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Spring had come thrice since Baixue Temple had fallen and Song Lan had become a paladin without a god.
Three years without a god, without his brothers- and sisters-in-arms and without his dear companion, who served a different god but with whom he'd travelled the countryside as a wandering holy sword in service to Baixue.
Well, at least Xiao Xingchen was still alive. Probably still self-sacrificing to the extreme, too.
Why had Song Lan survived, when none of his fellow paladins from Baixue had? What even was a paladin without a god? What had happened to the god, that they'd forsaken the temple?
There were no answers. Song Lan knew only one thing: Fuxue no longer gleamed with otherworldly light and even if he did a thousand good deeds and fought a hundred righteous battles, he'd never again be overcome by the divine fire.
That, and that Xiao Xingchen - his lover, his dearest friend – was better off without him. After all, without a god, it's a small step from paladin to berserker. Besides, he'd fully expected to die soon, and Xingchen, who was still radiant with divine light, didn't need to see this nor follow Song Lan into darkness. So they'd parted ways, never to meet again. He still heard of Xingchen's deeds though, sometimes.
Song Lan, strangely enough, had not died. He'd been roaming aimlessly for a while, until he'd helped defend a village against bandits and was recruited by a local noble. A paladin without a god, it had turned out, was just another man-at-arms.
Now, he lived in the town of Cloud Recesses.
Golden Koi Tower, the noble house that had recruited him, even had a small temple with some paladins, though they mostly employed a decidedly worldly guard.
It had seemed strange to Song Lan that they'd need his services at all, but he'd been lured by the prospect of living at a temple again, of serving , even if it wasn't Baixue or his god. At least, as lured as a person whose soul's light had gone out could be.
So, he served the young lord Jin Guangyao in whatever capacity he required. Because a lot of what the man did was actually for the greater good and the peace of the town (unlike his father's deeds), Song Lan did his duty without complaint.
Though on this particular spring day, with the blossoms fluffy and pink on the branches, he found himself longing for his old life.
Being called into a meeting with Jin Guangyao before Song Lan had had a cup of tea or even an opportunity to wash himself wouldn't have been pleasing even if his heart hadn't been a wasteland. Needs must, though, and so he made his way from the little temple towards Golden Koi Tower proper.
At least, Cloud Recesses was admittedly pretty, nestled between rolling hills, farmland, a river and picturesque woods. Its old houses with their dark roof tiles - currently glossy from spring rain - clustered around a hill, the top of which was home to the town's nobility. From here, Song Lan had a magnificent view of the surrounding lands, though it could only do so much to cheer him up.
With a sigh, he focussed on his steps, since the cobbles were cracked even in the rich quarters. It didn't take him long to make it to the Tower, where he was waved in by the guards.
He was dismayed to find that Jin Guangyao was not alone. Of course, his man Su Minshan was always close by, but the other one was usually skulking in the shadows somewhere.
Jin Guangyao sat behind his desk, looking at some papers while Su Minshan stood to attention and Xue Chengmei lounged on the only other chair a little off to the side, cleaning his nails with a dagger and smirking to himself.
Song Lan ignored them both to focus on his employer. “You requested my attendance?”
Jin Guangyao looked up with a smile, always so pleasant though Song Lan never returned the favour. He wasn't sure if he even still knew how to smile.
“Ah, Paladin Song. Yes. I have a job for you. It will take you away from Golden Koi Tower for a while. No doubt you will be pleased by a chance of scenery.”
Song Lan could feel himself frown, in confusion as much as apprehension. He'd left town for certain tasks, yes, but he wasn't planning on joining any mercenaries or armies. He also knew that the Jin clan sometimes worked with Wen Ruohan, a man who spread terror far and wide. He'd have no part in that.
“It's no bother to stay close to Golden Koi Tower,” he eventually said.
Su Minshan's face remained expressionless, but Xue Chengmei snorted. “He doesn't want to go. Do you have any servants who do as you command, Lianfang-zun?”
“You're one to talk,” Su Minshan muttered.
Song Lan could see Jin Guangyao's smile grow strained. It was a pretty smile, showing dimples, but there was steel beneath it.
He ignored his men, addressing Song Lan instead. “I take it you have heard of Paladin Nie Mingjue?”
“Yes.”
Any paladin worth their salt knew of him, indeed any knight or soldier. Probably the common folk, too, at least in these parts. He was a war hero, after all.
Or had been. The man had died, not during fighting, but because he'd been one of those unfortunate ones. Where their god took too much and the divine battle tide that overcame every paladin turned into an uncontrollable battle fever. In other words, he had become a berserker. A tragedy.
