But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Mu Lingyan nods, rapidly blinking to loosen any stray tears. Nie Cheng smiles, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m proud of you, A-Ling,” he says. “And I know she is as well.”

Nie Cheng spends the rest of the day with him, acting as a steady presence by Mu Lingyan’s side. Without any guardians left, Mu Lingyan was technically a ward of the sect, though Nie Huaisang had promised to take him in. They owed Mu Antian, and the rest of the Mu family, for their contributions to the sect, after all.

The next day, he visits the Nie ancestral hall, accompanied by Nie Huaisang to pay respects to their own family. Nie Cheng sits on his knees, looking up at the portraits of his father and brother.

“The war is over,” he tells them. “We won. But it doesn’t feel like much of a victory.”

What had Nie Cheng gained from all this? Nie Mingjue was dead, his sect had been razed to the ground, and he had been strung along by Jin Guangyao’s manipulation. War had done nothing but taken from him, its greedy claws grasping for anything it could.

“Xiao Cheng was a hero,” Nie Huaisang says. “You two would be proud of him.”

“And of Ge,” Nie Cheng adds. “He’s been a great sect leader. Rest assured, the sect is in good hands. You trained him well.”

They are met with silence, as expected, but somehow the air feels less still in the ancestral hall than it does elsewhere. Nie Cheng quietly reflects and pays his respects to his ancestors. It was strange to be in here, surrounded by a legacy of men who he shared no blood connection with. It’s not like he had met any of them either. But perhaps that was the difference between what Jiang Fengmian had done with Wei Wuxian, and what the Nies had gifted Nie Cheng. Wei Wuxian was still his parent’s son, still the child of Wei Changze and Cangse Saren. He was Jiang Fengmian’s ward, and no doubt considered part of the Jiang family at this point, if the sect leader and his daughter had anything to say about it, but his ties to the Wei were still there, clear as day in his name.

But Nie Cheng’s old identity had been burned away, and like a phoenix he rose again from the ashes, the start of a whole new life. Nie Cheng was given a string that intertwined with generations of past Nies, tying him to them for the rest of his days. When he passes, he would be buried here, secured in his place amongst the ancestors. Jiang Cheng would be but a footnote in his legacy, if even that.

“I hope you’re waiting for us,” Nie Cheng says to the air. “But I also hope you’ve moved into your next cycle of reincarnation. I hope you were given what you deserved and are living the happiest life there is, filled with joy and pleasure and abundance.”

“If you are waiting then you’ll have to be a little more patient,” Nie Huaisang says. “I don’t plan on letting Xiao Cheng leave until he’s at least older than Lan Qiren.”

Nie Cheng tries to stifle his laugh; they still had to be respectful, after all, though he has a feeling his family wouldn’t mind hearing the sounds of their children’s joy. He places his hands on his lap, fingers spread out as his palms try to cover his legs.

“Ge,” Nie Cheng says. “Jin Guangyao told me something the other day.”

Nie Huaisang is silent for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before finally letting out a deep sigh. It echoes through the chamber. “I suspected he might have.”

“I don’t understand a lot of it, to be honest.”

“Neither do I,” Nie Huaisang agrees. “What I’ve learned, I think, is that arrogance will be a man’s biggest hubris.”

“He said you knew,” Nie Cheng tells him.

“I know everything,” Nie Huaisang says. He laughs like he was telling an inside joke. His smile falls afterward, a blank look on his face as he stares ahead. “They knew too, when they walked away with you. I made sure they did. What I didn’t know was what he would do. I made a guess, and I guessed wrong. I overestimated something.”

“What was it?” Nie Cheng asks. Nie Huaisang shakes his head, refusing to answer. That’s okay: Nie Cheng thinks he knows the answer, anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Nie Huaisang says, turning his head to look at him. He smiles at Nie Cheng, but his eyes are empty. It’s a haunting sight, and once again Nie Cheng is reminded of just how terrifying Nie Huaisang can be in his moments of neutrality. “I know apologies don’t mean much, but for what it’s worth, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure the people left behind are taken care of. I can’t revive the dead, unfortunately.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” Nie Cheng tells him. He’s seen the way Nie Huaisang dealt with the aftermath. Most of the martial siblings with him had been orphans or were alone, their families already ripped away from them earlier by the war. The rest of them Nie Huaisang had been visiting personally, helping each family grieve and perform their funeral rites. Except Mu Lingyan; Nie Cheng took care of that one himself.

Nie Huaisang laughs, placing his hands on his knees. He’s always been smaller than Nie Cheng, but now it feels like Nie Cheng was looking at a core of condensed power, small but also deadly. “I don’t regret it, you know. I’m sorry it happened, but I’d do anything to keep you safe, no matter what. If I had to, I’d rip out my fingernails and tear off every strand of hair on my body for you.”

“That’s gross,” Nie Cheng says, wrinkling his nose.

“Do you think I’m a monster?” Nie Huaisang asks. Nie Cheng leans against him, resting his weight on Nie Huaisang’s shoulder.

“A little,” he confesses. Hate was a vicious creature, able to destroy the world with just one touch, its claws sinking in and cutting open deep, festering wounds. All consuming, his father had warned, was the greedy emotion of hate, a pile of rot that would dig into a heart and eat it whole, swallowing down any semblance of rationality until only it was left. Love, in the right hands, was even worse. “But so am I.”

“That’s why we’re brothers,” Nie Huaisang whispers, his lips curling up into a pleased smile. “My didi.”

“Only by a few months,” Nie Cheng grumbles. Still, he allows Nie Huaisang to wrap his arms around Nie Cheng, only pushing him off once Nie Huaisang starts tugging at his face as well.

The ancestral hall glows against the setting sun as Nie Huaisang and Nie Cheng leave, as if able to sense their content. Nie Cheng places a hand on its steady stone, patting it.

“Goodbye,” he says. “I’ll come again soon.”

There’s no response, but Nie Cheng thinks he knows the answer, anyway.

- - - -

With the end of the war comes a mellow peace that settles among the sects. Of course, this gave them the perfect opportunity to start causing trouble with each other once more, albeit in a less serious manner.

“Where are you going?” Mu Lingyan asks. At fifteen— sixteen in a month or so— he wasn’t as loud and brash as he used to be. More quiet, more reserved; Nie Cheng is glad for the maturity, though he wonders if it was because Mu Lingyan had grown up by himself, or simply because the war had forced him to. He sits on the grass, watching as cultivators gather around them.

“There’s a night hunt on Mount Baifeng,” Nie Cheng tells him. Mu Lingyan perks up, straightening his back to look around once more with a newfound interest.

“Can I come?”

“You already know the answer to that, A-Ling,” Nie Cheng says. Though technically old enough to, Nie Cheng wasn’t going to let him. Mu Lingyan sighs, dropping down to lie amongst the blades of grass. “You need to focus on your studies; you’ll be sent to the Cloud Recesses in just a few weeks.”

The Cloud Reccesses’ lectures had been put on hold due to the Sunshot Campaign. With all their cultivators dispatched, they simply didn’t have the manpower to invite guest disciples from other sects. Now that it was over, however, they had started up again. Nie Cheng made sure to send Mu Lingyan, despite his protests that he didn’t want to study.

“I’ll bring back a good catch for you,” Nie Cheng promises him. Mu Lingyan frowns, suddenly jerking his torso forward to sit up. A piece of grass sticks to his hair; Nie Cheng picks it out for him.

“Will it be dangerous?” he asks.

“Just a simple night hunt,” Nie Cheng reassures him. “I’ll even take you next time, how about it?”

“I suppose,” Mu Lingyan grouses. He doesn’t look very convinced, watching Nie Cheng mount his sword with narrowed eyes. Nie Cheng pats his head, to which Mu Lingyan tries to bat his hands away, smoothing down the stray strands. “Have fun, then.”

Mount Baifeng was a commonly used spot for night hunts, with ten towers that surrounded its base for audiences to watch in. Nie Cheng had hunted there in the past, though it had always been with Nie Mingjue. This time it was he and Nie Huaisang leading the sect, riding in on the horses they had acquired once they landed nearby.

This time the night hunt was being hosted by Lanling Jin; Nie Cheng tries not to wrinkle his nose when he hears the news, but it's a futile effort. Jin Guangyao is the one announcing the sects as they enter. Nie Cheng turns away from him, focusing instead on the other cultivators in their group.

Gusu Lan is announced first. Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen lead the way, posture straight as they lead their horses forward. They’re showered with flowers, the maidens up above tossing them nonstop. Lan Wangji stops for one of them, much to Nie Cheng’s surprise, catching it as it’s about to fall onto him. Following the direction the flower had come from reveals Wei Wuxian, waving up from the tower beside the maidens. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes: what an idiot. Doesn’t he know his sect is about to go up as well?

After Gusu Lan is Qinghe Nie. Jin Guangyao calls out their name; a strange feeling bubbles up in Nie Cheng’s chest after hearing their sect name come out of his mouth in such a detached tone. Nie Cheng rides in the front with his brother, taking in the cheers of the crowd. The noise grows louder as he turns to wave at each side, mostly coming from the men watching. Nie Cheng gets some flowers thrown at him, but not many; on the other hand, Nie Huaisang is practically covered in them. Nie-zongzhu was known for being quite elegant and polite, a master in the four arts, and— most importantly— much more gentle than his brother.

“Jealous?” Nie Huaisang teases, gesturing to the flowers still raining down on him. He catches on, lifting it up towards the maiden that had thrown it with a wink.

“More like worried you’re going to get trampled by a small creature,” Nie Cheng shoots back. Nie Huaisang lets out an affronted gasp, yanking on his reins to get his horse to speed up just a bit. Nie Cheng laughs, easily matching his pace.

Yunmeng Jiang is third. Wei Wuxian somehow manages to climb onto his horse on time, riding in the front. He catches a flower that Jiang Yanli throws toward him, eagerly waving to his shijie. Both his sword and his dizi hang from his side, a clear indication that he was to use all his available resources for the night hunt. Lanling Jin, as the host, is last of the four sects to be announced; Nie Cheng tunes them out, uninterested.

The rest of the sects files in after the four great sects. Nie Cheng watches as Yu Jiaxin also gets showered with flowers, despite being female. He wonders if it were men throwing them, or if she had her own female admirers. She accepts them all graciously, looking poised atop her own mare. So different was Yu-zongzhu from the Yu-shijie he knows, Nie Cheng marvels. It’s almost as if she switched souls.

As per tradition, they each take turns hitting a target to determine who gets the best entrances. Jin Zixuan shoots an easy bullseye in the center of the target while still riding his horse; he’s cheered on by the rest of his sect, and by his admirers from the audience towers. Jin Zixuan beams with pride, and nearby Wei Wuxian is moving his mouth, no doubt insulting the Jin heir in some way.

“Who can shoot better than my cousin?” Jin Zixun calls out, gesturing to Jin Zixuan. “Come try, I dare you!”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes, cupping his own hands over his mouth to shout back. “Who needs to try? As long as one does anything, they are better.”

“You do it, then!” Jin Zixun says, face flushed. Wei Wuxian grins, breaking apart from his group to approach Lan Wangji, who looks at him with half-guarded eyes, as if afraid of what he was about to do.

“Hey, Lan Zhan, lend me your forehead ribbon for a moment,” Wei Wuxian says, trying to tug on the end of the trailing ribbon. His fingers manage to brush against it before Lan Wangji steps away, his ears burning red.

“Ridiculous!” he hisses. Lan Xichen tries to step up, but Lan Wangji blocks him, electing instead to simply glare at Wei Wuxian, who stares back with a confused look.

“What a fool,” Nie Cheng sighs.

“You have to give him some credit for his audacity,” Nie Huaisang replies. Wei Wuxian, not getting what he wanted, simply shrugs and tugs off the ribbon wrapped around his wrist. He ties it around his eyes, now blindfolded, and grabs his bow.

The arrow cuts straight through the center of the target, hitting the wood with a solid thud. Nie Cheng claps alongside the rest of the cultivators, though he still thinks Wei Wuxian is one of the dumbest people he’s ever met. Who doesn’t know of the Lan sect’s forehead ribbon’s meaning? Seriously, Wei Wuxian studied at the Cloud Recesses, didn’t he? Or was that simply a living doll that impersonated Wei Wuxian?

Nevertheless, Yunmeng Jiang gets the most favorable entry into Baifeng Mountain. Jin Guangshan seems upset about it, but covers it with a easy smile.

“Be careful that Zixun doesn’t steal your prey,” he jokes.

“Oh.” Wei Wuxian offers him only a small smile, his tone calm yet confident. “He won’t.”

Nie Cheng doesn’t pay them much more attention, too focused on running into the mountain to catch his own prey. Nie Huaisang tags along: he can’t provide much as a spiritual cultivator on his own, but he can still hold his own again some of the weaker creatures, and when working with Nie Cheng, he could keep the beasts occupied while Nie Cheng dealt the finishing blows from behind.

“I want half of the beasts here,” Nie Huaisang says.

“Get it yourself,” Nie Cheng grumbles, even as he slits the neck of another creature. It lets out one last roar before collapsing onto the floor.

The two of them work well together, and work quick. They start clearing a path of slain beasts as they hunt around for more, Nie Cheng leading with his sword and Nie Huaisang behind him with a bow.The trees leave a dark shadow cast over the floor of the mountain, and Nie Cheng creeps through the shade, looking for his next target. He brushes past low-hanging branches and shrubs that poke at his robes; there might be some that are hidden in the lower areas. Nie Huaisang searches the skies, his arrow notched and ready to fire at any moment. They hunt down some demons and monsters, even catching a few ghouls, though they’re few and far between. They must not be all too common today. Nie Cheng sighs; he rather enjoyed catching ghouls, and they made for good hunt prizes to display.

After catching a few more demons and beasts, Nie Cheng squats down in the ground beside Nie Huaisang, taking a short break to catch their breath before returning to hunting again.

“Do you think we’ve reached half yet?” Nie Huaisang asks. Nie Cheng shakes his head, standing up once more to stretch out his arms. He holds one out for Nie Huaisang to take, helping his brother up.

“If you really want half, then let’s keep going,” Nie Cheng says. Nie Huaisang hums, picking his weapons back up. They continue walking through the mountain woods, chasing after any creatures that they see. In one particularly memorable occasion, Nie Huaisang has to crawl up a tree while Nie Cheng pins the monster they were hunting against the bark with his arrow.

They’re sweaty, exhausted, and sore, but still the adrenaline sings in Nie Cheng’s body, flowing through his veins as if they were the blood that keeps him alive. Nie Cheng revels in being able to show off his skills, to prove that he could be successful with his own might. The blade was the best way to do just that.

Suddenly, a ringing sound echoes throughout, causing Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang to look up. In the distance, Nie Cheng doesn’t see any prey, but he does see something else: the glare of two swords, one familiar and one not.

“What’s going on?” Nie Huaisang asks. Nie Cheng shrugs, and together they make their way over, stepping into a clearing that reveals Jin Zixuan on one side and Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji on the other. Jiang Yanli stands behind her martial brother, a worried expression on her face as she peers past Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. She locks eyes with Nie Cheng, who gives her a small bow with his head.

“Shixiong, Ge,” he calls to his friends. “What’s this all about?”

“I’d like to know that as well,” another voice says. Jin-furen walks towards Jin Zixuan, followed by Jin Zixun and another man. Nie Cheng squints: he thinks that’s a sect leader, though he doesn’t know of what sect. Behind the three of them are other Jin followers, most likely Jin Zixun’s lackeys. Jin-furen narrows her eyes at her son, her tone harsh as she clicks her tongue.

“Muqin!” Jin Zixuan says. “Why did you bring so many people over? You don’t need to interfere with matters of the night hunt.”

“Please,” Jin-furen scoffs. “Stop being so full of yourself. Who told you that I’m here for you!?”

Nie Cheng stares back and forth at them, utterly confused. Jin-furen’s eyes scan the area before landing on Jiang Yanli, who had hidden herself behind Wei Wuxian. Jin-furen’s eyes soften, reaching out toward Jiang Yanli, who hesitantly takes her offered hand.

“A-Li, why are you there? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, thanking Jin-furen,” Jiang Yanli smiles.

Jin-furen looks unconvinced. Her tone is sharp as she narrows a glare at her son. “Did that little brat bully you again?”

“No,” Jiang Yanli hurries to clarify. She shakes her head, her hair swinging around behind on against her back.

“Jin Zixuan! Do you want to die!? What did you tell me before you came out here!?” Jin-furen scolds, ignoring Jiang Yanli’s words. Her lips are pulled thin into a furious scowl, fire burning in her eyes as she lectures her son.

“Muqin!” Jin Zixuan hisses, his face burning red.

“Should we leave?” Nie Cheng whispers to Nie Huaisang. They had better things to do than watch the Jins argue amongst themselves, after all.

Nie Huaisang shakes his head, clinging to Nie Cheng’s arm. “We can’t miss the show, can we? Things are just about to get good! And who will heroically recount this story if I’m not here?”

“You’re such a gossip,” Nie Cheng replies, shaking his head.

“Who cares about what your son told you before he came out, Jin-furen, it’ll be fine just as long as he and my shijie walk separate paths from now on,” Wei Wuxian says. He’s clearly upset, a dark scowl across his face as his shoulders are pulled up and tense.

“Wei Wuxian, my aunt is your senior!” Jin Zixun says. “Isn’t it a bit too presumptuous to speak to her like that!?”

“Who says I was speaking to her?” Wei Wuxian retorts. “It wasn’t directed at Jin-furen, but at your cousin. He’s regarded my shijie with such harsh words over and over again; if Yunmeng Jiang could tolerate it, then we don’t deserve to be called a great sect! How is that presumptuous?”

Jin Zixun sneers, crossing his arms. Every time he starts to speak, Nie Cheng gets a sour feeling in his gut, like he had just consumed something rotten. “How is it presumptuous? How is any part of you not presumptuous? Today, in such an important night hunt involving all the sects, you really showed off your abilities, didn't you? One-third of the prey have been taken by you! I bet you feel real pleased, don’t you?”

One-third? By Wei Wuxian alone?

Nie Cheng can’t help but let out a quiet hum of appreciation. Wei Wuxian was impressive, as always. No doubt he was using both his spiritual and resentful cultivation in sync to achieve such amazing results.

Lan Wangji’s head tilts, as if finally acknowledging Jin Zixun’s presence. “One-third of the prey?”

The people around Jin Zixun murmured amongst themselves. Jin Zixun himself pales, as if scared off by Lan Wangji. He and Wei Wuxian weren’t known to have the best chemistry together, but they were both friends with Nie Cheng, which had to account for something. Ultimately, however, Jin Zixun’s group seems to have decided that Lan Wangji’s sense of morality would outweigh any affections he had for Wei Wuxian. One of them pipes up: “Hanguang-jun, you don’t know yet, do you? A while ago, while we were hunting on Mount Baifeng, we searched for a long time and realized that not a single fierce corpse or resentful spirit was left on the grounds!”

That was another thing that had emerged from the Sunshot Campaign: Lan Wangji’s new title, Hanguang-jun. The junior disciples had taken to calling him such, as well as some of their own peers. Nie Cheng had tried it once, but did a bad job of restraining his laughter while doing so. Lan Wangji fixed a stare onto him unless Nie Cheng caved and just went back to calling him “Ge”.

The Jin cultivator takes Lan Wangji’s silence as approval and continues. “We only knew after we sent people to ask Lianfeng-Zun at the watch towers that less than an hour after the hunt began, a flute melody came from within Mount Baifeng, and then all the corpses and spirits walked straight into Yunmeng Jiang’s sword and surrendered themselves! Of the three main categories of prey on Mount Baifeng, only two are left! As for the ghouls, We Wuxian summoned all of them away.”

“You care about nothing for other people and only care about yourself,” Jin Zixun says. “Is this not presumptuous enough?”

Nie Cheng raises an eyebrow, raising his voice so he could be heard over Jin Zixun’s screeching. “Who says he took all the ghouls? My ge and I caught plenty of them. Don’t use Wei-shixiong’s abilities as an excuse for your incompetence and lack of talent. It’s not his fault that even an armless insect could perform better than you.”

“You—!” Jin Zixun sputters, stepping towards Nie Cheng. It looks like he’s about to lunge at Nie Cheng, but he gets blocked by Suibian, his chest bumping into the cold blade.

“Weren’t you the one who said that we could show our real abilities on Mount Baifeng?” Wei Wuxian says, laughing, pushing Jin Zixun away from Nie Cheng. “It’s not as if I tricked or schemed. You try it: play a few tunes on the dizi as well and see if any corpses or spirits would like to follow you.”

“With how much you disregard the rules, it’s not much better than tricks and schemes!” Jin Zixun cries.

“Jixun, that’s enough,” Jin-furen says. Jin Zixuan glares at Wei Wuxian, obviously frustrated.

“If you want to show me what real skill looks like, then please, be my guest,” Wei Wuxian tells him. “Take it out and win against me so I can see.”

“You think you’re so good because you know two forms of cultivation?” Jin Zixun sneers. “You think you’re better than us just because you need to cheat and use another cultivation method to cheat? It’s such a grand event, and yet you care nothing for courtesy.”

“Lan Zhan, I forgot to thank you for the sword you blocked for me earlier,” Wei Wuxian says, ignoring Jin Zixun’s words. He places a hand against Lan Wangji, patting the back of his shoulder. “Hanguang-jun is so strong! So dashing!”

Lan Wangji nods while Nie Cheng resists the urge to let out a loud gag. Gross.

“So it turns out that Yunmeng Jiang’s discipline is nothing more than this!” Jin Zixun says. Wei Wuxian looks over at him, slowly turning his head to face Jin Zixun.

“Discipline?” he asks Jin Zixun. “So what if I’m using two cultivation methods? Anyone can learn how to; my notes have been copied hundreds of times by other scholars. It’s just you that is too stupid to do anything to better yourself. And besides, even if you had both and I only had one, I would still rise unparalleled and leave you all staring at me from behind.”

The group of cultivators was speechless. Nie Cheng nearly scoffs: such arrogance as always, it was surprising that Wei Wuxian’s head hadn’t inflated and popped off his body from all the added weight.

“Wei Wuxian!” Jin Zixun shouts, his face red with anger. “You’re only the son of a servant— how dare you be so bold!”

“Jin Zixun!” Nie Cheng snaps. Wei Wuxian’s eyes shrink, hand twitching by his side. It seems like he’s about to reach for his sword. Lan Wangji freezes, giving Jin Zixun such a cold glare that it was surprisnging he hadn’t been frozen yet. “Have you no shame, to run your mouth like that?”

“Keep out of this, you manical bastard,” Jin Zixun sneers. “We wouldn’t want you freaking out and attacking anyone like you did to A-Yao again.”

“Watch your tone,” Nie Huaisang says, a carefully blank expression plastered in his eyes. He looks Jin Zixun straight in the eye, causing the man’s boastful look to falter for just a moment. “Who are you to speak to him like that?”

“He’s just an unwanted orphan,” Jin Zixun says. “Why don’t you just go and watch all your sect mates die again, Nie Wanyin?”

Nie Cheng’s face flushes, white anger burning in his chest. He glares at Jin Zixun, fists clenched by his side but not doing anything. It wouldn’t be a good look for the sect if he attacked the hosting sect, and besides, all it would really do is prove Jin Zixun right. Thus, Nie Cheng can’t do anything but helplessly stare, hyperaware of the eyes on him. Nie Huaisang, evidently, did not share the same sentiment.

With the snap of his fingers, two Nie disciples drop down from the trees, knocking down the Jin disciples surrounding Jin Zixun to grab him by the arms, pinning him in place. Jin Zixun struggles, but can’t move.

“Don’t forget to watch your back!” Nie Huaisang tells him with a cheerful tone. He leans in, smiling at Jin Zixun, though his eyes are still blank. “Or you’ll be the one killed instead.”

“Nie Huaisang, what’s the meaning of this!?” Jin Zixuan shouts, still trying to break free. He twists and turns his neck around, trying to butt at the Nie disciples. Nie Cheng recognizes them; they were always trailing after Nie Huaisang. One of them used to take classes with him. Nie Cheng always assumed Nie Huaisang had just been using them to run errands for him, like a glorified secretary.

“Just some friendly advice,” Nie Huaisang replies. Another snap, and Jin Zixun gets dropped onto the ground, the Nie disciples dissapearing into the crowd and into the woods just as quickly as they came. Nie Huaisang stands in the place he’s always been, untouched. “And that’s Nie-zongzhu to you. If you want to go around calling others presumptuous, you’d be better to watch your own words first. Such disrespect, you wouldn’t want to go around offending an entire sect, would you? Not when we housed your precious A-Yao for you. Apologize to my brother, or I’ll make you regret not listening to my advice.”

“Apologies, Nie-gongzi,” Jin Zixun murmurs with a glare, stumbling back up onto his feet. He latches his focus back onto Wei Wuxian; Nie Cheng obviously hadn’t been his intended target. The less people he had to upset, the better. It was Wei Wuxian he had qualms with, after all. “Though I can’t say I respect him all that much after hearing about how adamantly he defends Wei Wuxian, of all people. I guess it must be fun playing around with the son of a servant if you’re also a bastard.”

Wei Wuxian’s face darkens, and instead of reaching for his sword, this time his hand closes around Chengqing.

“A-Xian!”

“...Shijie?”

“A-Xian, come stand behind me,” Jiang Yanli says, waving her hand at him.

“A-Li, don’t intervene in their business,” Jin-furen says. Jiang Yanli doesn’t heed her warning, instead giving the madam an apologetic smile before placing a hand on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and standing in front of him, blocking him from Jin Zixun.

“Jin-gongzi, from what you said, it was A-Xian who claimed a third of the prey on Mount Baifeng all for himself; it defied the rules and he was too bold. I… I haven’t heard of anything like this either. It truly must’ve troubled everyone here. I apologize to you in place of him.” Jiang Yanli bows, lowering her head toward Jin Zixun.

“Shijie!” Wei Wuxian cries, nearly in sync with Nie Cheng’s own disbelief. Surely she wasn’t going to take the Jins’ side?

Typical, his brain whispers to him. Your jiejie was always like that, never able to properly defend you, always staying silent when you needed her to speak up. You’ve just got yourself, don’t you know?

Nie Cheng wrinkles his nose, lifting up his hand to wave it around his face, as if batting away a fly from the air. He probably looked insane. Nie Cheng didn’t have a sister; the closest thing would be Yu Jiaxin or Mu Antian, and both had an issue with being too vocal with their thoughts. Not to mention that Mu Antian was, well, dead.

Jin Zixun chuckles, looking all too pleased with himself. “Jiang-guniang, you really are kind and understanding. What your shidi said was extremely unbefitting, and indeed caused us much trouble. But since you do recognize that it was unbefitting, then for Jiang-guniang and Jiang-zongzhu’s sake, an apology won’t be needed. Yunmeng Jiang and Lanling Jin are as close as brothers, anyways.”

Weak. Spineless. What good was an older sibling if they couldn’t protect their younger sibling? All they do is leave you to cry and hurt and suffer.

Nie Cheng sneezes, rubbing his nose.

Jiang Yanli straightens up, continuing to speak. “However, even if I haven’t participated in a night hunt before, there’s one thing that I know for sure: for all of the hunts that have happened before, I’ve never heard of a single rule that prohibits someone from hunting too much prey. You said A-Xian defied the rules-- which exact rule did he defy?”

Jin Zixun freezes, his cocky smile all but sliding off. Wei Wuxian raises a fist up to his mouth, covering his laugh.

