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Meng Yao was much more himself when he awoke, although it took him a disoriented and panicked moment to remember where he was and all that had happened. Parts of it were still hazy—alarming, to someone with his memory. Meng Yao remembered nimble hands gentle in his hair and a sense of profound relief.
There was a thin, warm body on the pallet with him, holding him, and for just a minute Meng Yao thought it was his mother. Meng Shi had never been able to afford such sweet, light perfume, though.
It all seemed like a dream, at first. To have been swept away over hundreds of li, safe to his destination, and promised shelter by Nie-zongzhu himself—to be clean and well-fed and have his hurts tended with nothing asked of him in turn—to have been the recipient of such kindnesses from the young masters of the Nie; surely it was too incredible to be believed.
But when Meng Yao opened his eyes, he saw the corner of a stone and timber room blocked off by an intricately patterned screen. The air smelled of herbs and medicinal compounds rather than unaired sheets and cheap perfume. He lay in a warm bed, on a pile of soft pillows. If this was a dream, Meng Yao decided he would prefer not to wake up.
There was someone else with him in this cosy nest, though. Meng Yao blinked his eyes several times, but it still appeared to be the second young master of the sect. As he watched, Nie Huaisang mashed his face into Meng Yao's shoulder in an effort to block out the early morning light filtering in through windows set high under the eaves. Nie Mingjue had apparently forgotten his doupeng, and at some point, someone had drawn it over them both. A large part of Meng Yao wanted to pull it up over his head and rest in this moment forever. Just rest.
He was drifting when, some indefinable amount of time later, someone came around the screen. The exasperated cluck was the most convincing piece of evidence yet for this being real and not some concoction of Meng Yao's dying mind as he lay buried in a snow bank on the side of the road. It was the doctor from yesterday. Meng Yao's brain was operational enough again to catalog si-gu, gujie, Nie-daifu and slot her into the skeleton of a family tree.
"Well, I see you've been bested by the beast of Qinghe Nie," Nie Eshuang said. "Time to wake up, you little monster. I need your pillow for medical treatment."
Nie Huaisang whined and did actually retreat into the covers, clutching Meng Yao more tightly. Meng Yao froze, unsure how to react. No one had ever—Meng Yao's actual brother was an abstract, an obstacle, the reason Meng Yao had been— If Nie Huaisang knew, he'd never have let so much as the sleeve of his hanfu graze Meng Yao.
Gently, Meng Yao stroked his hair. "Nie-er-gongzi, aren't you hungry for breakfast?" he coaxed.
Another pathetic noise emanated from the bedclothes, but after a moment Nie Huaisang rolled onto his back, no longer clinging to Meng Yao but still pressed close along his side. "There's food?"
"There should be dawn training," Nie Eshuang told him, but gestured for what looked like a couple of apprentices to bring over a low table and a tray with food enough for four, to Meng Yao's eye, although he thought he could have devoured it all himself, he was suddenly so ravenous. That was the problem with eating: it always left you hungrier the next day.
Lulled by so much unaccustomed comfort, Meng Yao made the mistake of trying to push himself upright. He winced, biting his tongue against an outcry of pain. It had been worse yesterday, but lying unmoving all night, even on this heated platform, had left him stiff. Once his joints and muscles loosened, the ache would be more bearable.
"Hm. Treatment first, then," Nie Eshuang decided. "Huaisang, tea. Yao'er, no stabbing."
Already shuffling around to obey this command, Nie Huaisang cranked his head back over his shoulder to stare curiously at Meng Yao, who could feel the blood climbing to his face at the reminder of his behaviour yesterday. In truth, he could barely remember more than the surge of panic induced by hands pulling at his clothes. He wanted to believe Nie-zongzhu's words had been real; Nie Mingjue had called him shidi, hadn't he?
Exerting better control of himself now, Meng Yao docilely allowed Nie Eshuang to examine his injured shoulder, then set her dry, work-hardened fingers to the skin of his wrist. His meridians greedily accepted the infusion of spiritual power, bolstering the alarmingly dim flicker of his golden core. Meng Yao had been plundering his meagre cultivation in an effort to keep himself going on the road, too exhausted for the cobbled-together meditations that nurtured it.
"Better?" Nie Eshuang asked.
Yesterday, Meng Yao hadn't been in a state to fully appreciate the effects, warming even when he wasn't cold, steadying him, making his body's complaints recede. "Much. Thank you, Nie-daifu."