“He left behind his didi, who, as you can imagine, is heartbroken. He lives alone in their mansion and does not feel safe, what with the murders that have been happening in town. Nie Huaisang is a friend. I wish you to serve him as a guard, at least until the murderer has been caught.”
Oh, yes. That. Song Lan had heard of a killer stalking the town, but this person only seemed to strike in the poorer quarters.
Anyway, surely the Nie family employed their own guard? Besides, he couldn't imagine the brother of a warrior such as Nie Mingjue require any guarding. However, it also was not a job that sounded morally reprehensible. So he nodded.
“Excellent.” This time, Jin Guangyao's smile looked genuine. “You may go right away. Be sure to take what you require for your stay.”
And so, Song Lan left him in the company of his bodyguard and pet assassin to pack up and make his way across town.
⚔⚔⚔
The Nie mansion was downhill, near the market and the guild houses, not quite as well-located as Golden Koi Tower.
It also wasn't as ostentatious. Where everything in the Tower was gilded, ornate or ruffled (thankfully, the temple was comparatively unadorned), the Unclean Realm was austere.
Still grand, of course. In fact, if anything it seemed more spacious, almost cavernous.
Moreover, Song Lan had to reassess his initial thoughts about the situation at hand.
There was a single guard at the huge oaken doors, which he'd only found after wandering about the grounds for a while. Perhaps intruders would have the same issue. Nevertheless, it didn't seem safe, not least because the guard was an older man who appeared mildly alarmed at Song Lan's light armour and sword.
The man collapsed back onto his seat in clear relief, once Song Lan had introduced himself with a bow.
“Ah, Lianfang-zun sent you. Good, good. Go right in, sir.”
Rather too trusting, really. However, since Song Lan knew himself to not be a dangerous intruder (or at least no intruder, since any armed person is potentially dangerous), he entered the mansion.
The entry area and corridors were sparsely furnished and wholly deserted.
Further inside, the mansion was dark, most windows covered in hangings and few candles lit. Song Lan got as far as a wide, sweeping staircase, when he started to grow concerned.
Had something already happened here, and the sleepy guard had missed it? It felt almost as though a spell lay over the place, though admittedly that did not seem likely.
Just then, a young man hurried down the stairs, seeming harassed. He wasn't dressed like a young lord, but also not like a servant and seemed of the right age. The man noticed him and startled.
Song Lan quickly bowed. “My name is Song Lan, I'm the guard sent by Lianfang-zun, Nie-zonghzu.”
The other's eyes widened, then understanding dawned.
“Nie Huaisang is my cousin. I'm Nie Zonghui. Let me show you to him.”
⚔⚔⚔
Nie Zonghui, it turned out, ran the entire household, or tried to, since Nie Huaisang was currently indisposed.
They also did not have as much staff as Song Lan expected, including too few men-at-arms, so his presence actually seemed necessary.
It's just as well , he told himself. It would have been unpleasant to just laze about.
The room he was finally shown in to meet Nie Huaisang was as dark and cavernous as the rest of the house, but it wasn't sparse . In fact, it was positively cluttered.
There was a desk overflowing with papers and inkwells and paint brushes. Stacks of books were placed on shelves as well as the floor, some of them covered in what appeared to be discarded robes. Various large and somewhat mysterious items of furniture were shrouded by cloth, much like the windows. For all that the fabrics were rich and clearly expensive, it added to the feeling of being inside a tomb.
A very messy tomb.
It was so gloomy, it took Song Lan a moment to make out a slight figure, reclined on a daybed.
Nie Zonghui threw Song Lan an apologetic look, then addressed the figure.
“A-Sang, this is Paladin Song Lan, who was sent by Jin Guangyao to guard you.”
There was no immediate reaction, but Song Lan bowed and said: “At your service, Nie-zhongzhu.”
Nie Zonghui apparently thought this sufficient introduction, for he left with a bow.
For a moment, nothing happened and Song Lan cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, I shall stand guard outside your sleeping quarters then.”
He'd barely turned around, when someone said: “What?”
When he turned back, the figure had sat up. Now that he'd moved slightly into the light, he was revealed to be a young man, though he looked more like some small critter who'd been disturbed from hibernation. His robes were undone – the young man seemed to be trying to make himself decent, but had gotten tangled in a voluminous sleeve – and his hair stood on end.
“Lianfang-zun sent me as a guard,” Song Lan dutifully repeated. Perhaps the young man – Nie-zhongzhu, he reminded himself – had dozed through the introduction just now?
“Yes, I heard that, but... I didn't ask for a paladin. I don't need a paladin. In fact, I do not need a guard at all.” Nie-zhongzhu sounded tired and rather petulant.