“Jiang-guniang, that wouldn’t be the best way to put it,” someone says. It was the man who had walked in with Jin-furen and Jin Zixun, the one Nie Cheng had assumed was a sect leader of one sect or another. “Although some rules aren’t written out, everyone understands and follows them.”

“How much prey is in Mount Baifeng?” another onlooker cries out. “Is it even five hundred? How many people are there in the hunt? More than five thousand! We’re fighting for the prey to begin with. If he keeps so much prey to himself using such wicked means, what could the other people do?”

“Yeah! Or else I would’ve at least been able to get one.”

“But… it isn’t his fault that others can’t capture the prey,” Jiang Yanli replies. This time, it’s Nie Cheng’s turn to stifle his laughter. Even Nie Huaisang can’t help but smile. “Isn’t the hunt all about true strength? Even if the ghouls are gone, aren’t there also the other species still roaming around? Even if he didn’t keep one-third to himself, or even if he didn’t attend the hunt, those who can’t capture the prey will never be able to. Although some of the methods that A-Xian used are different, it’s still just an ability he cultivated. You can’t call it a crooked path just because others don’t have access to that third of the prey, can you?”

“Jiang-guniang is right,” Nie Cheng says. Nie Huaisang looks at him, but Nie Cheng simply elbows him to get him to stay quiet. They didn’t have the time to start up a conversation about Jiang Yanli, and certainly not here. “We’ve caught plenty of prey already, likely over fifty, if not over a hundred. How can you blame Wei-shixiong when it’s your own lack of skill holding you back? If you have no ability, just say you don’t. It’s worse to be both an idiot and a liar at the same time.”

“Besides, hunting is hunting, so why bring the matter of discipline to the table?” Jiang Yanli adds. “A-Xian is a disciple of Yunmeng Jiang. He grew up with me, and is as close as a brother to me. Calling him the ‘son of a servant’... I’m sorry but I won’t accept this.”

She looks Jin Zixun straight in the eye, raising her voice so everyone could hear. “And thus, I hope that Jin Zixun-gongzi would apologize to Wei Wuxian of Yunmeng Jiang!”

Jin Zixun is left speechless, and though there’s a dark expression on his face, there’s nothing he can say. Jiang Yanli continues to stare at him, refusing to break eye contact.

Jin-furen steps forward, taking Jiang Yanli’s hand into her own. “A-Li, why are you being so serious? It’s just a small matter. Don’t get so worked up.”

“Jin-furen, A-Xian is my younger brother,” Jiang Yanli says. “For him to be humiliated by others; this isn’t just a small matter to me.”

Oh.

Nie Cheng stares at Jiang Yanli with a newfound understanding. To claim Wei Wuxian as her younger brother, so easily and so earnestly, in front of everyone else. More than that, to actively defend him, to go against Jin Zixun and his cruelty. Perhaps that’s why he had been so bothered all this time. She had really grown up, Nie Cheng thinks. That, or she simply loved Wei Wuxian so much that she was able to step past her boundaries. What a brave woman.

…Why couldn’t she have done the same for him?

Nie Cheng swallows down the bitter taste in the back of his mouth. Forget it, the Jiangs weren’t his problem to deal with. He had already said too much and gotten himself into trouble by defending Wei Wuxian.

“Zixun, do you hear that?” Jin-furen sneers, narrowing her eyes at Jin Zixun. “Apologize!”

“What!?” Jin Zixun cries. Jin-furen seems to be growing more and more annoyed by the moment, and at any time soon it was like she was going to reach out and drag him down into an apology herself.

Suddenly, two sword glares alerted the cultivators to the others who had arrived. Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyo walk in side by side, taking in the scene in front of them.

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji greets. He ignores Jin Guangyao. Nie Cheng doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Wangji, why are you here as well?” Lan Xichen muses.

“I just wanted to listen in on some gossip,” Nie Huaisang whispers to Nie Cheng. “Why does it feel like all of my enemies have gathered in one place?”

“Including Wei-shixiong and Wangji-ge?” Nie Cheng whispers back.

“Of course,” Nie Huaisang sniffs. Nie Cheng snorts, quickly hardening his expression when he catches Jin Guangyao looking at them.

“Everyone, what happened here?” he asks, a polite smile on his face. “Is something the matter?”

“Still smiling?” Jin-furen scolds. “Such a big thing happened, and you’re still smiling! Just look at the hunt you organized, you good-for-nothing! Is something the matter-- can’t you see for yourself? Aren’t you supposed to be good at reading the atmosphere?”

Jin Guangyao retracts his smile, eyes scanning through the cultivators present. Nie Cheng refuses to meet his eyes, despite Jin Guangyao lingering on his form for a few more moments. At last, he turns to Jin Zixun instead, who is eager to vent.

“One third of the pray in the entire Mount Baifeng is gone!” Jin Zixun cries. “What are the five thousand people here going to hunt for!?”

“Lianfang-zun had already set about expanding the range of the hunting grounds,” Lan Xichen says. That was Jin Guangyao’s new title, gained after slaying Wen Ruohan and becoming Lan Xichen’s sworn brother. Personally, Nie Cheng thinks it was more respect than he deserved. “Please calm down, everyone.

“This hunt is a farce!” Jin Zixun says, throwing his arrow onto the ground. He laughs, sounding awfully bitter. “Nevermind. It’s fine if I don’t participate. I quit.”

“Zixun, it’ll soon be arranged,” Jin Guangyao tells him, trying to get Jin Zixun to calm down. “At most you’d have to wait an hour longer.”

Nie Cheng’s no longer interested in listening. He turns to Nie Huaisang, patting down his arms and shoulders. “You’re not injured, are you?”

“From what?” Nie Huaisang laughs. “No one dared to attack me.”

Nie Cheng looks up to find a commotion going on besides them: Jin Zixun was trying to leave, with Jin Guangyao trying to convince him to stay. What a mess. The Jins were so embarrassing sometimes, and they had no one to blame but themselves.

“Jin-furen, I really did make trouble for you,” Jiang Yanli apologizes.

Jin-furen waves her hand through the air, dismissing Jiang Yanli’s concerns. “You’ll never make trouble for your mother-in-law here. Scold that dumb brat however you want, it’s not like I care about him. If you’re still mad, I can help you beat him up.”

Sometimes Nie Cheng wonders if Jin-furen had originally been from the Yu sect. Then again, she was friends with his mother, so maybe Yu Ziyuan’s personality rubbed off on her. Or maybe they collectively enabled each other.

“There’s no need, no need,” Jiang Yanli says. “Then I’ll go back first?”

“To the towers?” Jin-furen asks. She eyes her son in distance, nearly glaring at Jin Zixuan from how hard she stared. “I’ll get Zixuan to walk us back.”

“That’s not necessary,” Jiang Yanli insists. “I’d like to have a few words with A-Xian. He can walk me back.”

“A young man and a young woman--,” Jin-furen frowns, looking Wei Wuxian up and down. “You two can’t stick together all the time if nobody else is present.”

“A-Xian is my younger brother,” Jiang Yanli says, once again repeating her past statements.

“I’ll go with them,” Nie Cheng offers. “Me and my ge.”

“Nie-zongzhu and Nie-gonzgi are both also young men,” Jin-furen tuts. “A-Li, please don’t be angry. Tell me what stupid thing that stubborn brat of mine did to you this time. I’ll tell him to make it up to you properly.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Jiang Yanli replies, shaking her head. “Jin-furen, don’t force him.”

“How could I force him? It’s not forced at all,” Jin-furen says.

Wei Wuxian clears his throat, lowering his head down to Jin-furen. “Excuse my absence, Jin-furen.”

He tries to leave with Jiang Yanli, but her hand gets caught by Jin-furen, who tries to get her to stay. As they’re trying to leave, Jin Zixuan runs up to the three of them. “Jiang-guniang!”

Wei Wuxian ignores him, pretending as if only the air had spoken. “Shijie, quickly, let’s go.”

“That’s not it, Jiang-guniang!” Jin Zixuan cries out. Wei Wuxian helplessly turns around, unable to ignore Jin Zixuan any longer. Even Jin Zixun and his group give their attention to Jin Zixuan. The Jin heir took a few steps toward Jiang Yanli, but falters. He sucks in a deep breath, fists clenched by his side.

“It wasn’t my mother!” he says, nearly shouting out the words. “It wasn’t her intention! I’m not forced, I’m not being forced at all! It was me! Myself! I was the one who wanted you to come!”

There is a still silence that echoes through the clearing after Jin Zixuan speaks. His cheeks flush red suddenly, and Jin Zixuan staggers back, stumbling into a tree trunk. He stares off into the distance for a few moments before suddenly straightening up with sharp, jerky motions, and running off. Nie Cheng watches his silhouette grow smaller and smaller before finally disappearing into the woods.

Idiot, he thinks, half-heartedly watching as Jin-furen shouts and starts to chase after her son. They’re all idiots. Maybe it was genetic.

“The hell is he doing?” Wei Wuxian asks. Nie Cheng would also like to know. “Shijie, let’s go.”

Jiang Yanli nods after a short pause. Wei Wuxian waves at them before gesturing his shijie forward. “Lan Zhan, Nie Cheng, Huaisang, I’m going. Let’s catch up later.”

“Bye, Wei-xiong!” Nie Huaisang calls out, waving back. Lan Wangji simply nods in response. As for Nie Cheng, he still feels like he’s in shock.

“What did I just witness?” he asks, watching from the corner of his eye as Jin Zixun and his men fly off into the air, and the rest of the cultivators start to scatter as well. That one sect leader starts spouting off some nonsense as he tramples back into the woods.

“Told you we should’ve stayed,” Nie Huaisang says. “Such excitement!”

Too much excitement, if you asked Nie Cheng. Then again, his brother was always one for a good story, and what had happened definitely seemed like it would fit right in with the tomfoolery of the plays Nie Huaisang liked to watch.

“This really is…” Jin Guangyao smiles, wiping sweat off his face. He seemed exhausted after trying to drag Jin Zixun into stayed, though his skin still looked soft and delicate.

“Today’s matter was not your fault,” Lan Xicheng says, patting his shoulder. He uses such a comforting tone with Jin Guangyao; Nie Cheng wonders if even Lan Wangji had heard it before. He looks at the other Twin Jade, who notices his attention and looks back, raising an eyebrow. Nie Cheng shrugs, situating himself neatly between Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji.

“Are your ears pink?” Nie Cheng asks Lan Wangji, leaning in to examine his face. Sure enough, the tips of Lan Wangji’s ears had been tinted a faint pink, evidence of a past flush. “What happened, Ge?”

Lan Wangji is silent, choosing instead to turn away and look at his brother instead. Nie Cheng raises his eyebrows: something utterly embarrassing, then. He’ll have to pry it out of Lan Wangji later on.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to fix this in even two hours,” Jin Guangyao sighs, rubbing the sides of his head. He used to get awful migraines; Nie Cheng would have him sit on Nie Cheng’s bed, leaning against the wall as Nie Cheng massaged his head for him. Those moments were always filled with a quiet, domestic bliss. Nie Cheng thought he might want to live forever in those times. They don’t exist anymore, for obivous reasons.

“Why is that?” Lan Xichen asks.

“In reality, not only did Wei-gongzi keep a third of the prey to himself, the Nie sect has also eliminated over half of the other prey as well,” Jin Guangyao says, eyelashes fluttering as he looks at Nie Huaisang and Nie Cheng. Nie Cheng stares at his forehead, at his nose, anywhere but his eyes, which seem to bore two holes into Nie Cheng’s own face. “Nie-zongzhu and Wanyin in particular caught about one fifth of the total prey. My congratulations, you two.”

“I suppose we went a bit overboard,” Nie Huaisang laughs. “You’ll have to forgive my sect members, they were just so eager to be on another night hunt. Why, given more time, they would have taken all the rest of the prey!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Jin Guangyao smiles. Nie Cheng, no longer wishing to be part of this interaction, clears his throat. He reaches toward Lan Wangji, tugging on his robes.

“Let’s get going as well,” he says. Lan Wangji nods, finally sheathing Bichen. Nie Cheng looks at the two sworn brothers, giving them a bow. “We’ll leave first, then.”

He doesn’t wait for their response, instead taking Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang and following after the path that Wei Wuxian took with Jiang Yanli. Nie Cheng keeps his head turned to the front, refusing to let his neck turn. And yet, he can still feel the prodding gaze of Jin Guangyao, watching even as the distance between them grows longer and longer.

- - - -

“You caught how much!?” Yu Jiaxin cries, standing up from her chair. She bows to the other guests who turned their heads at her outburst, muttering quick apologies under her breath before sitting back down. “No wonder I was only able to catch a few!”

“How many, Shijie?” Nie Cheng asks.

“Only around thirty or so,” Yu Jiaxin says, waving her hand through the air. “But then these Jin boys started tagging along and trying to steal my kills, so I had to stop to chase them off.”

“It’s still more than what Jin Zixun and his group caught,” Wei Wuxian snorts, taking a sip of his tea. They were seated in a slow restaurant that the other cultivators hadn’t gotten to yet, tucked in a quiet corner that allowed them to catch up. Nie Cheng is squished between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. Besides Wei Wuxian is Nie Huaisang, and Yu Jiaxin got an entire row to herself. It almost looked as if she was their school teacher lecturing them.

“How many did he catch?” Yu Jiaxin asks. Wei Wuxian holds his hand up, curling his fingers down to form a zero. Yu Jiaxin laughs, picking up one of the spiced peanuts to throw into her mouth. “Serves him right.”

She crunches down on the peanut before coughing, hand flailing around for her tea before drinking it all down in one gulp. “Spicy! What did you order, Wei Wuxian!?”

“I thought they were mild,” Wei Wuxian frowns, grabbing a handful to shove into his mouth. Yu Jiaxin side eyes him with a disgusted look, her lip curling up as she flags down a waiter to order more food. Nie Cheng takes one himself, flicking out his tongue to try out the taste before wrinkling his nose. Gross. He pops it into his mouth before immediately swallowing a mouthful of tea to wash down the flavor. Nie Cheng grabs another one, and the exact same thing happens again.

“I was wondering why we weren’t finding that many ghouls,” Nie Huaisang muses. Nie Cheng reaches for another peanut, but gets his hand batted away by Lan Wangji, who gives him a disapproving frown. Nie Cheng sulks, retracting his hand; who knows, he might like it this time around! “Turns out it was because Wei-xiong took them all!”

“I gave you guys some as well!” Wei Wuxian protests.

“I want more next time,” Nie Cheng tells him, huffing. Wei Wuxian pats his head, ruffling Nie Cheng’s hair and messing with his neat bun.

“Chengcheng can have all the ghouls he wants,” Wei Wuxian says. “Just call me Gege.”

“In your dreams,” Nie Cheng snorts. The waiter comes back with a plate of sweet-smelling pastries, which Nie Cheng eagerly grabs at. The spicy peanuts get shoved in front of Wei Wuxian, who eagerly takes them for himself. Nie Cheng splits a mung bean pastry with Nie Huaisang and a red bean bun with Lan Wangji. He gets the bigger half in both cases, digging into his prizes.

“Ah, speaking of,” Wei Wuxian says, munching on his peanuts. There’s a smudge of bright red on the side of his mouth that he wipes away before continuing. “There was this meimei who greatly admired me! Ah, I wonder if she also tossed me a flower; I must have made such a sight!”

“A sight for sore eyes, you mean,” Yu Jiaxin grouses. “What did this maiden do to you?”

“She pressed me against a tree and kissed me,” Wei Wuxian grins. “Can you believe it? Quite strong, she was. I imagine it must be quite a formidable cultivator.”

“It wasn’t me,” Yu Jiaxin says, pressing her pointer finger against the wooden table. “I’d like to make that clear; even thinking of Wei Wuxian makes me want to cut off my mouth.”

“So mean, Jiejie,” Wei Wuxian pouts. “Besides, I already knew it wasn’t you. My mysterious admirer was much too tall to be you.”

“Wei Wuxian!”

The man in question simply laughs, leaning back to sling an arm around Nie Cheng. “What about you, Xiao Cheng? Got anyone in your sect who you know thinks I’m a dashing hero? I’m sure tales of my handomeness and genius have spread all the way to Qinghe Nie!”

“My sect mates have better taste than that,” Nie Cheng retorts. He slides his eyes over to look at Lan Wangji, who had been quiet this entire time: he can certainly think of one person who had bad enough taste to like Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji hands him half of his already halved dessert. Nie Cheng hums: was he being bribed into silence? He hadn’t told Wei Wuxian about Lan Wangji’s affections for him after all these years; he doesn’t need to be payed off to continue doing so.

“Lan Zhan’s never kissed anyone before, you know,” Wei Wuxian says, leaning in and lowering his tone as if telling them a secret. “He told me himself! I bumped into him after the maiden kissed me and ran away, and when I asked he said he’d never keen kissed. I guess you guys just can’t keep up with my and my experience after all, hm?”

“What experience?” Yu Jiaxin retorts. “The one kiss you’ve had?”

“I’ve had plenty of experience,” Wei Wuxian boasts, patting his chest. “I’m quite popular, after all!”

“That’s not true,” Yu Jiaxin says.

“That’s not true,” Nie Cheng echoes.

“Sorry, Wei-xiong, but that’s not true,” Nie Huaisang snorts. “I bet Wangji-xiong’s had more experience than you. He seems like the proactive type. Isn’t that right, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji glares at Nie Huaisang with such ferocity that Nie Cheng half expects Nie Huaisang to disintegrate into the air like old paper. Nie Huaisang simply smiles back at him, throwing Lan Wangji a sly wink.

“Hey, why are you calling him Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian says, elbowing Nie Huaisang. “You need to respect him!”

“I’ve known him longer than you have, and yet you can call him Lan Zhan but I can’t?” Nie Huaisang complains, rubbing the side of his stomach in faux-dramatics. “Isn’t that too hypocritical of you, Wei-xiong!?”

“That’s because what Lan Zhan and I have is special!” Wei Wuxian crows, grinning as he stretches across Nie Cheng to pat Lan Wangji on the back. His fingers brush against Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon again, much to the man’s chagrin.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Wangji hisses, scotting his chair further away from Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian sighs, draping himself across Nie Cheng to stretch his hand out toward Lan Wangji, flexing and relaxing his hand to make a “give me” gesture. Lan Wangji resolutely ignores him.

“I’m so sick of them,” Yu Jiaxin sighs.

“I think it’s sweet,” Nie Huaisang muses, smiling as he sips on his tea.

“That’s because you’re not sandwiched between them,” Nie Cheng grumbles, shoving Wei Wuxian off of him. At least they weren’t as bad as Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli, though it almost seemed as if no one could top them and their disastrous relationship. Honestly, Nie Cheng would be surprised if they were able to stay in the same room as each other without arguing, much less get engaged.

And for them to get married? Ha! Yeah right, as if that would ever happen.

Chapter Text

Though the Sunshot Campaign has ended, its touch can still be felt. In the smaller than normal population of sect members, in the decrease of available resources, in the way every cultivator above the age of seventeen never seemed to fully let their guard down as they slept. But, most of all, the Sunshot Campaign’s effects were felt in the remaining Wen sect.

The main branch was dead, that was for sure. Most of their sect members had also been killed in battle, or had defected or ran away from the cultivator world. Some, however, took a more neutral stance during the war, and lived in small, rural communities far away from Qishan Wen.

“They’re farmers!” Wei Wuxian had argued, a stubborn look on his face as he defended the Wens in front of the rest of the cultivation world. He ended up having been given control over the management of the remaining Wens, and had taken it upon himself to make sure they could properly be rehabilitated and reintegrated into society.

Personally, if it was up to Nie Cheng he would kill them all off just to make sure every loose end was tied up. Wei Wuxian was, and had always been, much kinder than Nie Cheng ever will be.

Fortunately for the Wens, he wasn’t solely in charge of making that decision. In fact, he had very little sway in the decision: Qinghe Nie was still too busy trying to recover from the losses it suffered during the war to intervene in anything, much less anything related to the Wens. Gusu Lan was the same; just a few days ago Nie Cheng had visited Lan Wangji to donate some scripts for their library. Though it had been rebuilt, it would still be some time before it would be properly restored to its former grandeur.

The other two great sects, Yunmeng Jiang and Lanling Jin, both came out of the war relatively unscathed. If anything, they had grown in power, now that there was one less great sect to fight with. Lanling Jin had originally been planned to be the one to house the Wens, but…

Well, they currently had their own issues to sort out.

“Did you hear that Jin Guangshan slept with a prostitute and died?” Mu Lingyan asks. Nie Cheng chokes on the tea he was drinking, setting the cup down with a bang as he rapidly coughs.

Mu Lingyan stands over him, hand still clutching onto the bag of good Nie Cheng had him go out and buy. Nie Cheng had brought him into town to try and foster some independence into the boy: lately he’s realized that Mu Lingyan keeps sticking by his side whenever they leave the sect, as if there was a very short string tying them together. Not even Nie Huaisang had been this sticky! With Mu Lingyan leaving in a few days to go to the Cloud Recesses, how was he going to fare without Nie Cheng by his side?

“Where did you hear that from, A-Ling?” Nie Cheng asks, gesturing for him to sit down.

“The aunties at the stalls were gossiping about it,” Mu Lingyan replies, peering up at Nie Cheng. “They said he invited a couple of prostitutes to his room and died in the middle of sleeping with them. Is that true, Gongzi? The aunties said he died ‘like a flea ridden dog, too busy acting like a whore to use his brain’.”

“Please don’t repeat what they say,” Nie Cheng sighs. Such foul words, someone as young as Mu Lingyan shouldn’t be using them. Forget the fact that Nie Cheng spoke the exact same way when he was his age, but that’s different. Mu Lingyan shrugs, reaching out to grab a mung bean pastry. “It’s true that Jin-zongzhu died.”

“From overexertion in bed?”

“Watch your tongue,” Nie Cheng scolds, tugging on Mu Lingyan’s ear. Mu Lingyan shoves the pastry into his mouth, blinking innocuously at Nie Cheng. Little brat. Nie Cheng pats his head, smoothing down the stray strands that pop up. “The rumor is that he died while with a prostitute.”

The rumors were true, in any case, but Mu Lingyan didn’t need to know that. The real rumor sweeping the cultivation world— that is, from the gossip he’s heard from Yu Jiaxin and Wei Wuxian— is that it was planned, so sudden and so humiliating that someone had to be out for Jin Guangshan’s blood.

Nie Huaisang brings it up at dinner as well, arms stretched across the table as he watches Nie Cheng eat, his own plate left abandoned by his side.

“Serves him right!” Nie Huaisang says. “At least now he can’t sire any more bastard children.”

Nie Cheng nods, wrinkling his nose. Jin Guangshan was one of the worst people he had the displeasure of meeting. He was glad the man was dead, for better or for worse.

Nie Huaisang watches his brother with half-lidded eyes, a careful expression hidden behind his long eyelashes. “What does Xiao Cheng think of Jin Guangshan’s assassin?”

“I have no clue who it could be,” Nie Cheng shrugs. “He has so many enemies, it could be any number of people. Good riddance, though: such scum doesn’t deserve to be alive for any longer than he has to.”

He brings his chopsticks up to his mouth, about to take a bite. Suddenly, Nie Cheng freezes, darting his eyes over to look at his brother. “Why? Should I be more concerned about Jin Guangshan’s assassin? Are they going to target us next? You’re not in any danger, are you?”

Nie Huaisang has the audacity to laugh at him, the idiot. He reaches over to clasp Nie Cheng’s arm, patting it. “Don’t worry. The assassin knows better than to touch me. After all, I have the fearsome General Nie looking after me!”

“Whatever,” Nie Cheng grumbles. “So what? You don’t think it’s something to worry about?”

“Xiao Cheng doesn’t need to waste another second thinking about it,” Nie Huisang says cheerfully. Too cheerfully, in Nie Cheng’s opinion. “You know what they say: dragons beget dragons, phoenixes beget phoenixes, but the mice’s son will only be able to make holes.”

“Is Jin Guangshan the dragon or the rat?” Nie Cheng snorts.

“Neither,” Nie Huaisang smiles. “He’s the coward.”

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” Nie Cheng asks. It certainly seems like something Nie Huaisang would want to do. If given the opportunity, Nie Cheng might’ve done it himself.

“I don’t care enough about Jin Guangshan to do that,” Nie Huaisang says with a flippant tone, waving a casual hand through the air. “If anything, it was Xiao Cheng’s fault. He was simply too handsome that Jin Guangshan couldn’t handle it anymore!”

Nie Cheng rolls his eyes. Forget it, the Jin family wasn’t any of his concern anyways.

So while Lanling Jin was dealing with a sudden shift in power, Yunmeng Jiang nabbed control of the Wens. Nie Cheng didn’t pay much attention to it, not when he was too busy managing his own sect. Thus, it all suddenly came crashing down on him once he was already standing in the midst of a bustling crowd.

“You said we were going out into town,” Nie Cheng tells Wei Wuxian, feeling his chest tighten up as he brushes his fingers over his sword grip. “You promised me a bag of lotus seeds.”

“This is town,” Wei Wuxian points out, spreading his arms to gesture to Lotus Pier. He drops a small bag into Nie Cheng hands, curling his fingers around it. “There! A snack for Xiao Cheng!”

“Snack!” a high-pitched voice choruses after him. A child darts around Wei Wuxian’s legs, grabbing onto his pants. He looks up at Nie Cheng with wide eyes. “Shushu, snack?”

“Not Shushu.” A quiet voice rings through Nie Cheng’s ears. Wen Ning kneels down to pick up the squirming child, holding him securely in his arms. “That’s Nie-gege. He’s the same age as your Wei-gege.”

“He’s even a little younger!” Wei Wuxian adds, wrapping his arms around Nie Cheng in a hug that seems more like an effort to restraint him and prevent him from running away. He finally looks at Nie Cheng, a trouble-making grin on his face. “Nie Cheng, ah, you remember Wen Ning, right? He’s babysitting his nephew, A-Yuan, but the little turnip is so enamoured with me that he insisted on tagging along when I said I was meeting with my dear Xiao Cheng!”

“Not little!” the child, A-Yuan, Wen Yuan, huffs. “Big!”

“Of course you are,” Wei Wuxian coos, pinching Wen Yuan’s cheek. “A-Yuan, come greet your new gege.”

“Hello,” Wen Yuan says, blinking up at Nie Cheng.

He tugs on Wen Ning’s robes, gripping onto them while leaning back. Wen Ning places a hand on Wen Yuan’s back, giving Nie Cheng a cautious smile. “Hello, Nie-gongzi.”

“Hello, Wen Qionglin,” Nie Cheng responds. Wei Wuxian always referred to the man was Wen Ning, had introduced him to Nie Cheng as such. It was only after Nie Cheng spotted an assignment on Lan Qiren’s desk that he had learned of the boy’s courtesy name.

Wen Ning looked just as he did when he was younger, with the same delicate touch to his face and black eyes that reminded Nie Cheng of two swirling voids. If actively looking for it, Nie Cheng can spot the similarities between Wen Ning and Wen Yuan: their eyebrows pointed the same way at the tips, the bridges of their noses were long and slender, and Wen Yuan quite literally mimicked Wen Ning’s movements, ducking his head down when his uncle bowed at Nie Cheng.

“I’ll take him from you, Wen Ning!” Wei Wuxian says, cheerfully scooping Wen Yuan out of Wen Ning’s arms. He tosses Wen Yuan into air, catching him as Wen Yuan lets out a squeal of delight. Wei Wuxian’s laughter blends with Wen Yuan’s voice, an air of joy surrounding the two of them.