This time, Meng Yao was able to sit up and join Nie Huaisang at the table. He looked to have done a creditable job with the tea, presenting a cup to his aunt and then, with a cheeky flourish, Meng Yao himself. Meng Yao found himself returning a genuine smile to match, even though he knew this was another kindness born of ignorance.
Perhaps; perhaps not. Wasn't it possible that the child of a concubine, even if legitimately claimed, wouldn't despise one of a—
Meng Yao shut the thought down. Hadn't he learned better than to indulge in these flights of fancy? He would take this while he could have it, and he would prove himself if they would let him. And if it didn't last, then at least his belly would be full and his arm would work again.
Mindful of his company, Meng Yao ate in small, neat bites, managing the chopsticks easily with his left hand. Trying to take his other arm out of the sling seemed likely to get him scolded, but no longer half-dead and having some kind of breakdown, he was strong enough to lift the bowl one-handed and drink his soup. The broth was hot and savoury, if lacking the spices southerners used to add flavour and prevent (or mask) spoilage.
While Nie Huaisang chattered and wheedled at his aunt, Meng Yao gauged how much of the food he could get away with claiming. He had managed covertly to stuff himself and was feeling rather warm and drowsy by the time Nie Mingjue appeared.
"Morning, gujie. Oh, good, you're both up," he greeted them.
"Da-ge!" Nie Huaisang flung himself off the kang at his brother, who caught and swung him briefly upside-down by the legs, to shrieks of (possibly) appreciation. "Where have you been? You got back yesterday!"
"I could ask you the same question. You were already asleep by the time I found you. I see you've met A-Yao." Releasing Nie Huaisang from a rib-crushing hug, he set the boy on the edge of the kang platform. He flashed a smile at Meng Yao. "You're looking better this morning. I hope A-Sang hasn't been pestering you too much."
Caught off-guard, Meng Yao stared blankly at him for too long and had to yank his gaze away before he caused offence. "Thank you. Nie-er-gongzi has made me feel very welcome."
Nie Huaisang flopped over backwards and beamed at him. He was obviously the pet of the sect, but Meng Yao couldn't help responding to his playful, friendly nature. Wasn't this what childhood should be?
"Is Yaoyao really staying?"
"That's the plan," Nie Mingjue told his brother. "Hey, that reminds me, A-Die wants to see us. Gujie, do you mind if we use your study? A-Die thought maybe you wouldn't want A-Yao running all over just yet."
"Can I come? How did you get hurt? You never said." Nie Huaisang twisted to look between them all.
No, and Meng Yao would very much prefer not to. He felt his smile grow wooden, panic rising in his chest.
Nie Mingjue heaved an older-brotherly sigh. "You can come, but no whining if A-Die says no," he warned. "Gujie?"
Nie Eshuang lifted her hands. "Yes, it's fine. Don't go tiring him out."
"I can't see the sect leader like this!" Meng Yao yelped, casting around for the waiyi no one had actually given him a chance to don yesterday. He scrambled into them, hurriedly adjusting the lie of the collars and smoothing the drape. Before Nie Eshuang could tut at him again, he ducked back into the sling, although he couldn't help saying, "I don't think I need it anymore."
"Say that when it pops out again," Nie Eshuang told him, and he blanched.
With enviable energy, Nie Huaisang bounced upright and to his feet on the ground. Meng Yao followed more carefully, sliding to the edge of the platform and swinging his legs over, hip already twinging.
Instantly, Nie Mingjue was there helping support him. Meng Yao bit his tongue on a reflexive objection. He baulked at showing yet more weakness; no one offered this much kindness for nothing. But it wasn't nothing, Meng Yao reminded himself; he'd offered his service, and Nie-zongzhu had accepted.
Besides, Meng Yao was none too steady yet, and it would look even worse if he fell on his face. Again.
Nie Huaisang was quick to take possession of his other arm, linking their elbows in a friendly but less substantially supporting gesture. Meng Yao perforce allowed himself to be towed along between them to his meeting with the sect leader.
Nie Eshuang's study was a fascinating place, half office and half apothecary. The towering martial figure of Nie-zongzhu looked somewhat out of place; Meng Yao hadn't fully appreciated how tall he was yesterday. He shared the straight nose and pointed chin of both his sons, accentuated by a rather spectacular moustache. Meng Yao's eyes were drawn to the intricate braids wreathing his head and supporting an elaborate guan, and he wished he'd been able to find a mirror before this interview, although he still wouldn't have been able to decipher whatever coded message Nie Huaisang had put on his head last night.