Song Lan suppressed a sigh. He wasn't quick to anger; that would have been unchivalrous. Besides, by the standards of nobility, this was nothing. Jin Guangyao was an outlier, whereas this young man was just your standard young lord, really.
However, he'd been given a mission. He needed to at least try.
“Lianfang-zun seems to think otherwise,” he ventured. Then he remembered and his heart grew heavy. “And I'm no paladin. Just a guard. If that's all, I'll be outside.”
Even in the gloom, Nie-zhongzhu's frown was visible. He got up slowly. “Well, first of all, this is not a-Yao's house. Secondly, not only did Zonghui introduce you as one, but you look like a paladin. You're wearing the colours of Baixue.”
Nie-zhongzhu seemed to be looking for something, picking up and dropping things on the shadowy floor and muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a rather rude curse.
Song Lan wasn't sure if he was dismissed, but he supposed the last sentence had been something like a question.
“I indeed used to be a paladin of Baixue, but our god is gone.” He couldn't quite keep the pain out of his voice.
Nie-zhongzhu looked up, but then apparently stubbed his toe. This time, he cursed loudly. Then he flopped back down so violently, the delicate daybed wobbled. He covered his face with his arm and groaned.
“Are you hurt, Nie-zhongzhu?”
“Call me Nie Huaisang, if you must call me anything. Nie-zhongzhu is- ...was my brother.”
Oh. Yes, it hadn't been that long yet, had it? Song Lan mentally cursed himself. How selfish he'd grown. He wasn't the only person to have something to mourn.
“I am very sorry for your loss. Nie Mingjue was a hero,” Song Lan said, heartfelt if a little stiffly.
“Yes, he was.” Nie Huaisang's voice was muffled, but even so he sounded bitter. “Now that he's gone, we have no more need for hero paladins, here at the Unclean Realm.”
“That's just as well, because I'm no hero,” Song Lan said, before he could think it through. It was only the truth, though.
One did not become a paladin for glory, in any case – one was called upon by the god and then one merely did one's duty. Even so, Song Lan's days of doing useful deeds that might be called heroic were long done.
Nie Huaisang sighed very loudly, which was a little rude, but Song Lan would have allowed it, even if he'd had a choice in the matter.
“Look, Paladin Song-”
“Please, call me Song Lan, Nie-zh- Nie-gongzi.”
“Look, sir, it's true that I told a-Yao that I was worried about those gruesome murders. But I've thought about it – one has so much time to think these days – and I've come to the conclusion that it does not matter. No one will miss me when I'm gone. My days are dark and gloomy. I might as well be murdered. So, you may leave.”
His words and manners were theatrical and sounded a little childish. Still, Song Lan could hear the pain beneath.
Xingchen would have known what to say to cheer him up. Xingchen wasn't here, though and there was no use pining after him.
“Your days might be less gloomy if you'd open the curtains,” he said. “You might also actually find whatever you were looking for.”
Nie Huaisang sat up again, looking grumpier and more dishevelled than ever and as though he'd quite like to give Song Lan a piece of his mind. Then his shoulders sagged sadly. “Very well. Please open the curtains.”
Song Lan was no servant, but he didn't mind being helpful. On the contrary. Besides, Nie Huaisang was clearly... well, probably frail.
So, he stepped up to where he thought the nearest window was and started moving the heavy drapes. They were made of a deep, dark green brocade. As light started to pour in, he saw that the fabric was threaded with gold.
“Enough, enough. My poor eyes,” Nie Huaisang complained behind him.
Song Lan moved the fabric only one more inch, just far enough for a single sunbeam to fall into the room. He secured the heavy hangings, then turned back.
His first thought was that the room was even messier than he'd realised, but also rather less gloomy, at least discounting the oddly shrouded furniture. The robes on the floor were colourful and rich, some also glittering with threads of gold and silver. Next to the inkwells were bowls for mixing colour, though it all seemed dried up.
There were also exquisite porcelain vases and cups, blown glass bottles, sea shells and feathers, both placed on shelves and strewn about. A paper screen, painted with cherry blossoms. The collection of books and scrolls was rather impressive indeed. Song Lan was sure he'd seen libraries with less.
Then, his eyes fell on Nie Huaisang, who was looking at him in turn with wide eyes.
He was, as Song Lan had first surmised, rather slighter and shorter than himself. Younger too, certainly, but not by as much as he'd thought.
He was also very handsome, something Song Lan hadn't been able to see in the dark.
Not that his good looks were really shown to their best advantage. In the cold, clear light of day, Nie Huaisang looked miserable and pale against the dark colour of his house robes. Not the fashionable kind of pale, either. He reminded Song Lan of a delicate plant that had been kept in the cold and shade for too long.