“A-Yuan’s always excited when Wei-gongzi visits,” Wen Ning tells him. Nie Cheng nearly jumps back once he realizes how close the two of them had gotten. Wen Ning doesn’t notice, too busy looking up ahead. “Luckily, Wei-gongzi visits rather frequently, otherwise we’d have an upset child in our hands.”

“Well, Wei-shixiong was always good at making people either love or hate him,” Nie Cheng notes with a wry tone. “It doesn’t seem like that far of a stretch for him to combine the two. Wangji-ge certainly does both, though he usually leans more on the dislike side.”

He drifts off into silence after that, not quite knowing what to say. How does one make conversation with the family who ruined yours? Nie Cheng already isn’t good at socializing with others, not to mention that half his attention was currently taken away and being used to raise his guard, ready to move in case anything happened.

Lotus Pier thrives under the afternoon sun; one could almost pretend there wasn’t a war that had just occurred. So was the blessing of being looked over, of not being a direct target of the sect who walked a path of flames. Nie Cheng takes in the sight of children happily running through the street, of the vendors calling out to him and trying to peddle their goods, the smell of clean air and fragrant lotuses.

Lotus Pier was beautiful, and Nie Cheng desperately wishes he were home.

“How has Nie-gongzi been?” Wen Ning asks. “Er, I heard you recently met with Hanguang-jun. You two are still friends?”

“Yeah.” Nie Cheng clears his throat, rubbing his thumb against the side of his neck. “Uh, yeah, Wangji-ge’s been good. He hangs around Wei-shixiong a lot, actually, so maybe he’s gone insane.”

“He does visit often with Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning smiles. “He usually follows him around while he checks up on the families in town. A-Yuan calls him ‘Rich-gege.”

“That’s because Wangji-ge keeps paying for all of Wei-shixiong’s purchases,” Nie Cheng replies, rolling his eyes. The two of them were such a weird pair. “How about you? Um, are you still practicing archery? You were quite good at the contest a few years back.”

“You remember that?” Wen Ning asks, a surprised look on his face. He’s pleased, however, face lighting up with a pink glow. He got flustered easily, Nie Cheng notes. It’s a wonder he’s managed to survive being by Wei Wuxian’s side with that sort of personality. “I pick up my bow sometimes, usually to hunt for some animals near the outskirts of the woods. I hadn’t practiced for a while though… Jie was scared that if they remembered my abilities, I would be sent to fight. Um, I usually just farm now, and take care of A-Yuan.”

“That’s noble of you,” Nie Cheng says. He stops to examine an assortment of painted fans before shaking his head; he wouldn’t continue to fuel Nie Huaisang’s obsession. Pushing himself forward, he tries to speed up to catch up to Wei Wuxian and Wen Yuan while still making sure Wen Ning could catch up. “You can always return to archery if you like it, now. Talent and practice don’t just disappear after a few years of disuse.”

What are you doing!?, Nie Cheng’s mind screams at him. A Wen who couldn’t fight was less of a danger to him. So why was Nie Cheng encouraging him to do the exact opposite?

“I might consider it,” Wen Ning says. “Thank you, Gongzi. You’re just as kind as your brother. Er, Nie-zongzhu-- Nie Mingjue.”

“...My da-ge? You’ve met him before?” Nie Cheng asks.

“I saw him once when we were residing at the Cloud Recesses,” Wen Ning says. “But we properly met a few years later. Well, it wasn’t really a formal meeting; he was walking through town and caught some of the members of my sect talking to me.”

Bullying me, are the unsaid words that Nie Cheng hears.

“He scared them off,” Wen Ning continues, his voice soft and quiet. “They never approached me afterward. I think they were scared of him. But Nie-zongzhu, he was kind to me. He could have killed me. He should’ve.”

“What did he do instead?”

“He bought me a meat bun and rejoined his group,” Wen Ning replies, cupping his hands together as if he could still capture the steam coming off from the aforementioned food. “Nie-zongzhu treated me well, even as I was an enemy to his family and people. I’m… my condolences about his passing, Gongzi.”

“It’s alright,” Nie Cheng says, taking in a deep breath. He loves hearing stories about Nie Mingjue, especially after he died. It was comforting to know that his brother would continue to live on in people’s memories, through the tales they passed on to their children, a legend of might and love. Nie Mingjue’s legacy was carried not only through his kin, but through the people whose lives he had touched, leaving his mark on the world.

“My brother was always kind,” Nie Cheng tells Wen Ning. “He was good, the best person I knew. I’m not like him.”

“I think Nie-gongzi is kind in his own way,” Wen Ning says. Nie Cheng shrugs, letting his shoulders drop and his arms hang loose at his side.

“Perhaps,” he says, not knowing how else to respond. Nie Cheng feels guilty, in a way, for having Wen Ning admire him as such when Nie Cheng still had his own suspicions against the man. They spend the rest of the time in silence, walking together and trailing behind Wei Wuxian and A-Yuan.

At least Wei Wuxian was having fun. He ran around town with Wen Yuan on his back, dashing his way through the crowd like he was flying in the air. Wen Yuan, who eventually stumbles back to dash into Nie Cheng’s legs, seems pretty happy as well.

“Buy toy!” Wen Yuan beams. Nie Cheng stares down at the child, eyebrows raised. He continues to babble out some words, mostly indecipherable to Nie Cheng, though he could understand some of them. “Paper butterfly, candy horse, lantern! Bunny lantern!”

“Ah, A-Yuan, you shouldn’t ask for so much,” Wen Ning frets. “Don’t bother Nie-gongzi.”

“It’s okay,” Nie Cheng says, kneeling down. He looks Wen Yuan in the eyes; they were big, the pupils particularly round and filled with the glint of youthful innocence. Nie Cheng places a hand on top of Wen Yuan’s head, ruffling his hair. “You’ll have to show me all the places you want to go, first. I don’t know this part of town particularly well.”

“Okay!” Wen Yuan agrees, immediately grabbing Nie Cheng’s hand. He drags Nie Cheng around, leading him from stall to stall. His hand was small and soft, untarnished by cuts or callouses, skin a blank slate for numerous futures. Would they be scarred like Nie Cheng’s, or smooth like Nie Huaisang’s? Wen Yuan would be able to choose, now that he wasn’t under the control of the Wens.

He would be part of the generation who grew up hearing of the Wen sect only through legends and cautionary tales, forever memorialized just as Nie Mingjue was.

“Like Rich-gege,” Wen Yuan tells him, his stomach full of snacks and his arms full of all the trinkets he pointed at for Nie Cheng to buy for him. “But Rich-gege says no sweets.”

“Whether or not it’s unhealthy for you is your uncle’s concern,” Nie Cheng says. Is this what it was like to take care of an extended family member? To have fun and simply leave the real responsibilities of raising a child to someone else? Nie Cheng certainly wouldn’t have let Mu Lingyan buy this many goods. He could be considered the boy’s guardian at this point, although Nie Cheng wasn’t truly that much older himself.

“Say thank you to Nie-gongzi, A-Yuan,” Wen Ning says. A-Yuan smiles, raising up one of his arms to offer Nie Cheng a small paper butterfly attached to a stick.

“Thank you!” he says. “Nie-gege have!”

“That’s…kind of you,” Nie Cheng says, taking the paper butterfly from Wen Yuan’s hold. He rubs the delicate paper wings between his fingers, listening to the quiet crinkle. “Thank you, A-Yuan.”

“Nie Cheng is so generous with his money,” Wei Wuxian says, leaning over to look at Wen Yuan’s gift. Nie Cheng clutches it close to his chest, shooing off Wei Wuxian’s advancements. “Why don’t you buy me something as well, Xiao Cheng? Cheng-er, ah, my wallet’s so empty; spare a few coins for your favorite shixiong, won’t you?”

“In your dreams,” Nie Cheng snorts, shoving Wei Wuxian away. Wei Wuxian groans, rubbing the place on his arm where Nie Cheng hit him.

“Such coldness,” he mourns. In the distance, the ringing of a bell can be heard, something that Wei Wuxian raises his head to listen to. “Ah, it’s almost dinnertime. Why don’t we stop here for the day? Do you have enough presents, A-Yuan?”

“Enough!” Wen Yuan confirms. Wen Ning helps him hold some of the items in his arms; what took Wen Yuan both his arms and hands to hold Wen Ning can do with just his right hand. “Shushu, turnip cake?”

“Maybe tomorrow morning,” Wen Ning says. He holds onto Wen Yuan’s hand, making sure the child isn’t able to wander off. “Wei-gongzi, Nie-gongzi, we’ll be leaving first, then. Thank you for spending the day with A-Yuan and I.”

“Get home safely!” Wei Wuxian waves. Nie Cheng nods, ducking his head to bow at Wen Ning.

“They live in a town nearby,” Wei Wuxian explains to Nie Cheng as they watch Wen Ning and Wen Yuan walk away. “It’s really more of a village; all the Wens from their settlement moved there. It means I have less of a distance to travel when I go to check in on them, and they can use the surrounding land to grow food for themselves and to sell. Since they’re living close by, they can grow crops and herbs that Yunemng Jiang needs as well, and we can give them some business in return. I’ll take you there sometime.”

Nie Cheng lets out a noncommittal hum. Wei Wuxian laughs, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “But for now, it’s time to get Xiao Cheng some food to eat! What about something spicy?”

“I hate spicy food,” Nie Cheng says, wrinkling his nose. “In particular your definition of spicy food. Please don’t try to share your meal with me this time, or I really will die.”

Thankfully, Wei Wuxian takes him to a restaurant that serves food for people with normal tastes. Nie Cheng digs in: he wasn’t all too familiar with Yunmeng cuisine, so everything tasted new to him. It was good, but he still preferred the smokier flavors from up north.

After dinner, Wei Wuxian takes him back to Yunmeng Jiang, where Nie Cheng was staying for the night. They each grab a bottle of wine and somehow end up laying across a rooftop, watching the night sky,

“That’s my favorite star,” Nie Cheng says, lifting up an arm to point at the twinkling lights. “The North Star.”

“Why?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“Every time I feel lost, I can follow it home,” Nie Cheng says. “I always know where to find it, no matter where I am. It’s always with me and looking after me.”

“How romantic,” Wei Wuxian teases. Nie Cheng snorts, taking a sip of his wine. It slides down his throat, leaving a minor buzzing feeling.

He couldn’t tell Wei Wuxian the exact details, but Nie Cheng meant what he said. Perhaps it was fate or destiny that he chose to follow the stars that night, but no matter what it was, Nie Cheng was just grateful that it had occurred.

“What did you think of today?” Wei Wuxian asks. Nie Cheng suddenly sits up, reaching out to hit Wei Wuxian on the arm.

“You lied to me!” he accuses. “You said you wanted to meet up, not that you were going to bring your friends along!”

“You wouldn’t have agreed if I had told you,” Wei Wuxian protests, rolling away from Nie Cheng’s grasp. “But you had a good time, right? I saw you talking to Wen Ning.”

“We didn’t talk that much,” Nie Cheng says. Indeed, they spoke for a short time at the beginning, but after that Nie Cheng had been more preoccupied with Wen Yuan. “Why does Wen Qionglin have to take care of his nephew?”

“It’s his cousin’s son,” Wei Wuxian answers. “He and the mother both passed during the war, so A-Yuan lives with Wen Ning and his grandmother. And Wen Qing, but she’s usually away more often. I have her working in the clinics nearby.”

“I see,” Nie Cheng murmurs.

“Did it help?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Do you feel any better?”

Nie Cheng sighs, laying down on his back. He thinks of Wen Ning and his gentle words, of Wen Yuan and the easy trust he gave to NIe Cheng. A child made an orphan because of the war, just as Mu Lingyan had. What had made them so different, in the end, that they would draw their blades against each other?

“No,” Nie Cheng replies softly. Hate had already sunken its claws into him, corrupted him beyond measure. Nie Cheng would spend the rest of his life paranoid and distrustful of the Wens.

“But,” he continues. “I’m glad they’re okay. They’re just farmers.”

“Just farmers,” Wei Wuxian echoes. He smiles, turning his head towards Nie Cheng. “Thank you, Nie Cheng.”

“Whatever,” Nie Cheng grumbles. “It’s not like I did much.”

He tries to take another sip of wine only to find his empty. Wei Wuxian passes him his bottle, to which Nie Cheng pours a small stream into his mouth before passing it back. He presses his head back into the roof, allowing himself to get lost in the vast night sky. The dark of it reminded him of Wen Ning’s eyes.

There’s a moment of quiet reflection, or perhaps Wei Wuxian had simply drifted off. Whatever it was, Nie Cheng relishes in the small moment of peace he had before Wei Wuxian decided to start talking once more.

“Do you think we could’ve been brothers?” Wei Wuxian asks. Nie Cheng nearly slides off the roof from surprise.

“Why?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs, not bothering to sit up. “Just thinking. In another life, perhaps, we could have been real brothers. I would have liked that.”

“Nie Wuxian,” Nie Cheng says, testing the name out on his tongue. It leaves a strange aftertaste.

“Wei Cheng,” Wei Wuxian shoots back.

Nie Cheng hums. Such weird combinations, not quite foreign but not quite familiar either. It was like listening to another language over and over again: it would never fit quite as well as one’s mother tongue, but it still felt comfortable.

Jiang Wuxian, his mind whispers to him. Nie Cheng snorts: Jiang Fengmian would’ve liked that.

“Would we be good brothers?” Nie Cheng asks.

“Obviously,” Wei Wuxian says. “I’d be the best brother you ever had. Er, don’t tell Huaisang I said that. Better to let him and Lan Zhan argue it out while I steal you away.”

“As if,” Nie Cheng laughs. “Yu-shijie would whisk me away before you could.”

“So many enemies to deal with,” Wei Wuxian sighs. He looks over at Nie Cheng, eyes crinkling up into crescent moons as he smiles. He stretches his arm towards Nie Cheng, holding it out to him, beckoning. “Nie Cheng, in our next life let’s be brothers, okay?”

Nie Cheng stares at him, takes in the curves of his face and the steady rise and fall of his chest. The air rustled around them, running its fingers through his loose hair. At last, he lifts his hand, pressing it against Wei Wuxian’s to clasp their hands together.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Let’s be brothers one day, Shixiong.”

“I’m glad,” Wei Wuxian laughs. “I look forward to it.”

He sighs in contentment, shifting his shoulders around in a more comfortable position. Suddenly, Wei Wuxian’s eyes fly open, his body jerking forward as he scrambles to grab Nie Cheng’s shoulders. Nie Cheng leans his head back, shooting Wei Wuxian a half-curious, half-disgusted stare.

“Speaking of brothers,” Wei Wuxian breathes out. “You’ll never believe what happened!”

“You’re acting like someone died,” Nie Cheng says. “Just spit it out, I’m bad at guessing.”

“I may as well have died!” Wei Wuxian groans. “Do you remember my shijie and that dumb peacock? Remember how they hate each other and broke off their engagement? Well, it turns out they’re getting married!”

“What!?” Nie Cheng cries. Wei Wuxian nods in agreement as if approving of Nie Cheng’s reaction.

“You’re invited, of course,” Wei Wuxian says. His tone borders on desperation, fingers digging into Nie Cheng’s shoulders as he shales him back and forth. “Please come, I can’t do this alone. I need someone to restrain me so I don’t kill the Peacock at his own wedding. His wedding to Shijie! Who can even believe it!?”

“Not me, that’s for sure,” Nie Cheng snorts.

This… was new. They would have to prepare a gift for the new couple, though that could be left to Nie Huaisang. As for Nie Cheng, it was looking like he would have to be on babysitting duty to look after Wei Wuxian. In all honestly, Nie Cheng doesn’t know if he’ll be able to do it alone.

This wedding better be worth it.

Chapter Text

Between the Flower Banquet and the current wedding, Nie Cheng felt as if he had visited Lanling Jin enough times for the rest of his life.

He pinches the top of his robe’s collar; the clothing wasn’t uncomfortable, per se, but the stitching and embroidery on it were so elaborate that Nie Cheng felt like he was walking around wearing a piece of porcelain that he was told not to break. It’s a good thing he wasn’t sect leader, since Nie Huaisang’s robes were somehow even fancier than his. Of course the two of them together didn’t add up to the grandeur of Jin Zixuan, though it was his wedding, so Nie Cheng will excuse him this once.

He really hopes this wedding doesn’t last any longer than it has to, however. Nie Cheng meant it when he said he had enough for a lifetime: Lanling Jin was filled to the brim with people he didn’t like, and being stuck in their home— surrounded by haughty gold and peonies— made his skin crawl. It felt like he was being the entire time throughout, like there was a pair of eyes that never left his side.

Nie Cheng himself watches the wedding procession with mild interest. He wasn’t particularly close with either of the newlyweds, having been invited out of politeness rather than any real friendship. Wei Wuxian had probably made sure he got an invite, but he still wasn’t the one getting married. Between the two who were, Nie Cheng was probably closer to Jiang Yanli, if only because of the fact that he absolutely despises the Jin clan. Well, that and… other factors.

In any case, Nie Cheng tilts his head a bit to the side to catch a better glimpse of Jiang Yanli. She was wearing a beautiful set of bright red robes, the gold bordering and embroidery elegantly complimenting the gold pins dangling from her bound up hair. Her normally pale cheek had been brushed with a soft pink color, and there was a glow around her that could only come from true joy. She looks just as beautiful as ever, a soft smile as she and Jin Zixuan perform their three bows.

Nie Cheng wishes her and her husband happiness. Really; perhaps a year ago he wouldn’t be able to say the same, but he’s grown since then. It also helps that he doesn’t particularly like Jin Zixuan all that much. If it were someone like Lan Xichen marrying Jiang Yanli instead, he might have had some quiet opposition to the arrangement.

Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan sit at the front where they receive their tea from the couple. Across from them is Jin-furen, fresh out of her mourning period. To be honest, she doesn’t seem too upset to be without her husband, graciously taking the offered tea from her son. Jin Zixuan’s vast network of extended family sits behind her, a sea of haughty brats and overzealous adults.

Nie Cheng wonders what it would be like to be part of the family marrying someone off. His mind flashes to life a picture of Nie Huaisang in crimson phoenix robes, complete with a scarlet fan for him to hold. Nie Cheng pinches his nose between his fingers to stop himself from making a face, lest it be misinterpreted as disgust for the actual couple.

Nie Huaisang can’t marry out. He’s a man, for one, and a sect leader as well. And besides, even if he wasn’t and was a cut sleeve, Nie Cheng would still make his brother’s partner marry into the family. Nie Huaisang won’t leave the family, not unless Nie Cheng was long dead. At least then Nie Huaisang wouldn’t be alone.

After the wedding is a huge celebration. There’s a multitude of dishes laid out for everyone, mostly from the Jin region, though Nie Cheng finds that the food tastes better than it usually does when he visits Lanling Jin. The smokier flavors match his usual palette more, like a vague reminder of home. There are dishes from the Yunmeng region as well, to honor the bride. They taste fine to Nie Cheng, though no doubt Wei Wuxian had a handful of choice words to say.

“This must be the event of the decade for the cultivation world!” Nie Cheng overhears someone muse.

“It’s Jin-zongzhu’s first marriage, and they need to re-establish power and hierarchy within the sect,” the person next to them laughs. “Not to mention that Jin-furen— er, Jin-zongzhu’s mother, that is— spoils him rotten. Of course it’s going to be grand!”

“I heard that Jin Guangyao organized it all for his brother,” the first person says. “If only my didi was half as competent as Jin-gongzi, then my father wouldn't be so worried all the time.”

“Then your father would simply start worrying more about you instead,” the other replies. “You should be grateful for your brother, he diverts all of your father’s stress onto himself!”

His own marriage would be quite lonely, Nie Cheng muses, since he has no father or mother. Perhaps it could be a private wedding so he could invite Yu Ziyuan to participate. Would she even want to, though? She hasn’t seemed to tire of him yet, though Nie Cheng rarely has the opportunity to speak to her privately.

Well, it was no matter, anyway. Based on Nie Cheng’s previous experiences, maybe it was better he stay single for the rest of his life, his only commitment to his brother and to the sect.

“Xiao Cheng!” a voice drawls out. Nie Cheng snaps out of his thoughts, looking up to see Wei Wuxian drag himself towards Nie Cheng. Lan Wangji and Yu Jiaxin trail behind him, at a much slower yet neater pace.

“Cheng Cheng, can you believe my shijie married that ugly peacock!?” Wei Wuxian cries, dropping down next to Nie Cheng and burying his head in his arms. “Cheng-er, my poor shijie now has to be sent to the den of the wolves!”

“What’s wrong with him?” Nie Cheng asks, scooting away from Wei Wuxian’s curled up form. He reluctantly stretches out an arm, tapping on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “Hey, Shixiong, are you alright?”

“What’s ever not wrong with him?” Yu Jiaxin sighs. She was dressed out in her full glamor, the Yu motif intertwined throughout her robes sleeves and her hair pinned up with her signature hair pins. They seem to creep up towards the sky, giving her a taller stature. Lan Wangji sits next to Wei Wuxian, pouring him a cup of tea.

“Wei Ying, drink it,” he says, pushing it towards Wei Wuxian.

“Lan Zhan always treats me so well,” Wei Wuxian laughs. He wraps his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck, leaning over to press their cheeks together. “My Lan er-gege knows best! Not like Mean-jiejie over here, always scolding me. Such a fierce expression on your face, how will you ever hunt monsters if you scare them off at first sight?”

“I’ll show you mean, you little brat,” Yu Jiaxin scowls, clicking her tongue. Nie Cheng decides to brave it and lean towards Wei Wuxian, pushing his head up with his hand.

“Are you drunk?” he asks Wei Wuxian, wrinkling his nose at the smell of wine. “Shixiong, how will you manage for the rest of the night? No wonder you were acting so weird.”

“Come on, drink the tea Lan Wangji gave you,” Yu Jiaxin urges. “You need to sober up before your uncle and aunt catch you.”

Wei Wuxian mumbles something under his breath before picking up the tea cup. He tilts his head back, drinking it all in one go. His throat bobs up and down as he swallows. Nie Cheng watches him before sighing: he’d really like to strangle Wei Wuxian’s neck right about now.

“Lan Zhan, give me more!” Wei Wuxian says, placing his cup down on the table with a bang. He rests his head against Lan Wangji’s shoulder, drawing circles on the table with his finger. “Won’t you help me? A-Ying is only five, after all! Ah, my shijie used to call me A-Ying, though I wasn’t five at the time. I called her ‘Jiang-jiejie’ until Yu-furen found out and put a stop to that. She really is like my sister, though, and now she’s leaving to go stay with that dumb peacock. He better treat her well.”

“Jin-zongzhu and Jin-furen will have a happy marriage,” Lan Wangji tells Wei Wuxian. The tips of his ears are blushed pink, much like Jiang Yanli’s had been. Nie Cheng wonders when that happened. Wei Wuxian’s doing probably, even if unknowingly. “Their marriage was a love match, and one earned after many tribulations.”

“I hope so,” Wei Wuxian sigh. “Family is important to Shijie; now it’s her and that peacock, but before it was her parents and me and— and A-Cheng. Ah, Jiang Cheng. I used to call him A-Cheng, before Yu-furen found out, because that’s what Shijie called him. A-Cheng, ah… Cheng Cheng, Cheng-er. Xiao Cheng...”

Wei Wuxian mumbles out his name, and from across the table Lan Wangji and Nie Cheng lock eyes in a collective panic. At least, Nie Cheng hopes Lan Wangji was panicking, because he certainly was.

“What are you talking about, Shixiong?” Nie Cheng asks, his tone careful and slow.

“I don’t know,” Wei Wuxian murmurs, staring into the empty tea cup. “I thought of him when we first met, I think. You two have the same character as your name.”

“I was named from a poem,” Nie Cheng says. “It must have been popular.”

“Wei Wuxian!” Yu Jiaxin, ever the savior, scolds. “Don’t compare Wanyin to the dead! It’s supposed to be a wedding!”

“I know,” Wei Wuxian grins loosely. The corners of his lips wobble, as if threatening to fall. “I just… miss him, on days like this. That’s all.”

He reaches out to pinch Nie Cheng’s cheeks, the right hold preventing Nie Cheng from backing away again. “Besides, Xiao Cheng is only Xiao Cheng. No one else could make such a grumpy face, after all!”

“Don’t call me that,” Nie Cheng scowls, shoving his hand in Wei Wuxian’s face.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says. “Come drink some tea.”

“Alright, alright,” Wei Wuxian agrees, letting go of Nie Cheng. He leans in close to Lan Wangji, resting his chin in his shoulder. “Hey Lan Zhan, has anyone ever called you A-Zhan before? Can I do that?”

“No.”

“Is that a no to the first question or to the second? Think hard about your answer, because it’s very important to me.”

“I’m leaving,” Yu Jiaxin groans. “Being near you three is bad for my health.”

“Even me, Shijie?” Nie Cheng asks.

“You two,” Yu Jiaxin amends, nodding her chin at Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. She pats Nie Cheng on the head, her index finger smoothing down a fly away strand. “Wanyin, let’s leave them alone and go give our blessings to the couple, okay?”

“Okay,” Nie Cheng nods, pushing himself up. It was a good thing Yu Jiaxin had suggested leaving, because he was fairly certain he didn’t want to be around for whatever was coming next. Call it a gut feeling, or having prior experience with Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, but nothing good was going to come out of their vicinity for the next few shichen, he just knew it.

Wei Wuxian waves them goodbye and immediately starts grabbing at Lan Wangji, trying to link their arms together. Lan Wangji, on the other hand, seems to be growing both more irritated and more pink by the moment. He clutches at the teacup as if contemplating whether or not to pour it over Wei Wuxian’s head, but eventually chooses instead to put it down on the table, giving him the ability to use both his hands to block Wei Wuxian’s advancements.

Nie Cheng sigh. See? Already he had been proven right.

- - - -

Nie Cheng strolls through the decorated halls, taking in the lavish sights arranged for the wedding. Yu Jiaxin had elected to stay behind and speak to Jiang Yanli for a bit longer, leaving Nie Cheng all alone.

Lanling was always too guady for Nie Cheng’s taste, but this time around it shone perfectly in its own beauty. Much like a prideful peacock, Nie Cheng muses. Perhaps the atmosphere of Lanling Jin had changed alongside the change in ownership. He’d know once the wedding decorations got taken down and the sect returned to its normal state of affairs, though Nie Cheng doesn’t plan on sticking around for that long. He has other, more important things to do, like visiting Mu Lingyan at the Cloud Recesses or helping with brother with the paperwork back home.

Nie Cheng stretches out his arms, groaning as he relaxes and lets the tension seep out. He rolls his shoulders back, and then his neck. He cranes his neck to one side, tilting his head up to come into direct eye contact with something he previously hadn’t noticed.

Near the corners of the ceilings, dangling above the around like wooden ornaments, were bouquets of orchids. Multitudes of the flower placed together, like groups of children hiding just out of sight. It wasn’t that they weren’t visible, but that Nie Cheng simply hadn’t payed attention to them before. But now that he had spotted one, he sees them all: near the doorways, wrapped around the railings, even hung from the walls in plain sight.

They brought a delicate touch of nature to the decor, a clear and bright feeling cutting through all the gold. Nie Cheng rubs his index finger and thumb against one of the orchid petals, marveling at its soft and cool touch.