"Nie-zongzhu." Meng Yao bowed deeply, hampered by the arm still in a sling.
Evidently feeling no similar compulsion to propriety, Nie Huaisang shot ahead and hit his father at the waist with enough force to have knocked the breath out of a lesser man. Nie-zongzhu caught him with an arm around the shoulders and gestured Meng Yao to the low table off to one side. "Come, let's sit down."
Meng Yao sat, trying to ignore his heart pounding in his throat. All his prepared speeches deserted him at the sight of this easy affection. Why, why couldn't—
Digging his fingernails into his palms to stop the prickling in his eyes, he held his breath against the gasping sobs that shook him whenever he remembered the booted shove to his chest, the weightless feeling of disbelief as he fell backwards through the air, broken by the first sharp impact with the marble steps, over and over until he thought it would never end. In his nightmares it didn't; the hellish fall went on and on forever until he woke himself begging for it to stop.
"—are you all right?"
"This one is much improved," Meng Yao heard himself saying. "Nie-zongzhu is kind to ask."
Nie-zongzhu sat regarding him for long moments; Meng Yao hoped his struggle to regain control of himself didn't show on his face.
"Tell me how it is you came to us, Meng Yao," Nie-zongzhu said at last.
Meng Yao snuck a glance at his face before lowering his eyes again, hoping to gauge his mood.
"No," Nie-zongzhu told him. "Always look people in the eye."
Internally, Meng Yao quailed, but he did as commanded. His mouth was dry; for once, his words had deserted him.
Nie-zongzhu's expression softened. "Your father; is it Jin Guangshan?"
As gentle as his voice was, Meng Yao still couldn't help but flinch. "Yes, Nie-zongzhu."
Nie-zongzhu nodded. "How old are you?"
"Thirteen."
"But Jin Zixuan is only twelve," Nie Mingjue blurted.
Everyone was staring at Meng Yao.
"I was born on the twentieth day of the second month in the year of the Yin Water Rooster," Meng Yao said, his brain feeling slow as honey.
"Then you are exactly one year older than Jin Guangshan's acknowledged heir," Nie-zongzhu told him.
That. That. Meng Yao stared at him, fighting for control of his breath once more because that was—everything, all of it, it should have been his by right, and instead he and his mother had been left to rot in the squalor and humiliation of the brothel, he had been kicked down the stairs for daring to so much as show his face, like he was nothing and not in a just universe the future lord of that awful golden tower. He never wanted to see it again.
"A-Yao. A-Yao," he could dimly hear Nie Mingjue saying. He took Meng Yao by the shoulder and pushed his head down towards his knees. "Come on, breathe. Breathe for me. Shit."
Nie-zongzhu cleared his throat but didn't voice a further reproach of this crude language. There was a murmur of voices, then the light patter of child's footsteps. Nie Mingjue was rubbing circles on his back as he had yesterday, but Meng Yao was wholly consumed by the war drum of his heart beating why, why, why? How foolish he'd been, to think he'd never be able to hate his father more than he had lying broken at the bottom of the steps to Koi Tower.
That fire had given him the strength to rise and bow and walk halfway to Qinghe. The inferno burning in him now would propel him all the way back up the endless stairs of Koi Tower and reduce Jin Guangshan to a cinder.
"Don't go overtaxing him, I said," a new voice scolded, followed shortly by a sharp, pungent scent that finally broke through the wild circling of Meng Yao's thoughts. Nie Eshuang's censorious cluck brought him the rest of the way back; he was already becoming conditioned to respond to it. "There you are. Sit up now and drink this, can you do that for me, Yao'er?"
"Sorry," he croaked, then at her glower stopped trying to talk and did as he was told. It was some kind of medicinal draught, tasting of bitter herbs and ginger. Meng Yao realised he'd been shaking only once he stopped.
"That's it; easy now." Nie Eshuang reminded him of Sisi, sharp-tongued but capable of surprising compassion. When Meng Shi had died, Sisi had told him to take his chance and go while he could.
"Gujie, is he okay?" Nie Huaisang whispered loudly, peering around her shoulder at him and wringing a fan in his hands.
"You hush too," his aunt told him absently, and he scampered over to tuck himself in on Nie Mingjue's other side. "Better now?"
