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The cool evening breeze whispered through the Unclean Realm, carrying the sharp scent of pine and the faint clash of blades from the training courtyards. Inside Nie Mingjue’s private chambers, the world seemed quieter, but the tension hung heavier than the air outside.
Nie Mingjue sat across from Lan Xichen, his shoulders rigid, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Between them, steam curled from the teapot resting on the low table, the soft warmth at odds with the charged atmosphere. Mingjue’s tea sat untouched, his gaze fixed on the window, his jaw clenched as if holding back an avalanche of words.
Lan Xichen broke the silence first, his tone calm and measured. “You summoned me, Mingjue. I’m here. Speak your mind.”
Nie Mingjue’s mouth tightened, and for a long moment, he didn’t respond. His hands gripped his knees, the tension radiating from his massive frame palpable. Finally, he exhaled, the sound heavy and frustrated. “You’ve always been better at this,” he muttered, his voice rough. “Better at reading people. At knowing what to say to calm them down. I don’t know what to do, Xichen.”
Lan Xichen studied him, his serene composure tempered by quiet concern. “This is about A-Yao.”
Nie Mingjue nodded, his gaze dropping to the untouched tea. “He’s…” He paused, searching for the right words. “He’s slipping, Xichen. And I don’t know how to stop it.”
Lan Xichen inclined his head slightly, waiting for Mingjue to continue. When he didn’t, Xichen spoke softly, his tone gentle. “Tell me.”
Nie Mingjue let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow. “He bit one of the healers,” he said, his voice low. “Drew blood. Like a cornered animal.” His hands tightened into fists, the tension in his jaw returning. “And one of the elders went to assess his Qi. Whatever Meng Yao said to him… the man hasn’t gone back. He won’t even talk about it.”
Lan Xichen’s serene mask slipped slightly, a flicker of unease crossing his face. “He threatened an elder?”
“I don’t know what he said,” Nie Mingjue admitted, his voice heavy. “But whatever it was… it broke him. The elder came out pale as a ghost. No one dares approach him now. Not even Zonghui.”
Lan Xichen frowned, his brow creasing in thought. “And his Qi?” he asked carefully. “Does it seem stable?”
“No.” Nie Mingjue’s voice dropped to a low growl. “It’s fractured. It doesn’t flow like it should—it’s like cracked glass. But it’s not a full Qi Deviation either. It’s… imploding. Turning inward. Festering.” His fists tightened further. “And he won’t let anyone help him.”
Lan Xichen’s gaze softened. “Have you tried?” he asked, his voice gentle.
“I did once,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice cracking under the weight of the memory. “He let me. I could feel it—like a dam about to burst. But instead of breaking outward, it’s sinking deeper. He’s drowning in it, Xichen. And I can’t pull him out.”
Lan Xichen exhaled slowly, his hands resting lightly on the table. “It sounds like a Qi Deviation,” he said after a moment. “But it’s more than that. A-Yao has always internalized his pain. This… this is years of anger, fear, and guilt feeding on itself.”
Nie Mingjue’s head bowed slightly, his voice raw. “And I’ve made it worse.”
“Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Xichen said firmly, leaning forward. “This isn’t your fault. You acted to protect him. To protect A-Song.”
“I took A-Song,” Nie Mingjue said quietly, as if confessing a sin. “Because I couldn’t risk him seeing… that.”
Lan Xichen tilted his head, his expression calm but compassionate. “That decision wasn’t made lightly.”
Nie Mingjue nodded, his throat tightening. “I watched my father die of Qi Deviation,” he said finally, his voice trembling. “I saw him destroy himself, tear himself apart from the inside. It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t clean. And when it was over… there was nothing left of the man I knew.”
Lan Xichen’s breath hitched softly, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I was just a boy,” Nie Mingjue continued, his voice thick. “And I stood there. I didn’t move. I didn’t try to help him. I just watched him… shatter.”
“Mingjue,” Xichen said gently, but Nie Mingjue shook his head.
“I won’t let A-Song see that,” he said fiercely. “Not in Meng Yao. Not in anyone. I won’t let him live through that kind of nightmare.”
Lan Xichen’s expression softened further, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re afraid Meng Yao is heading down the same path.”
Nie Mingjue nodded slowly, his hands trembling. “It’s different,” he said. “But it’s still there. The anger. The pain. I see it in his eyes, Xichen. He’s… slipping away.”
“And you’re afraid you can’t stop it,” Lan Xichen said quietly.
“I’m afraid I’ll make it worse,” Nie Mingjue admitted, his voice breaking. “Maybe I already have.”
Lan Xichen shook his head. “You’re too hard on yourself, Mingjue,” he said gently. “You acted out of love. You acted to protect him.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m failing him?” Nie Mingjue asked, his voice raw. “Why does it feel like I’m losing him?”
Lan Xichen reached out, his hand resting lightly on Mingjue’s arm. “Because you’re trying to save him,” he said. “And that’s always harder.”
Nie Mingjue’s gaze met Lan Xichen’s, his eyes filled with doubt. “Do you think he’ll come back from this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I do,” Lan Xichen said with quiet certainty. “But he needs time. And he needs to trust himself again. Just as much as he needs to trust you.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken fears and unyielding resolve. Nie Mingjue leaned back, his broad shoulders slumping as he let out a long breath. The weight in his chest didn’t lessen, but Xichen’s presence made it feel a little less suffocating.
“Thank you,” Nie Mingjue said finally, his voice soft. “For not giving up on him.”
Lan Xichen smiled faintly, his calm presence unwavering. “I won’t give up on either of you,” he said simply. “We’ll get through this. Together.”