“Xiao Cheng?”

“Ge?”

“There you are,” Nie Huaisang says, walking over to him. He’s holding a cup of wine in his hands that he offers to Nie Cheng, who shakes his head. He’s had enough of wine for tonight thanks to Wei Wuxian. “I had been wondering where you went.”

“I needed to get some air,” Nie Cheng replies. “How are you liking the wedding so far?”

“It’s very eleborate,” Nie Huaisang notes. “A lot of small details adding up to create a masterpiece. Oh, but I didn’t quite enjoy the stewed crabs they made.”

Nie Cheng laughs, elbowing Nie Huaisang’s side. “When I get married will you also plan me a wedding this eleborate?”

“Married?” Nie Huaisang says, raising an eyebrow. “Who said anything about you getting married? Xiao Cheng isn’t allowed to.”

“That’s what you said when I was younger,” Nie Cheng says.

“And you’re still younger,” Nie Huaisang replies. “I stand by what I said. You can’t marry until you’re at least as old as Lan Qiren.”

“Whatever,” Nie Cheng huffs. “Why are you here, anyway? Got tired of having to converse with all the other sect leaders?”

“At least I don’t have to listen to Jin Guangshan anymore!” Nie Huaisang says cheerfully and not at all in a quiet tone. Nie Cheng cranes his neck to scan the area for anyone else before letting out a snort.

“You can’t say things like that in his own home,” he tells Nie Huaisang.

“So?” Nie Huaisang replies. “I’ll shout it from the rooftops if I want to. Hey! Jin Guangshan is de—”

“Ge!” Nie Cheng hisses, leaping onto Nie Huaisang to cover his hand with his mouth. Nie Huaisang continues to make noise, though it’s now muffled. Nie Cheng tugs on his ear until he stops.

“So mean,” Nie Huaisang grumbles, rubbing his ear. “Is that how you treat your older brother? Where is your filial piety?”

“Wherever yours went when it fell down the cliff,” Nie Cheng replies. “Be nice to them, it’s their wedding day.”

“I suppose,” Nie Huaisang sighs. “It would be a shame if all their decorations went to waste.”

Nie Cheng hums, looking out into the distance. He raises an eyebrow, gesturing to the small space between two trees. A yellow blur starts between them, eventually settling on one of the bare branches. “Hey, isn’t that a golden canary? Didn’t you used to catch those when we were younger? It was the only hunting you would do.”

“And I did a great job at catching them,” Nie Huaisang sniffs. “Besides, I’ve moved into bigger prey now.”

“Yeah, right,” Nie Cheng snorts. “In case you forgot, I’m the one leading the night hunts for our sect. The ones you don’t go in.”

“What do you know?” Nie Huaisang replies, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He takes a sip of his wine, eyes carefully tracking the canary. “You know, to keep an animal in captivity you have to tame it, and if it still bites you just have to cut off its wings.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” Nie Cheng asks.

Nie Huaisang’s lip curls up, not quite a smile but something more akin to smirk. “Then you kill it.”

He turns around to face the inside of the building, raising his cup into the air, as if giving a toast. “Isn’t that right, Jin-gongzi?”

Nie Cheng turns back to lock eyes with Jin Guangyao, who is standing at the arched entrance. He holds Nie Cheng’s gaze for a moment longer than necessary before switching over to Nie Huaisang, a polite smile on his face that manages to look warm, yet distant. “Of course, Zongzhu.”

“Lovely wedding, by the way,” Nie Huaisang continues. “I heard you were the one who organized this for Jin-zongzhu?”

“Jin-zongzhu and Jin-furen assisted me in the details,” Jin Guangyao replies. “But they were also occupied with managing the transition of power with Jin-zongzhu, so I was entrusted with the task of planning the wedding.”

“You did a great job,” Nie Huaisang praises. “I especially like your taste in flora.”

“Well, it only helped express my wishes for Jin-zongzhu and Jin-furen,” Jin Guangyao smiles. His eyes flicker over to Nie Cheng’s face, as if searching for something. Nie Cheng hopes he doesn’t find it. “But thanking Zongzhu for the compliments. I hope you two enjoyed the wedding.”

“Of course,” Nie Huaisang laughs. “How could we not?”

“I’m glad,” Jin Guangyao says. He bows to Nie Huaisang and Nie Cheng, ducking down low. “If you’ll excuse me, now, I have other matters to attend to.”

“So busy as always,” Nie Huaisang replies, waving him off. “It’s no issue, Jin-gongzi. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

Once Jin Guangyao leaves, Nie Cheng leans in closer to Nie Huaisang, pressing their shoulders together. “You noticed the flowers as well?”

“I notice these sorts of things all the time, art is my talent,” Nie Huaisang says, jutting his chin up. “I’m more surprised Xiao Cheng took notice. Besides, how could I not? They might be commonly grown in the Jin region currently, but they originated from Qinghe Nie. Don’t I always see them blooming in our sect?”

“That’s true,” Nie Cheng murmurs. He reaches out to pick one of the orchids hanging from railing, cupping his hands together to cradle it in his palms.

Suddenly, his head snaps up to glare at Nie Huaisang.
“What do you mean by you’re ‘surprised I noticed’? I pay attention to details too!”

“Sure you do,” Nie Huaisang snorts. Nie Cheng clicks his tongue, throwing the orchid blossom at Nie Huaisang, who shrieks, flailing his arms around to try and catch it. He manages to, instead, trip over himself and nearly fall into the floor if it wasn’t for Nie Cheng catching him.

“You’re an idiot,” Nie Cheng tells his brother.

“You still love me,” Nie Huisang grins. In return, Nie Cheng lets go if him, laughing as Nie Huaisang topples onto the ground.

Serves him right!

Chapter Text

After the Jin’s wedding, Nie Cheng packs his bags and heads for Lotus Pier. It was just his luck that he wouldn’t be able to go home just yet, but Wei Wuxian had invited him over, and Nie Cheng couldn’t find it in himself to refuse.

Lotus Pier was beautiful as always, the air nearly brimming with life as disciples walked by and laughter drifted through the warm wind flying by. The sect always seemed especially put together whenever Nie Cheng visited, though to be fair he wasn’t here all that often. He wasn’t nearly as familiar with Lotus Pier as he is with the Unclean Realm in which he grew up in, or even the mountain peaks of the Cloud Recesses that he sped-walked through as a child and teenager. And yet it was still better than Carp Tower, no matter how many times Nie Cheng had been there recently. Lotus Pier was like a distant relative that occasionally showed up in Nie Cheng’s life, but enough so to be memorable. It was fitting, in a sort of way.

“It’s hot as always here,” Yu Jiaxin says, wrinkling her nose as she raises a hand up to shield her face from the sun. She and the Nie brothers are standing around the entrance to Lotus Pier waiting for Wei Wuxian to come pick them up.

Nie Cheng tugs on the collar of his robes, feeling the full effects of the heat Yu Jiaxin mentioned. The rays from the sky seemed to shine in a different way in Lotus Pier. Even looking at the light made Nie Cheng feel hot. Nie Huaisang keeps cool by fanning himself, directing the flow of air towards Nie Cheng with the flick of his wrist.

Thankfully, Nie Cheng can make out two figures approaching them from further in the sect. Wei Wuxian grins as he approaches them, spreading his arms out in greeting. Lan Wangji is right on his tail, ducking his head in a small bow of acknowledgment.

“My favorite people!” Wei Wuxian cries. “Welcome to Lotus Pier!”

“We’ve all been here before, Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang reminds him. Wei Wuxian waves a flippant hand through the air, uncaring.

“But it’s been so long since we’ve all been here together,” he says, nodding as if he had just proved a point. “It’s like a big reunion! Come, I’ll take you to Shushu and then get you settled in your rooms.”

“Lan Wangji, you came earlier than us?” Yu Jiaxin asks as they make their way to the Jiang’s reception hall. Lan Wangji nods, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Lan Zhan and I arrived together!” Wei Wuxian says, throwing an arm around Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian’s fingers skim across the surface of Lan Wangji’s bare neck before tucking themselves into the collar of his robes. Yu Jiaxin raises an eyebrow but says nothing else. Nie Huaisang snickers under his breath, muttering something from behind his fan. Nie Cheng tries to silently probe him on his strange behavior, but Nie Huaisang simply pats him on the shoulder. Rude: if he was going to be so sneaky about something, the least he could do was let Nie Cheng in on it as well!

Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan are both sitting on their thrones when Wei Wuxian leads them inside. They have just returned from the Jin’s wedding as well, though Yu Ziyuan still manages to look just as put together as ever. Her beauty was frozen in time, much like her daughter’s. If Jiang Yanli was like a benevolent goddess, then Yu Ziyuan was one made of ice and lightning, sharp, jagged edges that pierced through the mortals below her with unfeeling. At least she had never pretended to be kind. Nie Cheng could not praise much about her parenting, but he could at least say that.

“Ah, A-Xian’s friends have arrived!” Jiang Fengmian smiles. Jiang Yanli took after her father in that manner: always smiling, always trying to act neutral and appease all sides. It worked well enough most of the time, but when it failed, it failed spectacularly. “Come, sit and have a cup of tea with us.”

Nie Cheng settles beside Nie Huaisang, taking the opportunity to study Jiang Fengmian.

For someone who had given and then promptly destroyed Jiang Cheng’s life, he was awfully plain. Not like Yu Ziyuan with her blinding white robes and sharp eyes or Jiang Yanli with her delicate peacefulness that reminded Nie Cheng of still water. He was just… there. When Nie Cheng wasn’t being held up to the standards of Wei Wuxian, Jiang Fengmian could even be described as pleasant. He was certainly a good host and gave no indication that his family had broken apart piece by piece over the years. Or maybe he simply just didn’t care.

He looked just as youthful as he did all those years ago, from when Jiang Cheng was a child and when Nie Cheng had met him once again at the Cloud Recesses. Immortal in the pleased smile he had for Wei Wuxian, in the way he looks to his wife with a silent warning. Nie Cheng had no idea how he was now, a complete stranger, but his impression of Jiang Fengmian has long been seared into his brain, like a mark branded onto his skin.

Does he ever mourn, Nie Cheng wonders, for the son he once had? For the heir he threw away so easily, all for the boy of a woman he once loved? No wonder his mother was always so cross with Jiang Fengmian: he couldn’t even be bothered to think past his own emotions, to think of her reputation and the sect’s future. What did it matter now, anyways? Jiang Fengmian was all too happy to ignore Jiang Cheng when he was alive, and now that there wasn’t even a body to remember him by, Nie Cheng wouldn’t be surprised if he’s completely forgotten that he once had a son.

Nie Cheng’s not angry, not anymore. The feeling slips by him, and he finds he’s unable to muster up much of any regard for Jiang Fengmian. All that’s left from the dried-up skeleton of Jiang Cheng is the hollow echo of disappointment. Perhaps that’s all he was ever meant to be: Jiang Cheng was born a disappointment to his father, grew to become one to his mother, and ultimately left his legacy in the shadow of Nie Cheng’s mind, who could only express his feelings for the lost boy through a tired sigh.

At least Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli seem to be happy. It would’ve been a waste for Jiang Cheng to die from Jiang Fengmian’s neglect and for the children he cared for to also waste away.

What a pathetic man, Nie Cheng thinks, and that’s all he has to say on the matter.

“I hope you four enjoy your stay at Lotus Pier,” Jiang Fengmian smiles. For a moment, Nie Cheng itches to rip it off his face. He doesn’t want to look at that expression much longer, so he doesn’t, sweeping his eyes over the rest of the glamorous room. “A-Xian’s friends are always welcome, of course. It’s been a bit lonely since A-Li reinstated her engagement to Jin Zixuan and started visiting Carp Tower more often.”

“How was your trip?” Yu Ziyuan asks. She asks it casually as if addressing the group, but Nie Cheng feels the way her eyes pierce into his body, as if her gaze alone could see past his robes and scan his body for injuries. He turns his head back to look up at her, meeting her eyes with a quick understanding.

“It was pleasant,” Nie Cheng replies. “The weather was nice, and there weren’t any disturbances along the way. Ge and I arrived at Lotus Pier a little while after Yu-shijie.”

Yu Ziyuan narrows her eyes but doesn’t comment on his response. “What did you think of the wedding?”

“It was fitting for someone of Jin-zongzhu and Jiang-guniang’s status,” Nie Cheng says. “Did you help plan it? I heard some guests mentioning your name last night.”

“They couldn’t have pulled off half of what they did without my input,” Yu Ziyuan snorts, leaning back in her seat. She examines her nails, speaking with an almost dismissive tone. “Wei Wuxian.”

“Yu-furen,” Wei Wuxian answers, bowing his head at her. He seems less afraid of her than the last time Nie Cheng saw them interacting. Likewise, Yu Ziyuan seems to tolerate his presence more than before. She looks at him like how a predator would look at a piece of prey they weren’t particularly interested in anymore.

“Take them to their rooms,” she says, dismissing them with a wave of her hand. Wei Wuzian nods, rising at her command. Nie Cheng follows suit, setting down his tea cup.

“Thank you for letting us stay here,” he remembers to say. Jiang Fengmian nods while Yu ZIyuan simply huffs.

Lotus Pier, relatively untouched by the Sunshot Campaign, glows under the sun’s warmth. It seems to bloom with life with disciples walking about, people littering the lakes nearby, and the warm breeze flowing through the air as the lotus stalks sway through the water.

“I think that was the most peaceful conversation I’ve seen you have with Yu Ziyuan,” Nie Huaisang notes. As always, he picks up on everything Nie Cheng does and more.

“We’ve been getting along better these days,” Wei Wuxian laughs. He skips around the wooden halls, looking like a child eagerly showing off their toys. “I don’t know why, but she seems to like me more now.”

“Is it because Jiang Yanli’s moved away now?” Yu Jiaxin asks. “Now you’re the only one in the house left.”

“Perhaps she finally realized that she’s been mistreating you and is repenting for her misactions,” Lan Wangji suggests.

“I think she’s always known that she’s been mistreating me,” Wei Wuxian laughs, slipping an arm through Lan Wangji’s. Surprisingly, he’s not immediately shaken off. “It started near the end of the Sunshot Campaign. I don’t know, it’s not as if I’ve saved her life before or anything, but I’m not going to question it. It’s been more pleasant around here ever since then.”

He takes Nie Cheng and Nie Huaisang to one of the guest rooms near his own quarters. Well, he technically shows them two guest rooms, though Nie Cheng immediately throws his qiankun pouch onto the bed and makes his way next door to Nie Huaisang’s room to watch him unpack.

“What do you need all this stuff for?” Nie Cheng asks, wrinkling his nose at the stacks of papers and books that Nie Huaisang had packed. He lays down on Nie Huaisang’s bed, rolling around the mattress as he waits.

“I’m a busy man,” Nie Huaisang shrugs. “Lots of important materials to go over.”

“Yellow book materials, maybe.” Nie Cheng snorts. Nie Huaisang tries to throw a book at him in retaliation, but it simply flies past Nie Cheng’s head and hits the wall instead.

Afterward, they rejoin the group at one of the docks scattered around the sect. Wei Wuxian steps into a boat, reaching out to tug on Lan Wangji’s robe sleeve and pull him in as well.

“Let’s go for a ride!” Wei Wuxian grins. Nie Cheng hops into the boat next to him before helping Nie Huaisang on as well, who immediately sits down and clutches the sides of the wooden vessel. What a coward. Yu Jiaxin gets her own, using her knuckles to knock against the edge. She leans left and right, causing her boat to rock.

“Be careful!” Nie Huaisang cries, his face paling. “Xiao Cheng, you better not do that!”

“I would never,” Nie Cheng swears, not meaning a word he says.

“Let’s row further in,” Wei Wuxian says. “I’ll teach you all how to pick lotus pods!”

He leads the way, with Lan Wangji rowing their boat for him while Wei Wuxian spouts out whatever comes to his mind. Nie Cheng pushes the oar through the water, occasionally lifting it up to splash Nie Huaisang.

“Is it just me, or are those two even stickier than usual?” Yu Jiaxin asks, pointing to Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji who were currently discussing something amongst themselves. Wei Wuxian was sitting across from Lan Wangji but had leaned over to the point that their noses were brushing against each other. Lan Wangji is listening attentively to whatever it is that Wei Wuxian is saying, looking at him like he was the only person in the world. There is a glimmer in his eyes that Nie Cheng’s rarely seen before; the last time he saw something similar was back when they were all studying at the Cloud Recesses. It warmed Nie Cheng’s chest to watch his friend’s childhood crush blossom into something deeper amidst war and settle into a beating heart that was quiet yet profound.

“Yeah, I caught them kissing at the Jin’s wedding,” Nie Huaisang says, cupping his hands in the air. Nie Cheng drops a few lotus seeds into his awaiting hold, which Nie Huaisang eagerly pops into his mouth as if eating a snack while watching a performance. “They were quite into it as well; they never noticed me sneaking away.”

“Gross,” Nie Cheng says, wrinkling his nose. He doesn’t want to imagine his friends doing those kinds of things. Yu Jiaxin has the same sentiment as him if the way she gags says anything.

“You two are so immature,” Nie Huaisang laughs. He finishes off his lotus seeds, taking the empty pod from Nie Cheng’s grasp to hurl at Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. “Would the two lovebirds please stop showing off in front of us? I’m trying to relax here!”

Lan Wangji’s head snaps up to glare at Nie Huaisang while Wei Wuxian simply laughs. “You’re just jealous, Huaisang!”

“I’m trying to protect Xiao Cheng’s poor eyes,” Nie Huaisang retorts. Nie Cheng, in response, drags his hand through the lake to throw a handful of water onto his brother, who shrieks like he had just been burnt.

It’s… really fun, a type of joy Nie Cheng hadn’t experienced in some time. Sweating under the sweltering sun, digging fingers into lotus pods and throwing the seeds at each other, it’s all so childish, inappropriate behavior given how much older they were now. And yet it feels good to act like a child, like gaining catharsis from living the years the war had stolen from them.

After getting thoroughly soaked, they paddle back to the surface, just in time for the servants to announce that it was dinner time. Wei Wuxian hands them each a talisman to dry off their clothes, standing next to Lan Wangji as he watches them.

“You’ll stay for a few more days, won’t you?” he asks. After getting vaguely positive responses, he beams, looking as bright as the sunset behind him. “Great! We can go into town tomorrow, and there’s a night hunt happening soon as well. I’ll be the best host you’ve ever had!”

On the third day, Jiang Yanli comes back with Jin Zixuan in tow. They’re visiting the bridal home, as per tradition. Wei Wuxian was currently eating breakfast with the Jiangs and Jin Zixuan while the rest of them had breakfast in town, not wanting to disturb the Jiang family.

“If I got married would I have to leave home?” Yu Jiaxin asks. “My mother didn’t, but my xiao-yi did.”

“Since you’re sect leader, probably not,” Nie Huaisang reasons. Nie Cheng bites into a piece of pickled turnip before wrinkling his nose and setting it on Nie Huaisang’s plate. Gross; he didn’t like the flavor of that.

“The Yu sect is also matriarchal rather than patriarchal,” Lan Wangji adds. “Yu Ziyuan married out because her status was lower than Jiang-zongzhu’s.”

“Just don’t marry someone who would force you to leave home,” Nie Cheng says. “Actually, don’t marry them if they’re going to force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

“We’ll see who the matchmaker finds for me,” Yu Jiaxin sighs. She was dressed in rather simple robes today, looking more like a senior disciple than a sect leader. Her hair was pulled back in a bun to show off her almond eyes, with a delicate hair crown settled amongst her head. She wore a series of rings that reminded Nie Cheng of the ones he had seen on Yu Ziyuan’s hands. Perhaps they were a family heirloom of some type. Nie Cheng wonders if he had ever been eligible to inherit a pair. “Actually, even if my betrothed tried to get me to leave, I wouldn’t. If they displease me, I’ll just break off the engagement. Isn’t that so simple?”

“Exactly!” Nie Huaisang says. “Besides, who’s going to argue with you when your sect leader? Look at me, I’m not married. My advisors mention it about once a year, but the idea never gets too far.”

“Being married requires others to have a desire to be married to you,” Lan Wangji says. Nie Huaisang narrows his eyes, angling his chopsticks to point them at Lan Wangji.

“Are you saying no one wants me?” he asks. Lan Wangji simply blinks, raising his cup to take a sip of tea.

“Disrespectful,” he replies, eyeing Nie Huaisang’s chopsticks. “No conversing during mealtime.”

Yu Jiaxin at least has the courtesy to try to muffle her laughter before a cough. Nie Huaisang shoots her a wounded look that she pointedly ignores by looking forward, choosing instead to stir her congee around her bowl, the spices she mixed in turning the stew a light red. Suddenly, she tilts her head, looking past Lan Wangji to the group that just entered. “Are those Jins? What are they doing here?”

Nie Cheng turns his neck to follow her gaze and sure enough, he spots a familiar shade of gold fabric dispersing onto the tables near them. In particular, he sees Jin Guangyao, whose big eyes were staring straight back at him.

“Wanyin,” he smiles, warm and fond like he was still the Meng Yao that Nie Cheng once knew. Like with Jiang Fengmian, Nie Cheng wants to rip it off, to grab the corner of the lips he once kissed ever so gently and tear it off Jin Guangyao’s face, watching as the skin breaks and bleeds. “What a coincidence! Are you visiting the Jiang sect as well? Have you been enjoying your meal?”

“Yeah,” Nie Cheng replies, looking away. It’s all he can manage to say before his words abandon him.

“Jin-gongzi,” Nie Huaisang says, a pleasant lilt in his voice. “A pleasure seeing you here! Does your group need any more tables? We’re just about to leave.”

“Oh, please don’t let us disturb you from eating,” Jin Guangyao says, waving his hands through the air.

“No, really, we’re done,” Yu Jiaxin says, narrowing her eyes. At that moment, Nie Cheng can practically paste Yu Ziyuan’s face atop hers. “I’m so full I couldn’t eat another bite.”

“The food here is delicious,” Nie Huaisang adds. “A Jiang specialty, though it’s made its way into other regions as well. You would know something about that, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course,” Jin Guangyao nods. “I’ve familiarized myself with various Jiang dishes in order to make Jin-furen more comfortable transitioning from Lotus Pier to Carp Tower.”

“Great,” Yu Jiaxin says, dropping her spoon onto the table. It lands with a loud thud. “Well, if you’ll excuse us now.”

She stands up and walks straight past Jin Guangyao, easily parting the sea of gold that was the other Jin cultivators. There is one cultivator who doesn’t move, seemingly frozen in place as Yu Jiaxin shoulders her way past him. He follows her movements with a turn of his head, unable to take his eyes off the Yu sect leader. Nie Cheng, sensing a chance to escape, follows after Yu Jiaxin, making sure to turn and twist his torso so as to not bump into the Jin disciple.

“Shijie, wait up!” he says. Lan Wangji slips in beside him. Nie Huaisang stays behind, lingering to give Meng Yao a toothful grin.

“I really have to praise you again, Jin-gongzi: it was a lovely wedding,” he says. “Some of us enjoyed it more than others, though.”

“As long as Jin-zongzhu and Jin-furen enjoyed it, that’s all that matters,” Jin Guangyao says. Nie Huaisang laughs, the noise sounding like a melody of twinkling bells.

“And I’m sure Jin-zongzhu was appreciative of all the foreign cuisine and decor that graced his wedding,” Nie Huaisang replies. From a distance, it looked like the two were having a pleasant conversation between old friends. The contents of what was being said went unheard by everyone around them as the Jin cultivators were too preoccupied with looking for somewhere to sit. Nie Huaisang clears his throat, giving Jin Guangyao a dazzling smile. “Let me tell you something else: your apology was pathetic. Not to mention unnoticed, but that’s a separate topic.”

“Pardon me, but I’m a bit confused as to what Nie-zongzhu is speaking of,” Jin Guangyao says smoothly. Only the twitch of his eyebrow gave him away.

“Whatever you want to believe! It’s been a pleasure, Jin-gongzi,” Nie Huaisang beams. For a moment, he looks more like a beast baring its teeth than a cowardly mortal. He pulls out a fan, flipping it open to hide the lower half of his face. Only the gleaming eyes remain in sight, like the flames that danced along the fuse of an explosive. “Sisi sends her regards.”

Jin Guangyao’s smile grows strained for just a moment, but by the time he opens his mouth to respond, Nie Huaisang has already disappeared outside, to where Nie Cheng and the others had noticed his disappearance and were waiting for him. Yu Jiaxin was pacing back and forth, a deep scowl etched in her features as Lan Wangji and Nie Cheng stand by her side and watch, content to simply let her air it out. It was a routine they had run through many times: no one could stop Yu Jiaxin’s temper once she started, so they just gave her enough space till she eventually calmed herself down.

“Can you believe he didn’t even greet me or Lan Wangji!?” Yu Jiaxin says, crossing her arms. “How rude! And he was the one who left that terrible scar on your neck as well!”

Nie Cheng reaches up to feel for the aforementioned mark, running his index finger across the raised skin. Of all the marks Meng Yao had left on his skin, this is the only one that would stay. “It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt anymore. I’ve moved past it.”

Just like Jiang Cheng, Meng Yao was nothing but a shadow in his heart. He had died, leaving behind a stranger in his wake.

“So? Who cares?” Yu Jiaxin huffs, though she finally stops pacing. “Playing along or not, he shouldn’t have done that! Good riddance, I say. Your sect is better off without him, Wanyin.”

“Let’s go back,” Lan Wangji says as Nie Huaisang shoves his way past the restaurant door. He somehow manages to almost trip over himself twice as he makes his way back to the group. “Wei Ying will be waiting for us.”

“Lovebirds,” Yu Jiaxin scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Let’s go. I’m still hungry; I never got to finish my congee.”

- - - -

For Wei Wuxian, breakfast was an awkward, if quiet, affair.

His shijie had returned! Unfortunately, she had brought Jin Zixuan along with her. While he had been getting better recently, that didn’t mean Wei Wuxian wanted to eat with him. Still, for Jiang Yanli’s sake, he tried to be as civil as possible.

“How have you two been settling into married life?” Jiang Fengmian asks the couple. “Have you started trying for a child yet?”

Wei Wuxian tries not to gag when he hears that. He did not want to think about his shijie doing such indecent things. He shoves a piece of shao bing into his mouth, trying to focus on eating and not on the conversation at hand.

Yu Ziyuan is also preoccupied with eating, though she does it much more elegantly than Wei Wuxian. She’s dressed in the same garbs she’s always worn for as long as Wei Wuxian’s known her, those delicately embroidered white robes filled with lilies and chrysanthemums. The meaning behind them goes unsaid in the Jiang household; they all know the reason for her attire. Jiang Fengmian had tried to convince her to stop wearing them once, back when Wei Wuxian was still a child. Needless to say, it didn’t go so well for him; if anything, Yu Ziyuan simply redoubled her efforts.

There’s a new accessory on her today, however. Sticking into her bun and behind her golden hair crown is a small pin, with a metallic grey orchid dangling from the top. Perhaps she was honoring Jiang Yanli’s marriage to the Jin sect in some way, though Wei Wuxian doesn’t know much about it.

“I’m done,” Yu Ziyuan says, standing up to leave the table. She’s always been this dismissive, though Wei Wuxian isn’t allowed the same privilege, having to stay until Jiang Fengmian and Jin Zixuan are finished eating. He pushes the food in his bowl around, desperately wishing he was anywhere but listening to Jiang Fengmian give Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan tips on how to conceive.