"My apologies." It came out better this time.
"You didn't know," Nie-zongzhu said.
Meng Yao shook his head mutely. He'd known only that Jin Guangshan had a legitimate son, not, not...
"Who was your mother?"
Because of course Nie-zongzhu knew, somehow. Everybody must have been talking about Koi Tower's latest spectacle. In the time it had taken Meng Yao to trudge out of Lanling on foot like a peasant, the story must have made it around the entire cultivation world.
Forcibly, he shoved it all down again. "Her name was Meng Shi, zongzhu. Her family were minor gentry in Yunping. A betrothal was arranged with a good family, but her father had fallen into debt. He—he sold—" Meng Yao broke off, purposefully avoiding looking in Nie Huaisang's direction. Nie-zongzhu at least maintained an expression of grave attention. "After, the betrothal was broken. It shames this one to say that A-Niang was left with no option but to take work in a pleasure house. This is where she met Jin-zongzhu."
None of this tale seemed to surprise Nie-zongzhu. "You said she had passed on; my condolences." Once again, Meng Yao's eyes prickled, and he had to blink away incipient tears. A confused part of his brain registered that Nie Mingjue was still next to him, arm now slung comfortingly around his shoulders. "Will you tell me how it came to pass?"
"It was the winter; she had been sick for several years. For her son to be recognised by Jin-zongzhu was always her greatest wish, and so I made my way to Lanling." Meng Yao looked down, then forced himself to meet Nie-zongzhu's eyes again. "It was very presumptuous of this one to think the sect leader might remember A-Niang, by reason of her reputation as a woman of great learning and many noble accomplishments, despite the circumstances she was forced to."
"No."
Meng Yao baulked. "Zongzhu?"
Nie-zongzhu's scowl made him want to crawl under the table. "You have every right to hate him for how he treated you and your mother, and what he did to you."
Belatedly, Meng Yao snapped his gaping mouth shut. What?
"I understand your mother's hopes," Nie-zongzhu continued, "but you should know; I will show you the respect of speaking plainly: Jin Guangshan will never acknowledge you as his son. It would be to threaten the standing of his heir by the alliance with Meishan Yu."
Of course. Of course. Meng Yao had been naïve to ever think it would be so simple. Truly, he was but a foolish child, to think family or love would mean anything to so great a man as Jin Guangshan. He already has a family, an invidious voice whispered. Why would he want you?
"Let me ask you," Nie-zongzhu said, and the seriousness of his tone cut through his recriminations and spiralling thoughts. "If you were legitimised, would you be content to let your younger brother inherit? He is the son of the sect leader's official wife, but you would also have a claim, if you chose to pursue it. Jin-furen would know that and always be your enemy. You and Jin Zixuan would be rivals."
Meng Yao heard what he wasn't saying: And what ally would he then have to match her? Not Jin Guangshan, clearly. No one in the whole of Lanling Jin would take his part.
"So what am I to do?" What future did he have, if not as a Jin? Meng Shi hadn't raised him to give up, ever; but just right at this moment he felt very young, and alone, and very, very tired.
"Be your own man," Nie-zongzhu told him. "There's a place for you with the Nie, if you want it."
Meng Yao bit the inside of his lip to keep it from trembling. "Even—even now you know that my birth is tainted in such a way?"
"You are the son of a gentry woman and the leader of one of the great sects. There is nothing in your birth to shame you."
"You can't think we'd look down on you," Nie Mingjue said, as though the very notion were unthinkable; Meng Yao almost laughed.
He bowed instead, slipping his arm from its sling to do it properly, bent low to the stone floor. "This Meng Yao is overwhelmed by your generosity. Any service you ask of me, I will give it."
"Qinghe Nie is honoured to welcome you," Nie-zongzhu replied, and it was like the entire weight of Koi Tower had lifted from Meng Yao's chest. "Now, sit up before you get both of us in trouble."
With a wary sidelong glance at the doctor, he let Nie Mingjue help him back into the sling. Although the pain was quite manageable, really.
"Now, show me your sword," Nie-zongzhu said.
Obedient, Meng Yao drew the soft sword from around his waist and set it on the table between them.
"What is its name?"
"—Hensheng," Meng Yao said, the truth of it colouring his voice.
Nie-zongzhu regarded him, assessing; Meng Yao remembered to meet his eyes. It was difficult. All his life, he'd had it beat into him to keep his head down. It wasn't proper; it wasn't safe.