“A-Xian, why don’t you and A-Li take Zixuan around the sect?” Jiang Fengmian asks. Wei Wuxian snaps his head up, finally tuning back into the conversation. “You two are so familiar with everything around here, I couldn’t find a better tour guide if I tried.”

“Sure, Shushu!” Wei Wuxian agrees. His eyes dart toward Jin Zixuan, who is looking at Jiang Yanli with a gentle, doting expression. Ah, whatever. He can spend a little more time with Jin Zixuan if he keeps looking at his shijie like she hung the stars in the sky. At least they had that in common.

Wei Wuxian takes them around the edge of the lake, to the training fields, and to the disciples' residences. It’s nothing any of them haven’t seen before, but Jin Zixuan takes in every sight with a newfound interest, paying attention to Wei Wuxian pointing out small details he’s noticed throughout his years living here. Occasionally, Jiang Yanli adds something as well, though she’s mostly content to latch onto Jin Zixuan’s arm and watch her shidi and her husband converse together.

“That’s where my room is,” Wei Wuxian says, pointing to a building nearby. “Shushu lives a little to the left, and Shijie’s room is there.”

“What’s over there?” Jin Zixuan asks, gesturing to a lone structure in the distance. “I’ve never been there before.”

“That’s where Muqin lives,” Jiang Yanli says. Jin Zixuan nods, a look of understanding washing over his face. His parents probably slept in separate rooms as well, Wei Wuxian realizes. How terrible. He had been sneaking over into Lan Wangji’s room to sleep with him, though it wasn’t exactly sneaking at this point, not when he once bumped into Nie Cheng on his way there. The man had simply rolled his eyes before stomping back into his own room.

“A-Xian why don’t you go join your friends,” Jiang Yanli, ever the wonderful savior, suggests. “I’ve got it from here.”

“Thank you for the tour, Wei Wuxian,” Jin Zixuan adds.

“Alright, I won’t chaperone you two anymore,” Wei Wuxian agrees. He points to Jin Zixuan, sticking his index finger near the man’s face. “Jin Zixuan, you can’t bully my shijie, got it?”

Instead of fighting back, Jin Zixuan simply nods. The newlywed haze got gotten to him, it seems. Wei Wuxian hums in satisfaction, quickly making his exit.

He walks around aimlessly, hoping to eventually bump into one of his friends. Yu Jiaxin said they would be heading into town to eat breakfast, but they should be back by now. Perhaps he’d take them back into town to look around and browse the food stalls. Or they could simply relax in the sect for today; Lan Wangji had mentioned wanting to explore Lotus Pier’s library, and Nie Cheng and Yu Jiaxin wanted to use their training fields to practice, for some reason. Nie Huaisang would probably follow his brother around, though Wei Wuxian should go find him a weiqi set so he doesn’t get too bored. The Nie sect leader certainly wouldn’t be participating in any fighting, that’s for sure.

“How are you settling in?”

Wei Wuxian turns his head, looking for where that voice came from. That was Yu Ziyuan; though they were on better terms now, it would still be better if Wei Wuxian avoided her. She had never been gentle with him; she still wasn’t, but at least her temper had mellowed out a bit over the past few months.

“It’s been fine.”

Wei Wuxian stops in place. That wasn’t Yu Ziyuan’s voice. In fact, that was a voice very familiar to him, one he arguably heard more often than Yu Ziyuan’s. Then again, that wasn’t much of a competition, given the fact that he and Yu Ziyuan generally try not to speak to each other.

“Just fine?”

“Good,” Nie Cheng amends. “Your guest rooms are very comfortable, don’t worry. Though… Yu-furen’s room is much better, I would say.”

“Insolent brat,” Yu Ziyuan hisses, clicking her tongue. Nie Cheng simply laughs like he had expected that answer. Wei Wuxian creeps closer toward their voices, pressing his body against a wide column. He leans his neck over, watching as Yu Ziyuan and Nie Cheng sit down together underneath a shaded pavilion.

“Lotus Pier has been extremely hospitable,” Nie Cheng assures her. “It’s better than Carp Tower, in any case.”

“Has Wei Wuxian been treating you well?” Yu Ziyuan asks. Wei Wuxian, as the person in question, feels quite offended. Of course he would treat his friends well!

“Of course,” Nie Cheng says, mollifying Wei Wuxian for now. “He and Wangji-ge are together, did you know?”

“What.”

“...So I’m assuming he hasn’t told you yet.”

In Wei Wuxian’s defense, it wasn’t really a topic of conversation he would ever bring up with Yu Ziyuan. In fact, he’s still puzzled as to why Nie Cheng was talking to Yu Ziyuan in the first place, much less talking with such a casual tone. It was as if he wasn’t afraid of her, unlike most of the other cultivators of their generation.

“Does Lan Qiren know?”

“Probably?”

Lan Qiren did, in fact, not know. He and Lan Wangji had only confessed a few days ago, after all! They hadn’t told anyone, technically; it wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s fault that Nie Huaisang had caught them kissing in the back hallway.

“You haven’t been arranged to marry yet, have you?”

“No, my brother says I can’t get married until I’m as old as Lan Qiren,” Nie Cheng replies. Yu Ziyuan scoffs as if offended by that statement.

“I’ll find a match for you,” she says. Both Wei Wuxian and Nie Cheng startle at that. Nie Cheng waves his hands through the air, rapidly shaking his head.

“I’m not interested in getting married,” he says. “You don’t need to care too much about it, really. I’m perfectly fine staying single. And what’s with all the questions?”

Yu Jiaxin and Nie Cheng were relatives, Wei Wuxian suddenly remembers. He had been the first one to point out the similarities between them, back when they first met at the Cloud Recesses. Their faces were very similar; he noticed the matching features between Jiang Yanli and Nie Cheng as well. Perhaps Yu Ziyuan treated Nie Cheng so well because they were related. Though she never treated Yu Jiaxin this well despite Yu Jiaxin being her niece.

“Why shouldn’t I care?” Yu Ziyuan argues.

“Why should you?” Nie Cheng retorts, obviously exasperated. “There’s really no reason, we don’t have anything to do with each other.”

“I watched you nearly die during the Sunshot Campaign,” Yu Ziyuan snaps, narrowing her eyes. The eyes that Nie Cheng also had, coincidentally. Yu Ziyuan’s clenched fists bang on the marble table, causing Nie Cheng to wince. Whether out of sympathy or fear, Wei Wuxian doesn’t know. “Miracles do not happen twice.”

Nie Cheng is silent.

After a few moments, he lets out a sigh. It is a heavy sound that echoes in Wei Wuxian’s bones, trapping itself within his nerves. “It wasn’t a miracle the first time, Furen. Just a trick of the light.”

“Is that what you want to call it?” Yu Ziyuan sneers. “I come back and you were gone, and no one knows to where. It was as if you had never existed. Just a trick of the light?”

Nie Cheng doesn’t say anything, causing Yu Ziyuan to scowl. Wei Wuxian tries to lean in closer, but accidentally steps on a stray twig, causing it to snap. Nie Cheng cranes his head toward the sound, but before he can think too much about it he’s interrupted.

“Just what is that on your neck!?”

“Huh?” Nie Cheng turns back around, lifting a hand to feel around his neck. Wei Wuxian lets out a sigh of relief, pressing closer to the pillar he was hiding behind. “Oh, that’s just a scar.”

“When did you get it?” Yu Ziyuan demands to know. She grips Nie Cheng’s chin, turning his face to the side to get a better look at the injury. “What happened?”

“I had gotten kidnapped by the Wens and Jin Guangyao, and they were threatening me,” Nie Cheng shrugs. He says it so casually that Wei Wuxian almost deluded himself into believing that it was no big deal despite having been there.

He still remembers holding Nie Cheng in his arms and feeling his weak pulse and the way the man trembled against him as if about to be blown away in the wind. Wei Wuxian doesn’t think he’s ever felt as much fear throughout the entire Sunshot Campaign as he did at that moment, and he teetered on the verge of death multiple times. Wei Wuxian wasn’t scared of dying, but he was certainly terrified of the same fate befalling any of his loved ones.

Miracles don’t happen twice, Yu Ziyuan had said. Thank goodness she hadn’t been there when they found Nie Cheng, or else she would’ve worried even more. Though she had been strangely invested in his disappearance, Wei Wuxian remembers. A particularly shrill scream rang through the halls of Lotus Pier until Jiang Fengmian finally agreed to join the search for the missing Nie heir.

“Jin Guangyao? Jin Guangshan’s bastard child? The one who accompanied Zixuan here today?” Yu Ziyuan asks with narrowed eyes.

“I’m fine,” Nie Cheng insists. He lets Yu Ziyuan prod over him for a few more moments, not saying anything even as she pulls his chin around and tugs on his ears. He simply blinks up at her, staring at the top of her head as she thoroughly examines him.

“Ah, right: Furen, did you ever meet Jin Guangyao before today?” Nie Cheng asks.

Yu Ziyuan raises an eyebrow, finally letting go of Nie Cheng to cross her arms. “Plenty of times. We met to discuss A-Li’s wedding.”

“What about before that? Like when the Sunshot Campaign was still happening?”

“The cultivation world didn’t know who he was until after the war,” Yu Ziyuan snorts. “I had no reason to meet with some prostitute’s son. Why?”

“He knew things,” Nie Cheng frowns. “Things he shouldn’t have known about me. And you, I guess.”

Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows, edging a bit closer. What did Jin Guangyao know that he shouldn’t? Was Nie Cheng in danger?

“Then perhaps that just means he isn’t as dumb as the rest of them,” Yu Ziyuan says. “Anyone with eyes could see it.”

“No one else has noticed anything,” Nie Cheng points out.

“That’s because they’re all too foolish to notice anything even if it’s placed directly in front of them,” Yu Ziyuan replies. “Look at yourself, boy. Look at your mother.”

Wei Wuxian looks at Nie Cheng: he sees the same face he always had, the one he watched shed its baby fat and mature into a strong, hardened commander. Though Nie Cheng would always be his precious Xiao Cheng-shidi, of course!

“My mother died in childbirth,” Nie Cheng says.

“Don’t you even start with me,” Yu Ziyuan snaps, the air around her ring crackling with electricity. Nie Cheng raises his hands in surrender, and that’s when Wei Wuxian decides he’s heard enough, not wanting to risk Yu Ziyuan accidentally discovering him.

What a strange conversation. Half of it didn’t make sense to Wei Wuxian. It hurt his pride, if he was being honest: why was Nie Cheng talking to much to Yu Ziyuan about such mysterious things? Why didn’t he tell Wei Wuxian about it? He thought they were best friends!

It isn’t until he’s returned to his room to change his robes that the realization strikes.

Actually, what happens is that a slip of paper falls out of the inside of his robes as he’s tugging them off. Wei Wuxian kneels down to pick it up, unfolding the parchment that was soft to the touch from how Wei Wuxian’s fingers had weathered it down over the years. He thumbs over the achingly familiar image of Jiang Cheng, his inked lips stretched into a smile. The almond eyes Wei Wuxian saw every day in Jiang Yanli and Yu Ziyuan crinkled as Jiang Cheng grinned up at him. He looks so much like his sister, like his mother. Like… like Nie Cheng.

Nie Cheng, who Yu Ziyuan had always liked and favored for seemingly no reason. Nie Cheng, whose mother was undeniably from the Yu sect. Nie Cheng, whose face seemed so familiar to Wei Wuxian when they first met, like they had lived a lifetime together before.

“Is Nie Cheng your given name, then? Which cheng is it?”

“The cheng in chengqing.”

Wei Wuxian blinks.

”I used to call him A-Cheng, before Yu-furen found out, because that’s what Shijie called him. A-Cheng, ah… Cheng Cheng, Cheng-er. Xiao Cheng…”

He feels like he can’t breathe.

Wei Wuxian grabs at his chest, patting around for the familiar touch before remembering that the paper was already in his hands. Wei Wuxian stares down at it, taking in the strokes of ink he had copied over and over again, drawing the same face that was destined to be frozen in time.

Now, he tries to age it up. Picturing a sharper jaw, smaller eyes in proportion to the head, and a quiet frown instead of a grin. Hair spilling across the shoulders instead of wrapped up in a bun.

The same almond eyes, the same slope of the nose. The matching scowls from mother and son.

”Wei-gege, let’s play together!”

If you deepened the voice, gave it a rougher timber… Wei Wuxian tries to recall a laugh he hasn’t heard in years, tries to compare it to one he had heard just a few shichen ago. The facial expressions, the voice, the conversation he had heard earlier today, it all adds up to—

“Let’s be brothers one day, Shixiong.”

Wei Wuxian bursts out of his room, sprinting through the halls of Lotus Pier.

His footsteps echo against the wood floor, heavy thuds following in his tracks. Wei Wuxian looks around with wide eyes, searching like he was a starved man looking for something to eat. When he finds nothing he continues to run, dashing through the hallways he grew up in, the ones he knew like the back of his hand.

The ones he could’ve also been familiar with, the place he could’ve called home if not for Wei Wuxian. If— if he could just— Wei Wuxian needs to find him, needs to see and confirm and, after all these years, take in the sight of his brot—

“Looking for something, Wei-xiong?”

Wei Wuxian’s head snaps towards the noise, stepping toward it like a moth drawn to a flame.

“Huaisang,” he breathes out.

“Are you okay?” Nie Huaisang asks. “I was just taking a stroll and then I saw you running around like a chicken with its head chopped off! You didn’t lose Suibian, did you? Or Chenqing? That’d be awfully dangerous!”

Wei Wuxian sucks in a deep breath, trying to get his words straight. Instead, all he can manage to do is stare at Nie Huaisang with a dumb expression as he rambles on.

“Can I be of any assistance, Wei-xiong?” Nie Huaisang asks. “You’ll have to pay me back, of course. But what are you doing dashing around so quickly anyways? I’m telling you, if you want to race then I can’t help you, I’m terrible at running. Hm? What’s this? Are you delivering a note?”

He reaches for the drawing in Wei Wuxian’s hand and plucks it out, bringing it up to his own face to examine. Nie Huaisang pinches the paper between his thumb and index fingers, his eyelashes fluttering as he looks at the portrait. Wei Wuxian watches with bated breath. That drawing was fragile, and though he knows Nie Huaisang treats every piece of art he comes across carefully, Wei Wuxian still can’t help but worry.

Perhaps he had been worrying about the wrong things, however, because after a moment of silence, Nie Huaisang looks back up at him with a smile. The look in his eyes has changed, a shift in glean that Wei Wuxian can’t decipher, one that made him seem like a completely new person.

“You’re looking for my brother,” Nie Huaisang says. It’s not a question, more so a statement, and it makes Wei Wuxian’s skin itch with envy. It’s like a burning that started in his core and spread out to the rest of his body, and Wei Wuxian can’t do anything to stop it.

It’s not fair, Wei Wuxian wants to shout. But all he’s ever known was the two of them together, attached at the hip like they were a pair of twins. A split soul, the gossip had stirred up. Still, it wasn’t fair-- that could’ve been him. That should’ve been him.

Wei Wuxian wants to scream, and cry, and shout at Nie Huaisang and the rest of the world, to declare justice for the life he deserved and was robbed of. But he can’t.

“Please,” Wei Wuxian croaks out instead, his voice hoarse. He can’t; all he can do is beg. “Huaisang, please.”

“So polite, Wei-xiong!” Nie Huaisang hums. “Tell me, how did you discover this? After all these years, why now?”

“I don’t have time right now,” Wei Wuxian says. There’s an edge of desperation laced in his tone that Nie Huaisang can definitely hear. Wei Wuxian feels like he’s drowning, his lungs filling with poison that would eat him from the inside out unless he got the antidote. “I need to see him, please. Just let me see him. Please, I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Nie Huaisang laughs like there was an inside joke between them. “Because then I could ask you to turn around to go back to your room, and you wouldn’t listen to me.”

Wei Wuxian, at that moment, doesn’t know what else to do. He drops down onto his knees, clenched fists pressed against his thighs. Nie Huaisang looks down at him with a surprised expression, one eyebrow raised up in questioning. Wei Wuxian doesn’t care; he presses his head against the floorboard, breathing in the smell of wood and mud.

“Please,” he says again. “I need to find him.”

“Ah, there’s no need to throw yourself onto the ground like that!” Nie Huaisang says, helping Wei Wuxian stand up. “How would I explain to the Jiang sect why their precious ward was bowing so low to me?”

“Huaisang—”

“Don’t worry, I understand their protective instincts,” Nie Huaisang says. “I’m the same, after all. Wouldn’t you agree, Wei-xiong?”

“I swear I won’t do anything,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice cracking. Wei Wuxian has so much more to say, explanations and justifications, arguments and reasonings. But right now, all he can do is beg with the same words over and over again. “I just want to see him again.”

Nie Huaisang looks at him, a blank expression on his face. His eyes are cloudy, like a stormy night on the verge of breaking out into thunder. At last Nie Huaisang sighs, stretching out his arm to press the worn drawing back into Wei Wuxian’s hands.

“He’s by the docks to the right,” Nie Huaisang says, pointing his finger in that direction. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Wei-xiong; if anything happens to him, you’ll be the first one I look for.”

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian says. He nearly bows down to Nie Huaisang once more if it weren’t for the fact that his feet took off running as soon as the last word left Nie Huaisang’s mouth. His lungs are on fire right now, but Wei Wuxian needs to keep going. He needs to push on; he was so close, finally nearby once more after over a decade of loss.

Just as Nie Huaisang said, Wei Wuxian finds him by the docks, standing alone and looking up at the night sky. The stars were twinkling above as if doing a dance just for him. Wei Wuxian sprints up to him, the heavy thudding of his footsteps giving away his presence. He turns around, giving Wei Wuxian a clear view of his face.

“Shixiong? What’s wrong?”

Wei Wuxian, with trembling hands, holds up the drawing. Two identical pairs of eyes look back at him.

“Shixiong?” Nie Cheng-- Jiang Cheng-- questions.

“When you said--” Wei Wuxian’s throat is dry and clogged up at the same time, practically forcing the question out of his mouth word by word. “Back when we were attending the Cloud Recesses’ lectures, you told me that my brother would have wanted me to be happy. That he would forgive me.”

“Ah? You still remember that?” Nie Cheng says. “I’m surprised; you were so inebriated by then, I was scared you would throw up on me.”

Wei Wuxian grips the drawing in his hands, the paper softly crinkling. “Do you-- do you still believe that? What you said?”

“Of course,” Nie Cheng replies immediately. He waves his hand through the air as if his words didn’t hold much weight, like he hadn’t just completely thrown Wei Wuxian’s world off its axis. “What do you take me for, a liar? I’m telling you, since you two were brothers he would definitely forgive you, so you can’t blame yourself. Why? Did you have a nightmare or something?”

Instead of saying anything, Wei Wuxian jumps on him, wrapping his arms around Nie Cheng’s neck and holding him tight. Nie Cheng yelps, arms flailing around for a moment before hesitantly patting Wei Wuxian’s back.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong with you?”

“Xiao Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says. He repeats the name over and over again like a prayer. “Xiao Cheng, Xiao Cheng.”

“What, Shixiong? I’m not deaf, I heard you the first time.”

The title isn’t unexpected. It’s familiar, even, a name Wei Wuxian’s been called for nearly a decade now. And yet it stings like a fresh cut, bleeding red all over and staining his skin. Wei Wuxian squeezes his eyes shut to blink away the tears at the corner of his eyes before pulling back to examine Nie Cheng’s face. Wei Wuxian feels like he could stare for shichen on end and never get tired of it.

“You’re all grown up now,” he whispers, feeling a lump form in the back of his throat. “I never thought I’d get to see it. You’re so beautiful, Xiao Cheng.”

“Okay, seriously, are you ill?” Nie Cheng asks. He pushes Wei Wuxian away, albeit gently, and lifts a hand to press against his forehead. “You don’t seem delirious. Hey, I’m telling you right now, if you want to cheat on Wangji-ge I won’t allow it. I won’t be the homewrecker, and I won’t allow anyone else to as well.”

“I would never cheat on Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian laughs. Even to his own ears, it sounds wet and wobbly. “I’m just… really emotional today, that’s all. You know, my shijie came back home with her new husband, and soon she won’t be back for months, or even years.”

And she’ll never know her baby brother is alive, Wei Wuxian thinks. Jiang Yanli was devastated when Jiang Cheng died, blaming herself for his passing. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Wei Wuxian was sure she would become absolutely inconsolable, he would’ve run away. Just as Jiang Cheng had done, apparently.

“Your shijie will still come back to visit,” Nie Cheng assures him. “Don’t worry, she won’t forget you even if she moves into a new household.”

“And what about you?” Did you forget, after these years? Now that you’re someone new, have you forgotten the brother you once had?

“I’m not allowed to marry, remember?” Nie Cheng laughs. “Ge’s so overprotective sometimes, I swear.”

“He just wants you to stay safe and happy,” Wei Wuxian says. Though he’s been made to let go of Nie Cheng, he still has a hand clutching onto his arm. Wei Wuxian feels like he wouldn’t be able to let go even if he wanted to.

“I know, I know,” Nie Cheng sighs. “Older siblings are always like that, huh? Xichen-xiong takes care of Wangji-ge like he’s still a child, and I’m sure your shijie spoils you rotten.”

He pats Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, letting his hand rest there. “So, what did you come to find me for? You seemed pretty freaked out about it, so it must be serious.”

“No,” Wei Wuxian says. “No, it wasn’t anything. Just-- just a nightmare. I dreamed that you died.”

“Did I at least go out in a heroic manner?” Nie Cheng asks. “Was I fighting a monster in your dreams? Or perhaps I was defending my sect, or the villages nearby.”

“You slipped on a fruit peel and fell into a pile of mud and drowned,” Wei Wuxian says. Nie Cheng sputters, shoving him away for real this time.

“Now I know you’re just messing with me!” he says. “Shixiong, you’re such an idiot!”

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian laughs. “But I really did have a nightmare. I’m okay, now.”

“Well, that’s good,” Nie Cheng replies, dropping his shoulders. “This is why you shouldn’t nap so late. At least now you’ll be tired enough to sleep through the night. And only sleep! Don’t think I don’t see you sneaking over to Lan Wangji’s room every night!”

“I promise not to make any noise.”

“That’s not the point! Ugh, that’s disgusting! Have you no shame?”

“What’s the point in having shame?” Wei Wuxian grins. He tucks his drawing back into his robes before throwing an arm around Nie Cheng, pulling him forward. “Come on, it’s Xiao Cheng’s bedtime now.”

“I’m not that much younger than you,” Nie Cheng grumbles, but he nonetheless allows Wei Wuxian to drag him over to the guest rooms. Wei Wuxian relishes in the warmth radiating from the body next to him, knowing that once all he could imagine was a cold, unmoving corpse.

Unsurprisingly, Nie Huaisang is waiting for them nearby. He throws a quick look at Wei Wuxian before turning his attention to Nie Cheng. “Xiao Cheng, there you are!”

“You knew where I was, Ge,” Nie Cheng says, scowling. “If you wanted to find me you could’ve.”

“It’s getting late,” Wei Wuxian says. “You two should get some sleep. I have to see off Shijie and Jin Zixuan tomorrow morning, so I’ll come to find you all after breakfast.”

“Got it,” Nie Cheng nods. “We might go into town again, then. I saw a meat bun stall I wanted to try.”

“Everything here is good!” Wei Wuxian smiles. “Then. I’ll leave first. Goodnight, you two.”

Wei Wuxian turns around to walk away. He rubs his hands together; despite the lack of cold, they were still trembling. There are chills running up and down his body; Wei Wuxian’s scared he’ll faint at any moment.

He doesn’t know how he makes it back to his room, but he all but collapses onto his bed, staring up at the empty ceiling. From the outer corners of his eyes, droplets of water form, getting pushed out by rapid blinks and sliding down Wei Wuxian’s cheeks. Wei Wuxian doesn’t even know he’s crying until he goes to rub his eyes and finds that his hand came back damp. Wei Wuxian simply lets it drop back down to his side, letting out a quiet laugh.

His brother was alive. More than that, he had become someone else, become another person’s brother. But he was happy, so much happier than Jiang Cheng had been in the time Wei Wuxian had known him. Wei Wuxian had helped make him happy, had stuck by his side through thick and thin, made him snort and scowl and laugh till his sides hurt. All Wei Wuxian’s ever wanted was to be able to see his brother laugh again. Nie Cheng was so happy to be himself, and ultimately wasn’t that what mattered?

It was a lot to think about.

- - - -

“I think Wei-shixiong’s gone insane,” Nie Cheng tells his brother.

“He’s probably just tired,” Nie Huaisang says. He yawns, stretching out his arms behind his back. “Me too; I think I’ve done more physical activity these past few days than I have in months! If this is what a vacation feels like, then no thanks.”

“You’re so lazy,” Nie Cheng says, rolling his eyes. He pushes open the door, allowing Nie Huaisang to scurry into his room. Nie Cheng takes a seat on the bed next to Nie Huaisang, sighing.

“I really am worried about Wei-shixiong,” he says. “I think he had a really bad nightmare.”

“He’s just come to some startling revelations recently, that’s all,” Nie Huaisang says. Upon receiving Nie Cheng’s probing stare, he relents, curling in on himself to hide. “Well, Wei-xiong may or may not have gathered some clues and connected some dots to come to an interesting conclusion. And that conclusion may or may not have to do with the conversation you had with Yu-furen and an old drawing of his deceased brother.”

“A drawing of what? No, wait, you said he heard my conversation with my mother?” Nie Cheng says. So many things had just been dropped on him, though he has a sneaking suspicion that Wei Wuxian feels even worse right now. “How do you know?”

“Well, I’m just assuming based on what you told me,” Nie Huaisang says. “I don’t know why else today of all days was when he discovered it. Unless he saw you and Jiang Yanli together and spotted the similarities… though you do look more like Yu-furen.”

“So that’s it? He knows?” Nie Cheng asks.

“Why do you think he was acting so strange?” Nie Huaisang retorts, crossing his arms. “You’re so dumb sometimes, Xiao Cheng. Haven’t I taught you how to think before?”

“My brain doesn’t work like the one in your head does,” Nie Cheng scowls. “Probably because you were dropped as a baby.”

“Rude,” Nie Huaisang huffs, elbowing him in the stomach. In return, Nie Cheng kicks the side of his calf. “Seriously, aren’t you concerned at all? I thought you would at least be a little freaked out.”

“Give me some time to think,” Nie Cheng murmurs. He still hadn’t fully processed everything. “I am concerned. But Wei-shixiong wouldn’t tell anyone about it.”

“Yeah, he knows better than to run his mouth,” Nie Huaisang mumbles. Nie Cheng shoots him a puzzled look but ultimately ignores Nie Huaisang’s strange words.

“Besides…” Nie Cheng says. He thinks of the way Wei Wuxian ran toward him, how he hugged Nie Cheng tight and held him as if he was a delicate treasure. Nie Cheng thinks of the drunken talks, of the resentful mothers, and of the empty grave. The years Wei Wuxian spent suffering, blaming himself for the death of his brother who had been by his side the entire time.

His Wei-gege turned Shixiong, the teen who snuck him alcohol while they were at the Cloud Recesses. The genius who confided about his resentful cultivation to Nie Cheng first. The ally who saved his life from the Wens. The friend who tied his hair up for him and taught him how to pick lotus pods.

The brother he was promised, in their next life. It all came back to that, in the end.

“...I’m glad he knows,” Nie Cheng concludes. “Because then he also knows that he’s forgiven, and that it’s not his fault.”

“Wow,” Nie Huaisang says, blinking. “Where did you learn to be this kind? Because it certainly wasn’t from me.”

“Of course not,” Nie Cheng scoffs. “It was from Da-ge, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Nie Huaisang agrees. He lets Nie Cheng quietly lean against his side, and together they sit in silence, each pondering their own thoughts. While Nie Cheng is stuck in his thoughts, Nie Huaisang removes the ribbon from Nie Cheng’s hair, allowing it to spill down and fall over the rest of the already loose strands. He gently rearranges Nie Cheng to lean against the wall, sliding off the bed to retrieve a comb to pull through Nie Cheng’s hair.

“Once you were a stranger,” Nie Cheng says quietly as Nie Huaisang brushes through his hair. Nie Huaisang’s fingers are deft but gentle, working through any knots and making sure not to pull on Nie Cheng’s scalp. “And now you’re my older brother. Isn’t that such a strange thought?”

“What’s so strange about it?” Nie Huaisang asks. “Aren’t all siblings like that? When one is conceived and laying in their mother’s womb, they are essentially a stranger. Then they get born and become a brother. Our process just got a bit delayed, that’s all. But it’s all the same.”

“But that baby was born a brother,” Nie Cheng says. “It was inherent.”

“So what?” Nie Huaisang retorts. “What is a brother? I keep you safe. I let you have the foods you like from my plate and take the ones you don’t like from yours. I fan you to keep you cool even when I’m also hot. I let you nag me and I nag you back. I cried myself to sleep every night you were missing. I’m even brushing your hair right now! What more could I do to prove I’m your brother?”

“You cried yourself to sleep?”

“That’s not the point right now,” Nie Huaisang says, yanking on a strand of Nie Cheng’s hair. “Look at Lan Wangji. Do you know why he always called you ‘didi’ when we were younger? Because he cares for you. Wei Wuxian cares for you. Yu Jiaxin cares for you. Your mother cares for you, even if she’s strange about it. Lan Qiren cares for you, and he doesn’t like anyone! The point is that you are loved by an entire world, but I still love you the most. Who cares about blood? Look at Jiang Fengmian: half his blood is yours, and yet I’m still a better father to you than he was.”

“You are not my father,” Nie Cheng says, wrinkling his nose.

“That’s because I’m your brother,” Nie Huaisang grins. He sets down the hairbrush to place both his hands on Nie Cheng’s shoulders. Nie Cheng can’t see his face, though he wouldn’t have been able to make out much in the growing dark anyways. “Xiao Cheng, you’re the only family I’ve got left. Don’t take that away from me. If you don’t want to believe that, fine, but you are.”

“I never said I wasn’t,” Nie Cheng grumbles, patting Nie Huaisang’s hands. “I’m just amazed, is all. Think of all the chances and circumstances it took for us to get here.”

“Trust me, I’ve thought of it before,” Nie Huaisang tells him. “Every day I thank whatever led you to the Unclean Realm instead of anywhere else. Can you imagine yourself as a Lan, or even a Jin? That would be horrible!”

“I can show you what led me there, actually,” Nie Cheng says. He stands up, stretching out an arm to help Nie Huaisang up as well.

“Right now?” Nie Huaisang asks.

“Right now,” Nie Cheng confirms. “It’s just outside. Come on, Ge; I want to see you say your thanks.”

He leads Nie Huaisang outside, and together they sit on the stairs right outside Nie Cheng’s room. Nie Cheng looks up at the sky, soaking in the midnight sea for a moment before pointing up. Nie Huaisang follows his finger, looking into the constellations that dotted the heavens above their earth.

“See that?” Nie Cheng asks. “That’s the North Star. When I first Lotus Pier, I didn’t know where to go, so I just kept chasing after it. It gave me direction when I had none. And that direction led me straight to our family.”

“I suppose it makes sense geographically,” Nie Huaisang muses. He looks up, smiling at the sky. “Well, thank you for making my wish come true all those years ago, North Star.”

“Thank you for looking after me,” Nie Cheng says. The star twinkles, as if hearing his call. Nie Cheng smiles, leaning back on his arms to gaze at the stars.

Nie Cheng is twenty.

Twenty isn’t as auspicious as eight, but it doesn’t matter much. His mother stopped teaching him long ago, though she still looks after him with the same ferocity and sharpness in her tone.

His father died years ago, right after Nie Cheng had become himself. This, too, didn’t matter much: Nie Cheng carried his legacy in his lungs and his memories in his heart. Baba would always be looking out for him, whether through the stone colosseum he now resides in or through the family name he bestowed upon Nie Cheng.

He doesn’t have any dogs anymore, but he does have a small sculpture of a dog Lan Wangji had gifted him. Wei Wuxian shrieked the very first time he saw it.

Nie Cheng’s brothers are the best. Nie Mingjue was strong, and caring, and brave. He carried Nie Cheng in his arms when the boy was too tired to pick himself back up. Nie Huaisang is loving, and protective, and cunning when he needed to be. Most of the time he was just an idiot, but he was an idiot who ran a sect, so Nie Cheng never left him alone for too long. Maybe Nie Cheng would become sect leader one day, though he hopes that never comes to pass.

For now, though, he is only twenty, and gazing at the stars with his brother. Lotus Pier is still warm at night, though a breeze floats by to cool him down. Everything is good. He’s good.

Nie Cheng is happy.

- - - -

XXXX years later

“A-Cheng!” A loud crash follows the call, the rowdy noise echoing throughout the apartment. Someone lets out a string of curses from within a room. “A-Cheng!”

“Calm down, I’m coming!”

Jiang Cheng slings his backpack over his shoulder, eyes sweeping over his desk one last time to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything before leaving his room. He shuts the door behind him before walking into the one right across, peaking his head in to scowl at the person lying on the floor.

“Ying-ge, what is wrong with you?” he asks. “We need to get going!”

“Why else would I be calling you?” Wei Ying says, sticking out his tongue. “I was just trying to grab my notebook before we left, but who knew the entire box would fall down on me instead!”

“I did,” Jiang Cheng says, raising an eyebrow. “I knew it would fall the moment you put that dumb notebook of yours on the edge of that box.”

Wei Ying’s notebook was more a binder than anything. It consisted of multiple notebooks Wei Ying had glued together and then stuck within a large binder. It contained a variety of Wei Ying’s daily observations, science notes, recipe lists, and more. How he managed to find anything in that amalgamation of a book Jiang Cheng had no idea, so he usually just tried not to look at it for too long in fear it would suddenly collapse on itself and he would be blamed for it.

“You wouldn’t have been able to bring it anyways,” Jiang Cheng says, helping Wei Ying up. “There’s no space in the car today. We’re picking people up, remember?”

“Don’t worry, I remember,” Wei Ying assures him. “I would’ve just put it in my lap!”

“That’s not fitting in your lap if you’re driving,” Jiang Cheng says, shaking his head. “Whatever, let’s go. We can’t be late for class.”

Wei Ying snags two cereal bars on their way to the car, tossing one to Jiang Cheng as he slides into the backseat. Wei Ying starts the car, pulling up his music playlist on the phone as he pulls out of the driveway and out onto the road.

“Want to queue music?” he asks Jiang Cheng, who shakes his head. There was no point, not when his control over the music in the car was about to be revoked very soon.

Sure enough, a few minutes later Wei Wuxian pulls up into a driveway. He reaches up into the glasses compartment to pull out a pair of sunglasses before popping them on his head and slamming his palm down on the horn button. Jiang Cheng covers his ear, scowling at the loud noise.

“Wei Ying, I swear if you do not shut up right now, I will murder you!”

Yu Jiaxin, Jiang Cheng’s cousin, opens the door on the passenger side and sits down, shutting the door behind her. She glowers at Wei Wuxian, a fearsome expression that gets its effect diminished by the fact that she was about a head shorter than Wei Wuxian and had her hair tied back in twin braids, making her look like the youngest in the car rather than the oldest that she was.

“Trying to impress someone?” Wei Wuxian teases. Yu Jiaxin’s eye twitches as she grabs his phone from him, rapidly queuing a list of songs.

“My hair was too oily this morning,” she said. “So I braided it to get it out of my face.”

“I like your hairstyle, Jie,” Jiang Cheng says.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Yu Jiaxin smiles. She has on a pink lip gloss that makes her lips shine. Nie Cheng tried it once: most of it got into his mouth rather than on it, and it did not taste good.

“Can you not always play such cutesy music?” Wei Ying complains. Yu Jiaxin, in return, turns up the volume even more. “You’re ruining my music recommendations!”

“This playlist was recommended to me by Yanli-jie,” Yu Jiaxin says, narrowing her eyes. “You're not doubting your sister’s tastes, are you?”

“Of course not,” Wei Wuxian says quickly.

“That’s what I thought,” Yu Jiaxin huffs. She lifts her backup up into her lap, unzipping the front pouch before pulling out an envelope that she then hands to Jiang Cheng. “By the way, your mom asked me to give you that when I got back. She said it was important.”

Yu Jiaxin had spent last weekend flying back home to celebrate her grandmother’s birthday. It wasn’t the grandmother she shared with Jiang Cheng, so he stayed at school. But flying back to their hometown meant Yu Jiaxin saw everyone regardless of family side, including Jiang Cheng’s whirlwind of a mother.

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng says, wiggling a finger between the envelope and its flap to rip it open.

While Jiang Cheng was struggling to open his mail, Wei Wuxian had already pulled up to the next person’s house. This time he doesn’t honk, choosing instead to roll down his window and stick his head through. “Lan Zhan. you look good today! Is that a new shirt? Why is everyone dressing up today without me? Did you plan this on purpose?”

“Good morning, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. He sits in the back next to Jiang Cheng, who immediately hands over the crumpled-up envelope paper that he had torn off. Lan Wangji shakes his head in disappointment but sticks it in the pocket of his jacket anyways.

“Lan Zhan, good morning,” Yu Jiaxin says, turning her head back to look at Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng. “A-Cheng, what did Xiao-yi send you?”

From the envelope, Jiang Cheng pulls out a folded piece of paper. He frowns, flipping open the paper to find information on two booked train rides three months from now. He flips to the back, sighing when he doesn’t see anything.

“She booked us tickets for the holidays,” Jiang Cheng says, sliding the paper back into the envelope and shoving the envelope into some random pocket in his backpack. His mother would email him the actual tickets later on, anyways. “I guess we don’t have a choice if we go back or not.”

“At least we’ll be able to hang out!” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully. Wei Wuxian had been taken in by Jiang Cheng’s parents after his parents, who had been close family friends, died in a car crash.

It had caused some disagreements in the family, mainly from his mother who was suspicious that her husband suddenly had the time to attend every parent meeting and soccer game when he previously couldn’t have cared less. It left a pretty bad impression, to say the least. Jiang Cheng still didn’t talk much to his father to this day. At least he still had his mother and sister, and the rest of his family like Yu Jiaxin.

“I hang out with you every day,” Nie Cheng scowls. “What makes you think I want to do any more of it?”

“Because I’m your favorite!” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully, putting the car in park before turning around. He leans over his seat, sticking his head out like a rabid bird. “Lan Zhan, where’s my kiss?”

“Get your elbow out of my face, Wei Ying!” Yu Jiaxin shrieks, shoving him away as Lan Zhan places a hand on Wei Ying’s cheek, tugging him closer into a quick peck. Nie Cheng ignores them, instead reaching over to push open the car door, allowing someone else to come in and sit.

“Huaisang-ge.”

“My favorite A-Cheng!” Nie Huaisang smiles, big and wide. He wraps an arm around Jiang Cheng’s shoulders, dropping his head to rest against Jiang Cheng’s as he shuts the door with his other hand. “How are you today?”

“I didn’t do the chemistry homework either,” Jiang Cheng says. Nie Huaisang sighs, letting out a loud groan as he drapes himself across Jiang Cheng.

“Get off, you’re heavy,” Jiang Cheng says. Nie Huaisang gasps, reaching up to pinch Jiang Cheng’s cheeks before eventually returning to his side.

“Are we ready to go?” Wei Ying asks. He steps on the pedal, the car making a deep revving noise that startles them all. Wei Ying laughs, smoothly backing out of Nie Huaisang’s driveway while readjusting the air conditioning. “I stepped on the gas instead of the brakes by accident, my bad.”

“Should we be letting him drive?” Nie Huaisang questions.

“It’s better to let him practice and fail now than for him to crash the car while driving my mom around,” Jiang Cheng says.

“That’s right, you’re going home next holiday, aren’t you?” Nie Huaisang asks. Though it’s phrased as a question, Jiang Cheng knows he already knows the answer. Nie Huaisang was crafty like that sometimes, always seeming to know everything before anyone else. If only he would apply himself in the same way at school, then his older brother wouldn’t worry so much. “Come visit us too. Baba’s been expecting your arrival ever since your mom told him about it. And Jasmine just gave birth to another litter.”

“I know; Mingjue-ge sent me pictures of the new puppies,” Jiang Cheng says. Wei Ying had a phobia of dogs, and Jiang Cheng’s father had made Jiang Cheng get rid of his three dogs in order to accommodate him. Jiang Cheng had thrown a fit about it and ran away. And by ran away, he meant that he wandered into the neighborhood next to theirs and bumped into Nie Mingjue, who offered to take in and house his dogs for him.

As it turned out, Jiang Cheng happened to go to the same school as his dog savior’s younger brother. Not only that, but they were in the same class. Nie Huaisang was one of the first friends Jiang Cheng made that weren’t his family members, though they might as well have been related from how close they were.

‘You two must have been brothers in another life!’, everyone liked to say. Jiang Cheng simply scowls: he would’ve liked to be an older brother in at least one lifetime, please. But it wasn’t that far off from the truth: Jiang Cheng really did feel like the Nies were his brothers at some point. Nie Mingjue would pick him up from middle school and bring him over to play with his dogs. Jiang Cheng found solace in the warm, paternal affection Nie-shushu so easily gave him when his actual father couldn’t do the same. And he and Nie Huaisang stuck together through everything, being in the same class since elementary school and even picking the same major in college.

“Do you think my aunt is going to date your dad?” Yu Jiaxin asks Nie Huaisang. “Though I guess she would have to divorce my uncle first.”

“I think your aunt and my dad hate each other,” Nie Huaisang says. “They always have some weird competitive thing going on. Feels like they want to one-up each other in everything.”

“Isn’t that how relationships are supposed to be?” Yu Jiaxin asks. Nie Huaisang gives her a concerned look, rapidly shaking his head.

“Just look at Wei Ying and Lan Zhan if you want an example of what a relationship should look like,” Nie Huaisang says, hooking his chin over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder to watch the video that was playing on Jiang Cheng’s phone.

“Hear that?” Jiang Cheng asks, nudging Lan Zhan with his arm. “You’re the relationship standard in this group.”

“We’re the only ones in a relationship in this group,” Lan Zhan murmurs. Jiang Cheng laughs, leaning back in his seat to continue watching his video.

At school, they all go their separate ways. They each had a morning class, but Lan Zhan’s started fifteen minutes later whereas Yu Jiaxin and Nie Huaisang were rushing to get to their lab. Wei Ying left to go park the car, leaving Jiang Cheng by himself to slowly make his way to his math class.

“What are you doing?” he says, hovering behind someone who was rapidly typing on their phone. They jump out of fright, slamming their phone into their lap to hide the screen.

“You scared me!”

“Sorry, Antian,” Jiang Cheng laughs. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Mu Antian huffs. “I’m texting my little brother to see if he needs to be picked up after school since Ge is out on a business trip this week. I might have to bring him to the library while we work on our project today if that’s fine with you guys.”

“No worries, I love A-Ling,” Jiang Cheng says, dropping his backpack onto the desk before taking a seat next to Mu Antian. “Did you see that Wen Chao flaked on us, though? He said he had something come up.”

“It’s not a family thing, is it?” Mu Antian asks. “Is Wen Ning still coming?”

“Definitely,” Jiang Cheng nods. Wen Ning had texted him the day before to confirm their meeting location. He never seemed to want to talk in the project group chat, though Jiang Cheng has a feeling that had something to do with Wen Chao and his habit of bullying his relatives. “But I’m worried Wen Chao won’t finish his part at home. He’s definitely not coming just so he can hang out with his girlfriend.”

“I hate that man,” Mu Antian murmurs. “I wish I had taken this class last year instead, but knowing my luck I probably would’ve gotten stuck with Wen Xu as well. At least Wen Ning is a sweetheart. He and his sister, I honestly don’t know how they’re related to people like Wen Xu and Wen Chao. We should’ve just kicked Wen Chao out of our group when we had the chance.”

“Do you guys need help on your project?”

Jiang Cheng looks up to see Meng Yao take a seat next to him. “It’s fine, Wen Chao’s part isn’t that big anyways. We expected him to not do that much.”

“My group’s already done,” Meng Yao says. “I can help out if needed.”

“How are you guys already finished?” Mu Antian says. “We got assigned this three days ago! I’ve barely finished the introduction, and you guys are already done with all of it?”

“I have a lot of resources at my disposal,” Meng Yao shrugs. Mu Antian simply shakes her head in disbelief before going back to texting her brother.

“Resources?” Jiang Cheng asks, raising an eyebrow. Meng Yao smiles. Beneath the table, his hand seeks out Jiang Cheng’s, their fingers tangling together.

“Lan Huan was kind enough to let me stay over at his house a few weeks ago,” Meng Yao says. “I happened to find some of his old school projects and flash drives. Wanna share?”

“I don’t share,” Jiang Cheng says. Meng Yao laughs, lifting their entangled hands up to press a fleeting kiss against one of Jiang Cheng’s knuckles. He lets go, reaching into his backpack to pull out his notes. Jiang Cheng has a vague suspicion he’s being led on by a guy who is also trying to date Lan Zhan’s brother. Or maybe he really did just want Lan Huan’s notes. It’s all so confusing: he’ll have to remember to ask Jiang Yanli about it some time. She, with her happy marriage and kid on the way, was the only person Jiang Cheng trusted with relationship advice.

It was strange, how their little family came together. Yu Ziyuan has two biological children but also looks after the child of her husband’s dead first love, and half the time Jiang Cheng is getting parented by Nie-shushu anyways. Not to mention Jiang Yanli’s long since integrated herself into the Jin family, having been “engaged” to Jin Zixuan since they were children. That left Wei Ying as the only child at home most of the time, which Jiang Cheng is sure Yu Ziyuan has some qualms about.

After class, Jiang Cheng finds Nie Huaisang waiting for him outside. He’s looking down at his phone but looks up to find Jiang Cheng after the students start pouring out of the room.

“A-Cheng!” he says, lifting his arm to wave at Jiang Cheng. “Let’s go to this new bakery that opened recently, I want to try their chiffon cake. They sell coffee and tea as well.”

“Don’t you have class soon?” Jiang Cheng asks. Nie Huaisang shrugs.

“Do I?”

“You have microeconomics in twenty minutes,” Jiang Cheng says, checking the time on his phone. Nie Huaisang simply loops his arm through Jiang Cheng’s, who sighs. “We can go if we hurry. Do they have an online menu we can order from? Forget it, it’s always a headache to figure out. We’ll just have to hope it’s not too crowded.”

“You’re the best!” Nie Huaisang cheers. He drags Jiang Cheng off, pointing a finger ahead. “Let’s go!”

“Slow down, Huaisang-ge!” Jiang Cheng yelps, gripping the strap of his backpack. “You’re going to rip my arm off!”

“I won’t if you keep up!” Nie Huaisang laughs. Jiang Cheng huffs. He needs better friends, honestly. Preferably ones tha did their homework on time, and didn’t snore in their sleep, or fill their entire house with the burning smell of chili peppers, or insist on silence during mealtime.

Well, whatever. The ones he’s got now are pretty alright too.

Chapter Text

Nie Cheng starts his day off rather normally.

“Get back here, you three!”

His disciples giggle as they scamper off, leaving Nie Cheng to grumble a string of curses under his breath before chasing after them. He summons Pulao and steps on, flying towards the children and grabbing the middle by the collar of their robes, holding her up to dangle in the air.

“No, Gongzi!” she squeals, looking much too comfortable for a child who was swinging around like a loose thread. The other two surround Nie Cheng, raising their little fists to bang against his calves.

“Little brats,” Nie Cheng scolds, raising his foot as if to kick them. The two disciples shriek, laughing as they jump back. “Don’t make trouble, give me my guan back.”

One of the disciples on the ground tosses it up, and in exchange, Nie Cheng drops the girl back down. She recovers all too easily, brushing off her knees before puffing out her chest and pointing up at Nie Cheng.

“We’ll get you one day!” she declares, just as she had been for the last three weeks. Normally Nie Cheng would let them play around a little more before interfering, but he had a scheduled visit to Gusu Lan today and didn’t want to be late.

“You need to train more before you can do that,” Nie Cheng tells them, raising an eyebrow. It made him resemble Lan Qiren sometimes, which came in handy in situations like these. “No more skipping class.”

Upon receiving promises he was sure they were going to break, Nie Cheng bids farewell to his disciples before leaving to meet with his brother. Nie Huaisang was waiting for him in the fields near the town; standing amongst a plain of grass, his hair blowing back in the wind, Nie Cheng thought his brother resembled a prince of sorts. Or perhaps some mischievous entity trying to scam mortals.

He was deep in discussion with Mu Lingyan when Nie Cheng arrives, not even bothering to lift his head to greet Nie Cheng. Nie Cheng places a hand on Mu Lingyan’s shoulder; the boy who once barely reached his elbow was now nearly the same height as Nie Huaisang, though that wasn’t saying much. It was still Nie Huaisang, after all.

“Make sure to eat lunch before you leave,” Nie Cheng tells Mu Lingyan.

“Can’t we go together?” Mu Lingyan asks, frowning. Grown as he was, Mu Lingyan still had fears about Nie Cheng flying by himself. A rather silly thought considering the fact that Nie Cheng was much stronger than him, but Mu Lingyan was never one to care about himself too much.

“You’ll be with the other disciples,” Nie Cheng reassures him, ruffling his hair. It was soft and tied up in a high ponytail behind Mu Lingyan. Sometimes, in the moments between blinks, Nie Cheng sees Mu Antian instead. “And I’ll see you in the afternoon.”

“Lingyan can hang out with me instead!” Nie Huaisang says. Mu Lingyan wrinkles his nose, shaking his head in refusal.

“All you’re going to be doing is paperwork today,” he mumbles. Nie Cheng snorts, ignoring the protests that fall out of Nie Huaisang’s mouth. He mounts his sword, hovering up into the air before looking back down at Nie Huaisang and Mu Lingyan.

“I’m going,” he says.

“Fly safe!” Nie Huaisang replies, waving his arm. Mu Lingyan copies his movements, his eyes locking onto Nie Cheng’s back. It’s a while before Nie Cheng stops feeling his gaze.

Nie Cheng doesn’t stop to rest while traveling by himself, so he arrives at the Cloud Recesses rather quickly. The misty air and familiar mountain peaks leave him with a pang of nostalgia, as if he is able to transport himself back to when he was only a child and playing at Gusu Lan. How many trips had he made to the Lan sect over the years, both formal and informal? Nie Cheng had lost count, though it must have been hundreds of times at this point.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are waiting at the entrance to greet him. Nie Cheng clasps his arm with Lan Wangji, feeling himself get pushed forward as Wei Wuxian jumps onto him.

“Nie Cheng, welcome!” he says. Nie Cheng shoves a hand on his cheek, pushing Wei Wuxian back.

“You say that as if you live here,” Nie Cheng grumbles. “Get off, you’re heavy.”

“I am not,” Wei Wuxian gasps, placing a hand on his chest. “Maybe you’re just weak. Lan Zhan can easily pick me up, after all.”

“Gross; I didn’t need to know that,” Nie Cheng says, scrunching his nose up. He’d rather completely ignore the fact that Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian were courting each other, but Wei Wuxian was never one for secret relationships.

Well, he was keeping the true relationship between him and Nie Cheng secret, so Nie Cheng had to give him some credit.

“Have you eaten yet?” Lan Zhan asks. Nie Cheng shakes his head, following the couple to the Lan dining hall.

He spots Lan Xichen at a table surrounded by elders and bows to him in passing. Nie Cheng heard that he had met up with Jin Guangyao a couple of weeks ago alongside some other notable cultivation figures, though he didn’t know the specifics. Yu Jiaxin said they had used her sect as a neutral meeting location, and that she had spotted Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao going into town together afterward. She asked Nie Cheng if he wanted more details, and he declined, so she hadn’t said anything else.

Nie Cheng wasn’t really here for anything too important, mostly so that their disciples could train together and exchange pointers. Given that his disciples hadn’t arrived yet, he took the time to go for a quiet walk by himself after lunch. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were probably making out, and Nie Cheng did not want to be there to see it.

Stepping onto the stone-paved path, Nie Cheng takes the same route he had taken his mother when leading her to Lan Qiren’s office for the first time. Yu Ziyuan had been contacting him more and more often as of late, usually through letters passed on by Wei Wuxian. She hadn’t been all too pleased upon discovering that he had learned of their history, though it certainly made communicating with her easier, so Nie Cheng wasn’t complaining.

Jiang Fengmian still didn’t know; neither wife nor ward seemed to be in a rush to tell him. Jiang Yanli too, for the matter. To be honest, Nie Cheng was surprised she hadn’t been informed, but he wasn’t going to be the one to say anything, either. She was too busy being married to Jin Zixuan and taking care of their newborn. Literally: it had only been a few weeks since she had given birth, less than a month. Nie Cheng wasn’t too sure, but hopefully this new Jin turned out better than the rest before him.

When the path splits off into two, Nie Cheng turns left, further into the woods and towards a small waterfall he knows is nearby. He might meditate for a while until his disciples arrived. Or just take a nap; the weather was warm and inviting, like a mother’s embrace. Certainly not his mother’s, but still.

“Everyone shut up!”

Nie Cheng pauses, his hand flying up to his sword handle. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else here at this time. Nie Cheng was supposed to be alone. He hones in on the sound, silently moving closer.

“Um, you were just louder than both of us just now…”

“Whatever! Thank goodness the Young Mistress isn’t awake right, or else she’d throw a hissy fit.”

“Jingyi…”

“Yeah, I know, I know. I won’t say it to her face!”

Were they kidnappers? Had they taken some wealthy family’s daughter? They sounded awfully young to be criminals, though you never knew. Nie Cheng takes the opportunity to lunge out, holding his blade up against one of the figures.

“What’s going on?” he demands to know. There were four of them, all looking to be teenagers. Upon looking at them for a second time, Nie Cheng lowers his sword. Two of them were Lan disciples.

“You guys should be in class right now,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t want me to tell your teachers, do you?”

He observes the other two disciples. One of them was from the Ouyang sect based on his robe design. The other one was a Jin disciple, though Nie Cheng had never met him before. More concerningly, he was unconscious, his body collapsed onto the ground in a curled-up position. Just what had they been doing?

“Sorry, Sandu Shengshou,” one of the Lan disciples says. “We don’t know what happened either! We know you want your precious A-Ling.”

“A-Ling?” Nie Cheng asks. Why do they have his disciple with them? He thought they were simply children slacking off, though perhaps they were just as dangerous as he originally thought. Nie Cheng looks around, scanning the nearby bushes and trees for any sign of Mu Lingyan, but finds none. He narrows his eyes back onto the quartet, raising his sword once more.

“You guys are much too young to be A-Ling’s friends,” Nie Cheng says. “Tell me the truth.”