"Then you will be Quansheng, arisen from the spring," Nie-zongzhu decided. "I'll have quarters arranged for you by the time they let you out of here." He smiled at Nie Huaisang. "And he'll need the braids appropriate to a young master, not just an ordinary disciple."
The boy perked up immediately, performing the first actual bow Meng Yao had yet seen from him. "We'll take care of everything, A-Die!"
Meng Yao stuttered his way through repeated thanks, feeling overwhelmed even before Nie-zongzhu rose and rested a hand on his good shoulder on his way out. In that moment, Meng Yao would have died for him without reservation.
"We?" Nie Mingjue muttered to his younger brother, even as he helped Meng Yao to his feet; Meng Yao went unresistingly, still trying to puzzle it all out. He didn't, this didn't make sense. Of course Meng Yao deserved to be treated as a son of the gentry, but he hadn't earned anything from these people. Who was Meng Yao to them but someone else's bastard?
"But Da-ge, you do want to help, don't you?" Nie Huaisang said ingenuously.
Nie Mingjue bristled. "Of course I do. But that doesn't mean you can get away without doing your part, too."
"I would never!" Nie Huaisang protested. "Anyway, you know I'm better at braiding hair. Second or third order, Da-ge?"
"Second-order mourning braids," Nie Mingjue said firmly. "Think you can handle that?"
"Obviously," Nie Huaisang said in the incomparably scathing tones of childhood. He tapped his pointed chin with his fan, looking very serious. "He needs a guan, too; I know the perfect one. Wait here!"
And he went scampering off. "Don't forget the clothes!" Nie Mingjue called after him.
Meng Yao was growing more confused by the minute. He kept waiting for Nie Mingjue to say, well, now that's settled; I'll see you around, and leave him to fade into the crowd of outer disciples. What was he still doing here? Didn't the sect heir have more important things to do with his time?
Unaccountably, Meng Yao found himself unable to voice any of this, when he should have been reassuring his benefactor it would be fine for him to go on about his day. Meng Yao didn't actually need anything more at this point, after all. Just having time to rest while his body healed was an unthinkable luxury.
Nie Mingjue clambered up after him onto the clever kang platform. As tall as he was, something in the lanky awkwardness of his limbs sticking out as he did so made Meng Yao think he might not be so many years older than himself. It was nice, him being there. Comforting. Nie Huaisang was very lucky to have him for an older brother.
"Uh, here, maybe you should lie down again," Nie Mingjue suggested, fluffing the stack of pillows like he might do for Nie Huaisang.
"Nie-gongzi doesn't have to—" Meng Yao finally managed an objection, but it was weak even to his own ears.
Nie Mingjue sighed. "Look, the shidi all just call me da-ge. Okay?"
Meng Yao ducked his head in quasi-agreement, not quite prepared either to argue or acquiesce. He could handle sitting down, anyway. Maybe by the time they released him from the infirmary he'd have been able to make more sense of things.
Just as he was self-consciously contemplating another attempt to shoo Nie Mingjue off, Nie Huaisang came tripping back around the privacy screen. Bellying up to the kang, he dropped a pile of changpao into Meng Yao's hands. He stared dumbly. They were all in white. Mourning garb.
"There you go, Yaoyao," he announced, turning up his nose at Nie Mingjue, who rolled his eyes.
It was finally too much. Meng Yao clutched the bundled cloth to his chest, struggling to hold back tears.
Suddenly there were arms around him, pulling him into the kind of enfolding hug he hadn't had since he'd been little enough for his mother to seem tall. Meng Yao squeezed his eyes shut, but tears kept leaking from them.
"Yaoyao! Shh, oh, shh, shh," Nie Huaisang gentled him, the edge of panic in his voice making guilt rise with the constricting lump in Meng Yao's throat. Hands patted uncertainly at his hair before settling into longer strokes as a small body wriggled up next to them. Nie Huaisang, doing his ten-year-old best to make him feel better; it struck a deep and unexpected chord. "Shhh, now. It's okay, right? It'll be okay."
"We've got you," Nie Mingjue promised, and they did, really they did. Meng Yao couldn't keep arguing with it, no matter how little sense it made, when they comforted him so. He wanted to sob with the relief of it, of being so unexpectedly safe and welcomed. Clamping his jaw tight, he pressed his damp face into Nie Mingjue's chest and felt the older boy's arms shift to accommodate both of them equally.