“What?” the rowdy Lan disciple says. His eyebrows nearly jump off his face as his arms flail around in a rather ungraceful manner. “Are you kidding me? Isn’t he right--”

Before he can finish his sentence, he gets elbowed by his martial brother, who steps up as if shielding the rest of his peers. He seems to be the leader of the group, with his calm demeanor and polite smile.

“Apologies, Sandu Shengshou,” the other Lan disciple says, bowing to Nie Cheng. He seemed much more well-mannered than his counterpart. “We’re a bit confused as well.”

“Who the hell is Sandu Shengshou?” Nie Cheng asks. Maybe he should’ve been more polite when speaking with children, but before he can say anything else, the Jin boy starts waking up. His friends rush around him, helping him stand up. Nie Cheng watches quietly; they didn’t seem to be criminals. If they were, they wouldn’t have let down their guard so quickly around Nie Cheng, as if they weren’t afraid of him attacking.

“Young mistress, are you okay?” one of the Lan disciples, the rowdier one, asks.

That was the “young mistress”? Wasn’t that a boy? Nie Cheng’s eyesight wasn’t that bad, was it? Perhaps it was simply an inside joke between friends, though that would explain why Nie Cheng hadn’t found a girl amongst the four.

“I’m fine,” the Jin disciple groans, holding his head. The calmer Lan disciple rubs his back, allowing the Jin disciple to lean on him. “What did you do, Lan Jingyi?”

“Why do you always assume this is my fault!?” Lan Jingyi cries. The Jin disciple scowls, opening his mouth as if to snap back. However, before he does his eyes snap to Nie Cheng, and immediately it’s as if a layer of tenseness melts off him. He shoots up immediately, nearly shoving his peers away from him.

“Jiujiu!” he cries. He looks eager to see Nie Cheng, which was a welcome surprise compared to the other Jins he had previously interacted with. The Jin boy was young, surely no more than fifteen or sixteen. Strange enough, he seemed to have a clarity bell dangling from his belt, though Nie Cheng swears that was a Jiang tradition rather than a Jin one. “What are you doing here? Why do your clothes look so weird?”

“Are you speaking to me?” Nie Cheng asks, raising his eyebrows. He wasn’t anyone’s jiujiu, much less this Jin kid’s. “Who are you all?”

“That’s not funny!” the Jin disciple says, stomping his foot on the ground. What a brat; though, Nie Cheng can’t help but think of the action as cute. “My head already hurts, and I don’t know where we are. Jiujiu, you can’t be mean as well!”

“I think we’re still in the Cloud Recesses,” the Ouyang disciple says, pointing up to the sky. “The atmosphere is the same as Gusu Lan’s, so we can’t be that far away.”

“He’s correct; you are in the Lan sect,” Nie Cheng says. To not even know where they were despite having two Lan disciples with them, what happened to these kids? And who were they? Nie Cheng steps closer to the group to get a better look. They seemed partially intimidated except for the Jin disciple, who looks him straight in the eyes with no fear. Rather, he seemed petulant.

The person who catches Nie Cheng’s eye, however, was the calm Lan disciple. He, like the Jin disciple, didn’t seem all too afraid of Nie Cheng, though he averted his eyes once Nie Cheng stared for too long.

“You remind me of someone,” Nie Cheng tells him. The Lan disciple bows his head as if accepting Nie Cheng’s strange remarks. “You look an awful lot like that Wen kid. What was his name again? Wen Yuan? You look as if you could be his twin, but he’s three years old and you’re… well, you’re not a toddler.”

“A Wen?” the Jin disciple says, staring at the Lan disciple whose shoulders had locked up. Strange. He seemed nervous about something. “Sizhui, what is Jiujiu talking about? Doesn’t he recognize you?”

“I don’t think he recognizes any of us, Gongzi,” Sizhui says. Probably Lan Sizhui, given the intricacies of his headband. Once again, strange; Nie Cheng was sure he was a Wen. And that Jin disciple had to have come from an influential family, though Nie Cheng hadn’t seen any of them before.

“Don’t be stupid,” the Jin disciple scoffs. “How could he not recognize me? My face isn’t deformed, is it?”

“It would look better if it was,” Lan Jingyi says, snorting. The Ouyang disciple laughs while Jin-gonzgi turns to Nie Cheng, ignoring his friends.

“Jiujiu, it’s me!” the Jin disciple says. “It’s Jin Ling! Can you stop pretending now? I don’t like this game.”

…What.

“Jin Ling?” Nie Cheng asks. The Jin disciple, Jin Ling, nods rapidly. He clings onto Nie Cheng’s sleeve, gripping it so tightly that Nie Cheng can’t even shake him off.

If Nie Cheng really was this child’s uncle, as he kept claiming so, then… It was impossible. Literally impossible. The boy was old enough to be able to distinguish between Jiujiu and Shushu, and surely his family wouldn’t have him running around so uneducated if he came from a prominent one. Jin Ling was a member of the Jin clan, given his family name. Then, in order for Nie Cheng to be his uncle…

…Was Nie Huaisang a cutsleeve?

Did he have a child in the future? That was the only explanation Nie Cheng could come up with, if the title of Shushu had been taken by the family from Nie Huaisang’s spouse’s side, leaving Nie Cheng to be Jin Ling’s “jiujiu”.

More importantly, why would Nie Huaisang marry a Jin ?

“I’m taking you four to Wei Wuxian,” Nie Cheng declares. This was too strange for him to deal with by himself. He turns around, expecting the four to follow after him. “Come on.”

“Oh.” Nie Cheng tilts his head back, neck twisting so he could glare at the other cultivators. His eyes glow under the noon sun, flashing with the sharp edge of danger. “And if you even think about trying to attack me, I’ll break your legs and slit your throats. Understood?”

“Your jiujiu is scarier than usual,” Nie Cheng hears one of them whisper.

“Shut up!” Jin Ling hisses back. Nie Cheng sighs, not letting go of his grip on his sword. He really should be watching his back instead of leading them in the front like this, but it was fine. It wasn’t like he couldn’t take on four teenagers, anyways.

They kept talking amongst themselves as Nie Cheng led them through the Lan sect, hushed whispers that he could make out if he focused on it hard enough. Nie Cheng, not all too wary of the strangers behind him, chooses not to bother.

Though, it was strange retracing his steps with four more people in his party. Then again, this entire situation had been strange. Nie Cheng wonders what the other Lan cultivators saw when they looked at him. Luckily, they hadn’t bumped into many, just a few of the older disciples making their way to the training fields or the library.

“Um, Sandu Shengshou?”

Nie Cheng continues walking, raising an eyebrow at the sight of two Lan disciples whispering to each other in the corner of a pavilion hallway. Looks like even the disciplined Lan sect couldn’t stop all of their disciples from skipping class.

“Sandu Shengshou?”

Then again, the two Lan disciples that were with him were also breaking the rules, and Lan Wangji was never one to listen if it applied to Wei Wuxian, so perhaps they weren’t as well-trained as Nie Cheng originally thought.

“Sandu Shengshou!”

Who the hell-- right. That was him, apparently.

“What?” Nie Cheng asks, not bothering to stop walking. That Lan disciple, Sizhui, clears his throat. He sounds a bit hesitant to speak, though obviously something is pushing him through it.

“I don’t think you have permission to be here. You might get in trouble,” Sizhui explains. “I am not aware of any…guests... being allowed in.”

“Huh?” Nie Cheng looks around, confirming to himself that he hadn’t gone the wrong way and accidentally stumbled into the Lan’s ancestral hall. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“But--”

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” Nie Cheng says, rolling his eyes. He climbs up the stairs, lifting his hand up in the air. “Didn’t I say I would take you to Wei Wuxian?”

He bangs on the door, making sure it could echo throughout the room instead. “Hey, open up!”

“What’s with all the noise?” Wei Wuxian opens the door, smiling when he sees Nie Cheng. “Welcome to my home! And just where did you run off to after lunch?”

“Went off for a walk,” Nie Cheng answers. “And this isn’t your house.”

“It’s Lan Zhan’s, but what’s mine is his, and what’s his is mine, right?” Wei Wuxian laughs, placing his hands on his hips. He looks like one of those carved wooden dolls that children play with. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes; only Wei Wuxian could pull off such a dumb pose and not look like a fool. Mostly because he already looked like the biggest fool; nothing could make it worse than it already was.

Wei Wuxian chuckles one more time before his eyes focus past Nie Cheng and at the disciples behind him. He raises his eyebrows, quietly analyzing them before smiling once more. “And who are these ducklings? Surely you haven’t gone and fathered this many children in so little time.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Nie Cheng says. “I don’t know who they are either, that’s why I took them to you. They all look like clan members or sect heirs, but I have no clue who any of them are.”

“Well, isn’t that interesting,” Wei Wuxian muses. He waves to the four, wiggling his fingers towards them. “Hello, little ducklings. I’m Wei Wuxian. I’d love to invite you in, but, well, this isn’t my home yet.”

“Yet?”

“It’s a work in progress,” Wei Wuxian says, winking at Nie Cheng, who gags at the sight. “I’m still trying to sweet talk Old Man Lan a little more. You could throw in a good word for me, you know.”

“In your dreams,” Nie Cheng scoffs. He uses his index finger to point back at the four cultivators. “Take them to the meeting room nearby. I’ll meet you there; I just need to go get something first.”

“Sure, sure,” Wei Wuxian laughs. His eyes flash a bright red for a second, visible only to Nie Cheng, who was standing close to him. “Need me to interrogate them?”

“They’re not dangerous,” Nie Cheng says, shaking his head. “Just talk to them or something.”

“I’m a great conversationalist,” Wei Wuxian replies cheerfully, all past threatening auras dispersing into the air. He jumps off the porch, spreading his arms out like he was welcoming a crowd. “Follow me; I’ll take you to play somewhere fun!”

- - - -

“So,” Wei Wuxian says. He stares at the four cultivators who were sitting in front of him, their legs tucked neatly underneath their thighs. “What’s going on?”

“Wei-qianbei!” Lan Jingyi cries. “You are Wei-qianbei, right? In the body you had before… well, that’s not important. You’re asking us that? We don’t know either!”

“One moment we were in the Cloud Recesses, and then the next moment… well, I guess we’re still in the Cloud Recesses,” Ouyang Zizhen says. “But it’s a bit strange. Eerie, almost. Everything seems different, if that makes sense.”

“I didn’t know Jiang-zongzhu was allowed to enter Hanguang-jun’s residence,” Lan Sizhui says. Ouyang Zizhen nods in agreement, his head rapidly bobbing up and down. Only Jin Ling was silent, his hands curled up into fists and laying atop his knees.

“Huh? I mean, he’s not, but no one is. Why mention him specifically?” Wei Wuxian asks. He shakes his head, eyes narrowing as he leans towards Lan Sizhui. “That’s not the point. I don’t know who you four are, but you look awfully familiar.”

“He looks like Wen Yuan, right?”

Nie Cheng opens the door before walking inside and sitting down next to Wei Wuxian. Behind him follows Lan Wangji, who shuts the door for him and takes the remaining seat next to Nie Cheng.

The Ouyang disciple lets out a startled cough when he sees the three of them together. Even Sizhui raises an eyebrow at their seating placement before his face shifts back into one of careful neutrality. “Pardon?”

“He does look like A-Yuan!” Wei Wuxian exclaims, slapping his hands together. “That’s where I recognize him! Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know someone named Wen Ning, would you? Or Wen Qing?”

Nie Cheng silently shudders. Wen Qing still scared him: his brain wouldn’t stop giving him danger signals whenever she was around. Realistically, he knows that he poses more of a threat to her than she does to him, but it felt ingrained in his bones to be wary. Wen Ning, however, didn’t seem to trigger the same signals. He was kind enough, if not rather quiet. Though, considering the other people Nie Cheng chooses to associate himself with, that was more of a positive than anything else.

“I do, Qianbei,” Sizhui answers slowly. Wei Wuxian nods, as if he was starting to understand. Nie Cheng, unfortunately, is still terribly lost.

“So what?” he asks. “It’s not like he’s Wen Yuan. Besides, he looks like a Lan instead of a Wen.”

Nie Cheng turns to Lan Wangji, nudging him with his elbow. “Do you recognize him? Or any of them?”

“That boy,” Lan Wangji says. “Is Wen Yuan. But I do not know who the rest are.”

“That’s what I thought too!” Wei Wuxian says as Nie Cheng’s brain stutters for a moment. Surely it was impossible for Wen Yuan to have grown so much in such little time, right? “He looks too much like him to be anyone else. But the question now is why he’s so old, right? Ah… time travel, perhaps? Maybe they’re from the future.”

“Time travel doesn’t exist,” Nie Cheng says immediately.

“Maybe for someone whose brain is as small as yours,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He yelps as Nie Cheng’s fist swings by his face. “Kidding, I’m kidding! You’re very smart, a once-in-a-lifetime genius!”

“That would explain why they get along so well,” Lan Jingyi says to the Ouyang disciple. “Though I don’t know why they keep calling Sizhui ‘Wen Yuan’. Maybe we traveled back to before the--”

The Ouyang disciple covers his peer’s mouth with his hand, a panicked look on his face. “Don’t say anything! You’re not supposed to reveal anything or it could cause big changes in the future!”

“So they’re really from the future?” Nie Cheng asks. Everyone else seems to have accepted this conclusion rather easily.

“That must be why none of you recognize us,” Sizhui, the older Wen Yuan, justifies. He ends up maturing rather well, Nie Cheng notes. He must have joined the Lan sect since the Wens were no longer a group. “You just haven’t met us yet.”

“I wasn’t lying, see!?” Jin Ling says. It’s the first thing he’s said since they’ve stepped into this room, and based on the piercing stare he levels at Nie Cheng, that statement was for him. “You really are my jiujiu!”

“Jiujiu?” Lan Wangji narrows his eyes onto Jin Ling, who shrinks back, curling in on himself as his lips press together. Despite that, the look in his eyes is still insistent, refusing to give up on what he believed was true.

Wei Wuxian laughs, reaching behind Nie Cheng to pat Lan Wangji on the shoulder. “Let’s not get too hasty. Before we go claiming to be anyone’s nephew, why don’t you four introduce yourselves? Just so we’re all at the same level of understanding.”

Jin Ling glares at Wei Wuxian but averts his eyes once Lan Wangji stares at him again. Nie Cheng tilts his head to look at Lan Wangji, quietly admonishing him. “Stop bullying the poor kid.”

“Your nephew?”

Nie Cheng refuses to answer him.

“This one is called Lan Sizhui,” the older Wen Yuan says. “I… I am Hanguang-jun and Wei-qianbei’s son.”

“Didn’t I just say we shouldn’t reveal anything?” the Ouyang disciple says, clearly exasperated. “You Lans need to read more novels!”

“Shixiong and Ge have a son?” Nie Cheng asks.

“A-Yuan becomes my son!?” Wei Wuxian cries. There’s a delighted air in his tone, his eyes shining as he turns to look at Lan Wangji, whose ears were bright red. “Lan Zhan, did you hear that? I suppose Wen Ning and Wen Qing left him in our care so he could join a sect. Or maybe Wen Qing finally thinks I’m responsible enough to have a child!”

“Doesn’t he live with his grandmother?” Nie Cheng asks. Wei Wuxian waves off his concerns, murmuring something about “having grown up so fast” and “being so handsome”.

“Is ‘Ge’ supposed to be Hanguang-jun?” Lan Jingyi asks. Wei Wuxian pauses, sighing as he throws his arm around Nie Cheng. The juniors look rather wary at the sight of his actions, Jin Ling going so far as the tense up like a startled cat. Whether for his sake or for Wei Wuxian’s, Nie Cheng doesn’t know.

“Don’t remind me,” Wei Wuxian bemoans. “Lan Zhan was always Xiao Cheng’s favorite.”

“Don’t call me that,” Nie Cheng scowls while trying to pry Wei Wuxian off. Don’t be so embarrassed in front of children, Wei Wuxian! Your own son, no less!

Lan Sizhui and the others look rather confused. They keep glancing toward Lan Wangji as if expecting him to do something. Little do they know that he’s just Wei Wuxian’s enabler; besides, he calls Nie Cheng by the same nickname. Wouldn’t it just be hypocritical if he made Wei Wuxian stop?

“Then, I have a question,” the Ouyang disciple says, raising his hand. “Why do you keep calling Sizhui ‘Wen Yuan’? You even mentioned something about the Ghost General.”

“Ghost General? Are you talking about Wen Qing in the future?” Wei Wuxian asks. “That’s funny, I should call her by that name sometime. Ah, Lan Sizhui, Wen Yuan, they’re the same person. Lan Zhan thinks so, and I do as well. Even Xiao Cheng pointed out that they look alike. And we based the theory that you all were from the future off him being Wen Yuan, didn’t we?”

“Sizhui’s given name is Lan Yuan,” Lan Jingyi says. He turns to look at his martial brother, hesitation on his face. “Sizhui, is it true?”

Lan Sizhui pauses for a moment before looking down at his lap. Nie Cheng can’t see it too clearly, but there’s a frown on Lan Sizhui’s face, his lips pressed together with anxiety. “If Wei-qianbei and Hanguang-jun say so, then it must be as such.”

“You’re really a Wen?” the Ouyang disciple asks. “Why didn’t you tell us!? We would’ve kept your secret!”

“I had just recently discovered it for myself as well,” Lan Sizhui says. He smiles at his friends; Nie Cheng notes that he’s not looking at Jin Ling. “I was worried I would be thought ill of if I were to tell you.”

“No way!” Lan Jingyi cries. The Ouyang disciple echoes his words after him, giving Lan Sizhui their support. “You’re still Sizhui, no matter who you’re descended from!”

“...So it’s true?”

Lan Sizhui, who had just started to smile again, drops his expression as he turns to Jin Ling. “Jin-gongzi…”

“It’s fine,” Jin Ling says. His tone is harsh, as abrasive as sandpaper. Lan Sizhui reaches his hand out, though before he can touch Jin Ling he pulls it back.

It’s silent for a moment. Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, and Nie Cheng share a look with each other, but they don’t know what to do. They don’t know the history between these boys, after all. Eventually, it’s Lan Jingyi who breaks the quiet pause by clearing his throat.

“The of us haven’t introduced ourselves yet, have we?” he asks. “I’m Lan Jingyi of the Gusu Lan sect. It’s a pleasure to meet you! Even if it’s for the second time.”

“This one is Ouyang Zizhen!” the Ouyang disciple says. “I’m the heir to the Ouyang sect. Nice you meet you!”

That left only Jin Ling left, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than here. He seems to force himself to straighten up, staring right into Nie Cheng’s eyes instead of looking anywhere else. Such a young look in his eyes, Nie Cheng marvels. “I’m Jin Ling.”

“A Jin?” Wei Wuxian says, raising an eyebrow. He elbows Nie Cheng, who shoves his arm back into Wei Wuxian’s side just as sharply. “Your nephew is a Jin? You’re the jiujiu to some Jin kid?”

“This is not my fault!” Nie Cheng snaps. It was Nie Huaisang’s own damn fault for getting involved with the Jin clan! Nie Cheng just happened to be collateral damage. “If you want someone to blame then blame Ge!”

“Don’t bring Hanguang-jun into this!” Lan Jingyi protests.

“Not him,” Nie Cheng says. “My actual brother.”

“Surely you know of Nie-zongzhu,” Lan Wangji says. The juniors look just as confused as Nie Cheng felt the first time he saw them. Good. Let them feel how he felt.

“Maybe you three should also introduce yourselves,” Lan Sizhui carefully suggests.

“I’ve already done so,” Wei Wuxian says, waving his hand through the air. “That’s Lan Zhan over there, and Nie Cheng is the grumpy one sitting between us!”

“What.”

Lan Jingyi chokes, curling over himself as he throws a coughing fit. Lan Sizhui pats him on the back, but there’s also a puzzled look in his eyes. Ouyang Zizhen laughs nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Surely this is a joke, right? That’s Jiang-zongzhu between you two, Wei-qianbei.”

“Excuse me?” Wei Wuxian asks, his smile frozen in place. Nie Cheng freezes as well, his shoulders locking up as he stares at the group in front of him. Why were they calling him Jiang-zongzhu? There’s no way that he returns to the Jiang sect in the future, is there? Why would he?

“Jiang-zongzhu--” Lan Sizhui starts, but before he can say anything else he’s interrupted by a knock on the door. Nie Cheng’s eyes fly wide open as he struggles to recollect himself, startled by the noise.

“Don’t say that name in front of others,” Lan Wangji says to Lan Sizhui, who silently nods.

“San-gongzi? Can I come in?”

“Come in!” Wei Wuxian says as Nie Cheng breathes a sigh of relief. He smiles up at the person who just opened the door, a soft grin reserved for the boy he’s seen grow up from an overzealous child to a mature young man.

“A-Ling,” Nie Cheng says. In the corner of his eye, he sees Jin Ling snap his head up as if responding to the sound like a dog trained to respond to the ringing of a bell. “When did you get here?”

“We just landed, I wanted to see you,” Mu Lingyan says. He looks around the room, taking note of the four disciples and their elaborate robes that gestured to even more elaborate titles. “Um, this seems like a bad time. I can talk to you later…”

“Wait,” Nie Cheng says, holding a hand up. He narrows his eyes, scrutinizing the way Mu Lingyan’s robes were in a disheveled state. “Did you eat before leaving the sect? And is that a scratch on your hand? How have you injured yourself already?”

No doubt Mu Lingyan pushed himself to get here as soon as possible. Nie Cheng stares at Mu Lingyan, who averts his eyes to the side. Nie Cheng clears his throat, but still, Mu Lingyan refuses to look back at him. He even has the nerve to puff out his cheeks like he was the wronged one. Little brat.

“I wanted to see Gongzi,” Mu Lingyan mumbles once more, rubbing the back of his head. He looks a bit like a kicked puppy, and Nie Cheng could never stay mad at him for too long whenever he looked like that. “Everyone else had lunch before we left.”

“And you didn’t,” Nie Cheng finishes for him. Mu Lingyan had problems remembering to eat if he was leaving to go somewhere soon, usually too busy double-checking that everything was ready and prepared. Sometimes he just got too anxious to eat, though that had gotten less frequent over the years. “Go into town and get something to eat. You still have to work hard in the afternoon.”

“Yes, Gongzi,” Mu Lingyan says, bowing to him. He looks reluctant to leave, but Nie Cheng shoos him away nonetheless. It would be bad if he didn’t get some food in his body before the training session with the Lans.

“And heal your injury!” Nie Cheng calls out as Mu Lingyan closes the door behind him. He sighs, placing a hand on his head. “What am I going to do with that kid?”

“It’s so strange to see Nie Cheng act so grown up,” Wei Wuxian teases. Nie Cheng shoves his face away. “Our little Chengcheng.”

“That’s who you thought A-Ling was when we said that name?” Lan Jingyi asks. “No wonder you thought we weren’t friends. Jin Ling’s younger than us, but that A-Ling was way older.”

Nie Cheng looks at Jin Ling. He looks pale, a little angry and distraught at the same time. Lan Sizhui pats his shoulder, but he seems to be ignoring Lan Sizhui at the moment. Jin Ling stares straight at Nie Cheng, who stares back, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re my jiujiu,” he repeats again to Nie Cheng. “That’s why Ouyang Zizhen called you Jiang-gongzi. You’re my mother’s brother.”

“You are Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan’s son?” Lan Wangji asks. Wei Wuxian chokes, knocking his fist against his chest to stop his coughing. He’s in shock, though Nie Cheng can’t blame him for being so. He takes a look at Jin Ling again, trying to pick out Jiang Yanli and JIn Zixuan’s features on the boy’s face. It isn’t that hard of a task at all.

Jin Ling nods. “I am the sect leader of Lanling Jin, and if my jiujiu never marries and has children, I will be the sect leader of Yunmeng Jiang as well.”

“If you’re Jiang Yanli’s son, shouldn’t he be your jiujiu?” Nie Cheng asks, gesturing to Wei Wuxian with the jut of his chin.

“Oh!” Wei Wuxian says, eyes lighting up with a new revelation. “Jin Rulan! That’s you, right? Why didn’t you introduce yourself with your courtesy name instead?”

“Because it’s a stupid name,” Jin Ling scowls. Nie Cheng vaguely remembers Wei Wuxian talking to him about it, though he didn’t know Wei Wuxian was naming Jin ZIxuan’s son. He thought it was a daughter’s name. Between this name and being called “Young Mistress”, it’s no wonder Jin Ling would rather be called by his given name, disrespectful as it usually was.

“So…” Lan Jingyi starts. “You’re not Jiang-zongzhu?”

“The current Jiang-zongzhu is Jin Ling’s grandfather,” Nie Cheng replies. Jin Ling frowns at his answer, though he doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t think we can consider you four to be from the future anymore.” Wei Wuxian muses. “Too many things are different. Xiao Cheng’s situation, obviously, but also Wen Yuan becoming Lan Sizhui. I was willing to overlook it, but now it seems out of place. Wen Qing definitely would never trust me that much, though maybe she would approve more if Lan Zhan was with me.”

“Wei Ying is responsible on his own as well,” Lan Wangji says. “You have many strengths. Any child looked after by you would be well-loved.”

“Should we have some children together, then?” Wei Wuxian asks, grinning at Lan Wangji. Nie Cheng wrinkles his nose, pushing them away from each other. Not while he’s between them, please.

“What exactly is Jiang-zongzhu’s situation?” Lan Sizhui asks. “I believe Wei-qianbei is right. Instead of the future, we may be from the future of a different world. Is Jiang-zongzhu still from the Jiang sect?”

“First off, stop calling me ‘Jiang-zongzhu’,” Nie Cheng says, shuddering. That reminded him of Jiang Fengmian way too much. “Call me ‘Nie-gongzi’. I’m the brother of the current Nie sect leader, Nie Huaisang.”

It felt weird to call his brother by his name. Almost taboo, in a way.

“Then, were you ever from the Jiang sect?” Lan Sizhui asks.

Nie Cheng looks at Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, who both simply stare back at him. He tilts his head down a little, asking a silent question. All he gets back were more stares. Lan Wangji was always quiet, but it was strange to see Wei Wuxian act this way as well. They were no help, then. Nie Cheng would have to make this decision by himself.

“Not a word of this leaves the seven of us,” he warns. The four disciples nod in agreement, also staying quiet as they wait for Nie Cheng to continue.

Slowly, Nie Cheng explains what happened. He leaves out the details, simplifying it down to where it would answer the juniors’ questions and nothing more. He doesn’t like thinking about his past, much less talking about it with a group of teenagers. Besides, it felt awkward when Wei Wuxian, who was such an integral part of his past and present being different, was sitting right beside him. Sure, Nie Cheng had forgiven him, but it still felt weird to bring up while next to him.

“So… you’re still technically my jiujiu by blood?” Jin Ling asks.

“Is that all you care about?” Nie Cheng asks, exasperated. What was so important about an uncle, anyways? It’s not as if he had just revealed that Jin Ling’s parents weren’t actually his parents in this world. Nie Cheng, or Jiang Cheng, wasn’t even Jin Ling’s only relative. He had Wei Wuxian as well, obviously, and Yu Jiaxin as well. In the grand scheme of things, Nie Cheng can’t picture why he would be so important to this boy.

Still, it felt nice to be appreciated. To be unconditionally loved.

“Sure, kid,” Nie Cheng says. Jin Ling’s eyes light up like Nie Cheng had just gifted him the entire world. The Jiang Cheng in his world probably spoiled him rotten. Maybe that’s why his uncle so much: he kept giving Jin Ling presents. “Why not. I’m your jiujiu.”

“Me too!” Wei Wuxian says, grinning. “Am I your favorite jiujiu, A-Ling?”

“The Wei Wuxian in our world got disowned by the Jiang sect,” Jin Ling says offhandedly. Wei Wuxian eyes widen like flowers spreading out in full bloom, colored with shock. Nie Cheng nearly laughs in shock, though it seems impolite to do so. He covers it up with a cough instead.

After that revelation, the disciples explain a bit about their world, though they fail to mention anything about the Jiang family or the Jins. They mainly talk about their own experiences with the seniors of their world, though they answer Nie Cheng’s questions when he asks. Nie Cheng is a bit disappointed to know that Nie Mingjue dies in both universes, and not at all surprised to hear that Jin Guangyao was the one who orchestrated in Jin Ling’s world. At least Nie Huaisang was doing well as sect leader. Nie Cheng wished him the best, even if they weren’t related in that world.

“So how did you four end up here anyways?” Wei Wuxian asks. “From what you’ve told us, the Sunshot Campaign has ended in your universe as well, so it couldn’t have been because of that. Were you ambushed by anyone?”

“Actually, we were in Wei-qianbei’s study,” Ouyang Zizhen says. “And Lan Jingyi touched this talisman--”

“I didn’t know it was dangerous! It looked like an ugly drawing!”

“--and then we got transported here,” Ouyang Zizhen concludes. “Jin Ling passed out, but other than that we were unharmed.”

“It was one of my talismans that brought you here?” Wei Wuxian says. He hums, patting the side of his hip where Chengqing usually resided. “I’ll look into it, then. We’ll figure out a method to send you back home. Lan Jingyi, do you remember the drawing you saw?”

“I remember it!” Lan Jinyi says. “It was so hideous that with one glance its appearance seared itself into my mind.”

“In the meantime,” Lan Wangji says to the juniors. “You will stay here, in the Cloud Recesses. You will not be restricted to any building, but do not make yourselves known to anyone else. If you require anything, come to one of us.”

“Luckily I’ll be here for a couple of days to help with the training,” Nie Cheng sighs. “Remember, you can’t say anything about what you’ve heard today. Don’t even mention it in public.”

“You and Jin Ling look so alike, and I’m sure you look even more similar to his mom,” Lan Jingyi says. “How has no one discovered anything yet?”

“If you’re not looking for anything, what is there to find?” Nie Cheng shrugs. He stands up, stretching out his arms before heading for the door. “I need to go supervise my disciples now. Wangji-ge should as well, but…”

“I will accompany Wei Ying for a while and investigate the library for any information that may help discover a solution to this issue,” Lan Wangji says. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes: just say that you would rather be on a date with Wei Wuxian. Nie Cheng won’t judge. Well, he would, but not that hard.

Nie Cheng leaves the room and is making his way down the steps when he hears the padding sounds of footsteps behind him.

“Jiujiu!”

Jin Ling is running towards him, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to catch up with Nie Cheng. He clings onto Nie Cheng, clutching at his sleeve. For such a young boy, his grip is tight, like he had been holding onto Nie Cheng his entire life. “I’m going with Jiujiu!”

“You were just told to not show yourself,” Nie Cheng points out.

“I’ll disguise myself,” Jin Ling huffs. He was stubborn: he must have gotten that from having Jin Zixuan as a father. He still hasn’t let go of Nie Cheng.

“With what?” Nie Cheng asks. Jin Ling pauses, unsure. Nie Cheng sighs: kids are so troubling to raise, sometimes.

Nie Cheng takes off his own outer robe, slinging it over Jin Ling’s shoulders. Jin Ling slips his arms through it, and Nie Cheng helps him tie it up in the front: the kid had probably never had to dress himself before.

“A little too much gold,” Nie Cheng says, stepping back to observe his work. The bright gold color of the Jins was rather obnoxious, but it blended in better with the Nie colors than most other sects. If Jin Ling had been wearing the purple robes of Yunmeng Jiang, then Nie Cheng would have no way to help him. “But it’s no matter; you’ll blend in if someone isn’t looking too closely.”

“Oh.” Jin Ling’s fingers curl around the sleeve opening of the grey robes. They were a bit too big for him, but it worked fine nonetheless. Regardless, Jin Ling seemed to like them well enough. “Thank you, Jiujiu.”

He and Jin Ling walk together in silence for a while before Nie Cheng can’t take it anymore.

“It must have been a shock for you,” Nie Cheng says. Jin Ling frowns, looking down at the floor as he nods.

“I told Lan Jingyi he shouldn’t have been touching anything in Wei Wuxian’s study,” he murmurs. “I told Jiujiu I was only going to be gone for a few shichen. If I don’t go back in time, he’s going to get worried and come looking for me. And then he’s going to tell me he’ll break my legs.”

“Is he looking after you while your parents are busy?” Nie Cheng asks. Jin Ling looks at him with a curious expression.

“My parents are dead,” he says. Nie Cheng’s blood chills for a second; such an eerie sentence, especially coming from someone like Jin Ling who seemed like he had the whole world in the palm of his hands.

“My condolences,” he tells the boy, who frowns.

“Aren’t you sad?” he asks. “Your sister and her husband passed.”

“I don’t have a sister,” Nie Cheng reminds him. It is a gentle reminder, as gentle as Nie Cheng can make himself and which is usually reserved for people like Mu Lingyan, with whom he needed to be stern but couldn’t help but want to coddle. “But I’m sorry you had to go through that. My father died when I was a bit younger than you are right now.”

“Nie-zongzhu?” Jin Ling asks. Nie Cheng hums in agreement; his father had long since become a constellation in the sky and a memory in Nie Cheng’s heart. Perhaps he would look after Jin Ling while he was here.

“Did your jiujiu raise you by himself, then?” Nie Cheng asks. Jin Ling nods, fiddling with the billowing sleeves of his robe. No wonder he was so attached to Nie Cheng: he must miss his real uncle dearly.

Nie Cheng pats his shoulder, resolutely ignoring the way he can feel minute trembles shake down Jin Ling’s body. Some things were best left unmentioned, and Nie Cheng wasn’t about to hurt the boy’s pride by calling him out.

“Have you ever seen me before?” Jin Ling asks, sniffling. “The me here, I mean. The baby.”

“No one except his family has seen him before,” Nie Cheng says. After a second thought, he chooses to amend his words. “His parents and some nursemaids are probably the only ones who have met him yet. He had been born very recently; I didn’t even know his name until you arrived.”

“Oh,” Jin Ling says. His tone is strange, a bit wobbly and a bit distant. “Will you meet him soon?”

“Probably at his one-month celebration,” Nie Cheng nods. Jin Ling seems mollified at his answer, though he shifts towards Nie Cheng to stick even closer to him. Nie Cheng lets him be; he wouldn’t dare take away what seems to be one of Jin Ling’s only sources of comfort, even if that source happened to be himself.

Over the next day or two, the four disciples stay in Gusu Lan while Wei Wuxian looks for a solution to the time-traveling talisman. Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi are perfectly familiar with the Cloud Recesses’ paths and buildings, though Ouyang Zizhen needs more guidance. He’s usually found around one of the Lan disciples, though sometimes Nie Cheng finds him wandering down a quiet path by himself.

“They’re awfully loud sometimes,” he tells Nie Cheng. “I mean, I enjoy it and all, but sometimes I just need some time to daydream in peace. Between Jingyi and Jin Ling, there’s never a quiet moment when I’m with them. Even Sizhui can’t seem to keep them in check recently!”

Lan Sizhui, for his part, seemed to be taking the reveal of his hidden identity pretty well. Certainly better than Nie Cheng had ever, though he was never one to regulate his emotions well. The only hurdle Lan Sizhui faced was Jin Ling, who seemed to be more distant with him than the rest of the group. Nie Cheng often caught Lan Sizhui staring at Jin Ling with a quiet expectation in his eyes, and Jin Ling resolutely turned the other way.

“It’s weird,” Jin Ling shrugs. He was sitting with Nie Cheng, knees pulled up to his chest as he leaned against the wide trunk of a tree. “He’s still Lan Sizhui, I guess. But… but it’s also not him.”

“Did the Wens kill your parents?” Nie Cheng guesses. Jin Ling’s eyes open wide in shock, his neck snapping up to look at Nie Cheng, who simply smiles and lifts a finger to tap against the corner of his eye. “I recognize that look.”

“If I accept Sizhui,” Jin Ling says, his voice so quiet that it was practically a whisper. It cracks like stone after the freeze, splitting deep and shattering into pieces. He leans his head down, resting his forehead atop his knees. “Then it feels like I’ve stopped hating the people who took my parents away.”

Jin Ling was an orphan. Nie Cheng realizes this, perhaps later than he should have. Left alone in a world that wouldn’t take care of him. Complicated as it was, at least Nie Cheng still had his mother to run off to, who would take him in and nurse him back to health as she always had.

“You have cousins,” Nie Cheng states. Surely he would, as a member of the Jin clan. “Are they kind?”

“Not in the slightest,” Jin Ling snorts. He’s confused though he still answers Nie Cheng’s question immediately. It’s an unthinking kind of loyalty that leaves Nie Cheng a bit startled, to be honest.

“Just because they’re not does not mean the entire Jin sect is,” Nie Cheng explains. “Like you. I haven’t met a single Jin who I’ve liked, but you…you’re good. You’re not defined by your family name. Lan Sizhui isn’t either. And you aren’t betraying your parents by seeing the good in others. Hate and love can coexist; most of the time they usually do.”

Nie Cheng doesn’t exactly think he’s the best person to talk to this about. After all, if he had said anything other than what he did, wouldn’t that make him a hypocrite? Or perhaps he was already a hypocrite, so desperate to tear out of his own skin and be reborn because of how chained he felt by the name “Jiang”.

“I hate the Wens,” Jin Ling says.

“Don’t we all,” Nie Cheng sighs. Jin Ling doesn’t say anything more, electing instead to stare off into the distance. Perhaps he misses the way his life was before he found himself entangled in this talisman mess.

They sit there together until they’re eventually found by Mu Lingyan, who is all too eager to join their party of silence. He’s been particularly fascinated by Jin Ling, who does not return the sentiment.

“I hate you as well,” Jin Ling tells Mu Lingyan, who blinks.

“Ah, thank you?” he responds. Nie Cheng tells himself that hitting Mu Lingyan would not get his point across that well. Hadn’t he raised this kid to not accept insults laying down? Where was your honor, Mu Lingyan?

“But I like Nie-gongzi,” Jin Ling says, though he calls Nie Cheng’s name like he was trying to pull his teeth out. “Even though he’s nothing alike, he’s still the same.”

“I guess so? You sure are confusing,” Mu Lingyan says. He smiles, hands on his knees as he leans forward. “I like San-gongzi too!”

“Alright, that’s enough from you two,” Nie Cheng says, placing a hand over each of their heads. Maybe it would be better to keep them separated. He has a feeling they’d be bad influences on each other if together for any longer.

In the evening, Nie Cheng is taking a walk around the sect when he spots Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui conversing together. Their heads are leaned towards each other, and Jin Ling is just barely hunched over, arms crossed like he was trying to protect himself. Still, as defensive as his positioning was, whatever he was saying to Lan Sizhui must have been positive, because Lan Sizhui has the brightest smile that Nie Cheng’s ever seen on his face before.

Good for them, Nie Cheng thinks before walking away. Acceptance was hard, but the weight that slides off your shoulders always makes it worth it.

By the third day, Wei Wuxian gathers them all back into the same forest Nie Cheng found them in. He holds up a handful of talismans, each containing vaguely different scribbles. Nie Cheng was never the best at talisman creation, though he knew enough to fend for himself. Certainly not as much as Wei Wuxian, who was rambling something about testing the different effects and comparing it against some control.

“What if it sends us somewhere new again?” Lan Jingyi asks, eying Wei Wuxian’s talismans with caution.

“Well, let’s just hope that doesn’t happen!” Wei Wuxian says, grinning. Nie Cheng has a brief flash of being tested on like a stray animal. Lan Jingyi seems to share the same sentiment given the way he shivers and takes a step back from Wei Wuxian.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji chides. Wei Wuxian laughs, thumbing through his talismans with the look of a mad inventor. That was probably why they were in this situation in the first place, if the Wei Wuxian from Jin Ling’s universe was anything like Nie Cheng’s.

“Let’s get started,” Wei Wuxian says. He holds up the first talisman between his index and middle finger, waving it around in the air. “Let me know if you feel anything strange starting to happen to your body. It’ll probably be fine, though--”

“A-Ling!”

Jin Ling’s eyes light up like a flash of lightning striking a field of dry grass and setting the earth ablaze. He dashes away as if he were the wind itself, throwing himself onto the person who called his name. “Jiujiu! You found me!”

“Didn’t you say you were only going to be gone for a short while?” a gruff voice says. It’s deeper than Nie Cheng’s, and it holds the same timbre that Nie Cheng’s heard from Jiang Fengmian before. “See if I ever let you out again! I’ll break your legs before this can happen again!”

“So harsh on your nephew, Jiang Cheng!” an unfamiliar voice says. Its cadence reminds Nie Cheng of Wei Wuxian, and yet the sound is completely different from what he knew.

“If it wasn’t for your demonic talismans--”

“Jiang Wanyin.”

“Shut up, this is none of your business--”

“Watch your tone.”

“I guess my work isn’t needed after all?” Wei Wuxian asks, dropping the talismans onto the floor. They float down like stray feathers before settling atop the blades of grass. Nie Cheng watches another Lan Wangji and some other man crowd around the three disciples, leaving Jin Ling and his uncle to the side by themselves. His uncle who, according to the mystical logic that made all this possible, was Nie Cheng. Jiang Cheng, to be precise, a man who held Jin Ling tight against him like he was trying to merge the two of them together and who bickered with Lan Wangji like they hated each other.

“This is weird, right?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Where am I?”

“That one is Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, gesturing to the strange man the disciples were surrounding. They were pestering him with unending questions, to which the man simply laughed and answered them one by one like he was used to guiding them.

“The short one?” Nie Cheng asks. Wei Wuxian makes an affronted noise, as if horrified by the thought that he could ever be shorter than Nie Cheng. “Is anyone else getting really creeped out?”

“And the other Wei-qianbei and Hanguang-jun and Nie-gongzi took care of us while we were here!” Ouyang Zizhen tells the man who is apparently Wei Wuxian.

“Nie Huaisang? What’s he doing at the Cloud Recesses?” the short man asks. He looks toward Nie Cheng and his friends, but he doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for. No wonder: Nie Huaisang was currently at home, probably slacking off from not having Nie Cheng by his side to yell at him to work.

Lan Jingyi clears his throat, sheepishly laughing as he points to Nie Cheng. “Actually, that’s Nie-gongzi. It’s actually Sandu Shengshou, but don’t call him that. He doesn’t like it that much.”

“That’s ridiculous,” the short Wei Wuxian laughs. “Why would Jiang Cheng be called ‘Nie-gongzi’? Jiang Cheng is Jiang Cheng; his skin practically bleeds Yunmeng purple.”

“I wonder,” Nie Cheng scowls. He didn’t have to explain himself to these strangers, especially since they were going to leave soon. Even more so because they were some strange alternate version of him who became the Jiang sect leader instead of who he was now. Besides, based on what Nie Cheng had seen over the last few days, Lan Jingyi would probably run his mouth when he got home.

Jin Ling’s uncle, Jiang Cheng, looks at him with a curious expression. It almost reminded Nie Cheng of being scrutinized by Jiang Fengmian, though Jiang Cheng bears enough of a resemblance to his mother that the memory quickly fades. Jiang Cheng was much older than Nie Cheng, old enough that his Jin Ling was nearly a young adult while Nie Cheng’s had just been born. He had been matured by something other than time, his golden core keeping him looking young but unable to erase the weariness of age that danced across his eyes.

Purple was a strange color to see on himself, Nie Cheng notes. It didn’t fit, at least not in his eyes. Though Jiang Cheng was undoubtedly thinking the same about his grey and gold robes.

“Thank you for taking care of A-Ling for me,” he tells Nie Cheng, who nods. It was strange hearing himself speak; would Nie Cheng also sound like that, in the future? “Nie Cheng, I assume?”

“Yeah,” Nie Cheng says, his mouth going dry. “You’re…you look like Muqin.”

Jiang Cheng had aged just as gracefully as his mother had, eternally young with a sharp look in his eyes. More than that, he looked strong, like a figure from legends, the hero who defeated the monster and saved the day with their amazing talents. Nie Cheng remembers thinking the same of his mother when he was younger. To think that someone like that was also him at the same time.

“You look like you ran away,” Jiang Cheng replies. Nie Cheng, shocked into silence, can’t do anything but nod in agreement. Jiang Cheng simply sighs; it was one that resonated with Nie Cheng and, for some reason, it helped him realize that they really were the same person. Jiang Cheng taps the side of his temple with his finger; his hair is tied up in a neat bun, different from Nie Cheng who let his flow down his back. “I considered it, once. I suppose this is what would’ve happened if I did.”

“Are you disappointed?” Nie Cheng immediately asks.

“No,” Jiang Cheng responds just as quickly, as if he knew Nie Cheng was going to ask. “Are you disappointed in me?”

“No,” Nie Cheng answers. They were pointless questions: Jiang Cheng knew nothing about Nie Cheng’s world or his situation, and vice versa. And yet, hearing that one word of reassurance from an older version of Nie Cheng gave him immense relief, like it was proof he did something right.

Wei Wuxian grins, throwing an arm around Nie Cheng’s shoulder and pulling him in close. “So that’s what Xiao Cheng would’ve looked like if he was a Jiang, huh?”

Wei Wuxian seems just as disrupted by the sight of Jiang Cheng as Nie Cheng was, anchoring himself to Nie Cheng as if to prove he was real. Jiang Cheng frowns at their closeness but doesn’t say anything about it. Nie Cheng can feel his counterpart’s stare all over him, but especially on the shoulder that Wei Wuxian’s hand was casually draped across. It burned like blue flames.

“We should get going soon,” the short Wei Wuxian says, pulling out a talisman from his robes. He freezes at the sight of Wei Wuxian and Nie Cheng together, though brushes it off with a laugh. “Jiang Cheng, look at that! I forgot that you were shorter than me, isn’t that so cute?”

“Well, you were a different person before,” Jiang Cheng snaps. The other Lan Wangji clears his throat, and immediately Jiang Cheng’s fiery glare is turned to him instead. Nie Cheng has a feeling this happens often.

“Wei-qianbei and Jiang-zongzhu are a bit… estranged,” Lan Sizhui explains, all but confirming Nie Cheng’s suspicions.

“Aren’t you two brothers?” Wei Wuxian asks his counterpart, who answers with a tight smile and a shrug. “Look at me and Xiao Cheng: you two were able to grow up together and still aren’t as close?”

“It’s complicated,” the short Wei Wuxian says. There’s a guarded look in his eyes as he speaks, so Nie Cheng elbows Wei Wuxian to get him to stop pressing.

“I like Wangji-ge more anyways,” Nie Cheng says. Wei Wuxian lets out a dramatic gasp, shoving him away before throwing himself onto Lan Wangji, who easily catches him. Nie Cheng rolls his eyes, and in the background he sees Jiang Cheng doing the same.

“Let’s go,” Jiang Cheng says. Ignoring the short Wei Wuxian’s calls of, “Hey, did you hear what the little A-Cheng called Lan Zhan?”, he directs himself and Jin Ling back towards the group, standing on the opposite side of the other Lan Wangji.

“Thank you for helping us,” Lan Sizhui says to Nie Cheng, Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji. He bows, Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen copying his movements from behind. Lan Sizhui looks happier than when he first arrived, the glow of being able to finally go home not yet faded. “It’s been an insightful experience.”

“I’m glad we managed to keep you alive long enough for your parents to pick you up,” Wei Wuxian grins. “I’d invite you to come back again, but I don’t know if that’s exactly the best idea.”

“The best case scenario is if this never happens again,” the short Wei Wuxian agrees. He uses his free hand to gather the disciples together, raising his talisman.

“Wait!”

Before Nie Cheng can process what happened, he feels a heavy pressure crash into him. Almost instinctively, his arms come up to stabilize Jin Ling, who peeks up at him while leaning his chest against Nie Cheng’s chin.

“When your Jin Ling gets older, will you be his uncle as well?” Jin Ling asks. “You should. No, you have to. Promise me.”

“I’m not related to him,” Nie Cheng replies.

“I don’t care,” Jin Ling says stubbornly. He really did have the confidence and audacity of a young mistress. “You were the one who told me names don’t matter. It doesn’t matter if you’re a Jiang or Nie or a Lan or whatever, you’re still my jiujiu.”

“But--”

“You have to promise! Say yes!”

“Fine!” Nie Cheng agrees, if only to get Jin Ling off him. Frankly, with everyone else’s eyes on them, this was a bit embarrassing. “Yes, whatever, I promise you.”

“Good,” Jin Ling smiles. It was the smile of someone who knew they were going to get what they wanted and was simply waiting for the other party to concede. “I like dogs.”

Nie Cheng utters a single, “What?”, but already Jin Ling is bounding back towards Jiang Cheng, settling comfortably by his side. Jiang Cheng places a hand on Jin Ling’s shoulder, speaking to him in hushed tones. He clearly looks mad, and yet Jin Ling is grinning like he was being showered with praises.

The two of them nestled together was the last sight Nie Cheng saw of the alternate variations before disappearing. Nie Cheng closes his eyes, picturing the sight of Jin Ling, dressed in his bright golden robes, laughing up at him. He had his father’s nose and his mother’s eyes, though they shined with a youthful glow unique to him, one bestowed onto him after being able to safely grow up under someone else’s wing.

It was strange. For the first time in his life… Nie Cheng seems to have some regrets about not being a Jiang.

Then his head starts to throb, and everything slips away.

“Huh?” Wei Wuxian says, looking around the forest they were in. “Why are we here? Lan Zhan, didn’t you say you and Nie Cheng were supervising something today?”

“I came looking for you,” Nie Cheng says. At least he thinks he was. What other reason would there be for him to be out here instead of with his disciples?

“I thought we were looking for Xiao Cheng,” Lan Wangji frowns, touching the side of his head. He looks down at the ground, picking up the talismans that had been discarded on the floor. “Wei Ying, are these yours?”

“I guess so,” Wei Wuxian shrugs, bending down to collect them. “Who else could be so skilled as to draw something like this other than me?”

“It looks like a hideous creature,” Nie Cheng says, wrinkling his nose. What a bunch of ugly drawings; Nie Cheng could barely tell they were meant to be talismans.

“Xiao Cheng’s eyes must be a little askew,” Wei Wuxian hums. He stuffs the remaining talisman into his robes before smiling. “Well, it doesn’t really matter who was looking for who. We all found each other, didn’t we? Let’s get going before those disciples of yours decide to skip class. Hey, Nie Cheng, will you spar with me? I want to show Lan Zhan how handsome I look while fighting.”

“Don’t bring me into your love life,” Nie Cheng scowls. Wei Wuxian laughs that stupid laugh of his once more before dragging Lan Wangji and Nie Cheng back to the training fields. They spend the rest of the day there, ending practice once it was time for dinner. Nie Cheng, as always, takes a walk after eating, finding himself strolling past the forest clearing he had found Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji in. No doubt they were sneaking off to have some alone time together. Otherwise, why would Wei Wuxian’s robes be in such disarray that his talismans flew out everywhere?

When Nie Cheng goes to bed that night, he dreams of golden robes and echoes of a youthful laughter.

- - - -

“Nie-gongzi,” Jiang Yanli smiles. She looks beautiful as always, if not a bit exhausted. Waking up multiple times a night to care for a child would do that to someone. According to Wei Wuxian, Jin Zixuan’s mother had hired nannies for her grandson, but Jiang Yanli still preferred to be the one to take care of him.

“Jin-furen,” Nie Cheng says, bowing to Jiang Yanli. “Apologies for arriving a bit earlier than expected, and congratulations on the birth of your son.”

“Thank you,” Jiang Yanli says. She clasps her hands together, resting them against her clothed stomach. She had developed a habit throughout her pregnancy that lingered on, it seems. “His name is Jin Ling. His courtesy name will be Jin Rulan, which A-Xian choose.”

“It’s a good name,” Nie Cheng nods. He chooses not to mention that he thought Wei Wuxian was giving a name to Jiang Yanli’s daughter instead of her son. “Jin Ling.”

The name is achingly familiar, like it had been sitting on the tip of Nie Cheng’s tongue just waiting to be used. To be spoken from his lips a million times and in just as many ways, quick and scolding or slow and affectionate.

Nie Cheng felt that somehow before Jiang Yanli had even said anything, that he had known her son’s name. As definitive as the ever-shining North Star or the eyes that mirrored Jiang Yanli’s own, he just knew.

“Ah,” Nie Cheng lifts his hand, showing Jiang Yanli the gift in his arms. “I brought something for him. It’s a personal gift; the ones from Nie-zongzhu are arriving later.”

“You didn’t have to,” Jiang Yanli insists, though she cannot help but reach out to feel the soft fabric. “It’s too cute!”

“It’s a dog,” Nie Cheng says, lifting up the plush animal to allow Jiang Yanli to thoroughly examine it. He thumbs over one of the small paws, applying the slightest bit of pressure to press into the stuffing inside. It was filled with dried beans and fabric scraps that had been leftover from making the exterior. “Her name is Jasmine.”

“...Jasmine?”

Nie Cheng hums, lifting his gaze to stare straight into Jiang Yanli’s eyes. She pauses for a moment before a small smile tinged with melancholy graces her face. “It’s fitting for such an adorable puppy.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Nie Cheng smiles. “I just hope your son feels the same way.”

“Would you like to see him?” Jiang Yanli asks. “I’m sorry, it’s just-- I know there’s a ceremony later on but you’ve brought him such a lovely gift and…”

“It would be my honor,” Nie Cheng says, saving Jiang Yanli from having to say anything more. She nods, gesturing for him to follow her as she leads him through the sprawling halls of Carp Tower. Nie Cheng still winces a bit every time he steps into Lanling Jin, but it was getting better with each visit. Maybe he was becoming desensitized.

“He might be asleep,” Jiang Yanli warns. “I was with him but then I heard that Nie-gongzi had arrived, and since you’re A-Xian’s friend I wanted to personally welcome you.”

Jin Ling was, in fact, not asleep. His eyes, which bore a striking resemblance to Jiang Yanli’s and by proxy Nie Cheng’s, were wide open. He seemed engrossed with Nie Cheng’s face, his stare unblinking. Nie Cheng places the toy in Jin Ling’s cradle, which he immediately grabs onto, his small fingers pinching the dog’s paw. What had once been a small plush in Nie Cheng’s arms now seemed like the largest animal compared to Jin Ling.

“I think he likes you!” Jiang Yanli says. Jin Ling makes a soft noise as if to agree. Nie Cheng leans down to look at Jin Ling, pressing his index finger against Jin Ling’s soft hand. He marvels at the way his finger got covered by much tinier and more delicate ones. One day that hand would be just as calloused as Nie Cheng’s and would hold the power of an entire sect in its palm.

“It’s nice to meet you, A-Ling,” Nie Cheng whispers, too low for even Jiang Yanli to hear. His lips curl up into a smile, a gentle welcome for the fresh bud of life. “I’m your jiujiu.”