He suddenly became aware that they were staring at each other. Before Song Lan could avert his eyes, however, Nie Huaisang blinked and started sifting through his things again.
“Ah! There it is,” he picked up an ornate fan, then looked at Song Lan again. “I wear my mourning clothes when I leave the house, by the way. I just saw no need to dirty them here, where I am in seclusion. Or at least I am normally.” The last sentence sounded a little pointed.
“I was not judging you,” Song Lan said, truthfully. “It would be absurd to wear white all the time. It just gets dirty.”
Especially in a room like this. Sure, Xingchen always wore white, as was custom for his order, but... Well, not everyone could be like him.
At least, Nie Huaisang gave a mollified nod. It would appear they could agree on that.
“I like your order's clothing,” he suddenly said, causing Song Lan to look down on himself as though he hadn't seen his robes and armour – a black-blue and silver with dark leather – so many times. “And I heard about, uh, Baixue. I'm sorry about your god.”
It was just as well that Song Lan was looking down, so the emotion wouldn't show in his eyes. “Appreciated, Nie-gongzi.”
“Just call me Huaisang. This is getting boring.” The younger man gave another loud, world-weary sigh. Then, after a beat, he said: “Say, though, you're rather tall...”
“Uh, I suppose.” When Song Lan looked again, Nie Huaisang was holding the fan in front of his face, watching him over the delicate, jade green paper. Like this, looking a little calculating, he reminded him of a cat, or maybe a little fox.
“Could you perhaps get me that book down from the top shelf, while you're still here? I seem to have misplaced my footstool. The one bound in red silk.”
Song Lan obligingly reached up, well used to such tasks since he was rather tall. He had to lean over one of the covered items, and in doing so lightly jostled the fabric thrown over it. It slid down.
Book already in hand, Song Lan's eyes were drawn to the now uncovered item. It turned out to be a painting: the exquisite portrait of a handsome, martial-looking man in his prime. Nie Mingjue, no doubt.
Behind him, Nie Huaisang made a small, wounded sound.
Song Lan quickly used his free hand to gently cover the painting again. Then he turned to hand over the book. Nie Huaisang was biting his lip and avoided eye contact. He looked even smaller, clutching the big tome to his chest. Lost.
Song Lan would have liked to comfort him but didn't know how. So he asked: “Shall I stand guard, then? Or... Do you still want me to leave?”
“I suppose it doesn't hurt to have a tall person around,” Nie Huaisang said after a pause, clearly trying to appear nonchalant. “Sure, stand guard, I'm sure you'll know best where...” He trailed off, vaguely waving a hand.
It could be read as dismissive, perhaps, but Song Lan thought Huaisang was simply too worn out.
“I'll be outside,” he said with a bow.
And so, he started his time as a paladin... guard at the Unclean Realm.
⚔⚔⚔
Song Lan's chamber was fine, as were his working hours. He'd not have complained in any case, always happy to keep busy. Well, unless he was forced to do unethical things.
The murderer was still stalking the slums, but in the Nie Mansion, there wasn't a lot of work for an armed man. Song Lan did relieve the old guy at the door of his duty now and then. The man was actually quite pleasant, though he had a tendency to tell the same stories over and over.
Otherwise, he was suddenly very sought-after by the servants – there were heavy things to be moved and high places to be reached.
After only a few days, he'd gotten quite friendly with the housekeeper and cook, Auntie Sun, and one of the maids, a-Ding. Zonghui, too, seemed relieved to be able to share some of his burdens.
Nie Huaisang stayed in his bedchamber, mostly. Song Lan made it a point to visit him first and last thing in the day, to make sure that all was well and to ask if his services were required.
Sometimes, he'd assist Auntie Sun by bringing in the food. Huaisang wasn't eating much, nor did he seem at all interested in getting up in the mornings. Song Lan understood – it was how he'd felt, many a time since... Baixue. How he still felt, more often than not. Only, he had his duty, which helped him to do it anyway.
Really, a small uncharitable part of him thought, so did Huaisang. It was his duty to be the head of the Nie family now. Only, no doubt the younger man thought there was no point, since it was just him and his cousin now.
In any case, it wasn't his place to judge and was unworthy of a former paladin. So, Song Lan did his work as well as he could. As long as Nie Huaisang doesn't complain, I've got no business to stop, he told himself.
At least he now understood Jin Guangyao's concern. Nie Huaisang, who was a half-brother to Nie Mingjue as he'd learned, was clearly more of a poet than a warrior. Perhaps he'd been sickly as a child or perhaps he'd just never shown aptitude. Or interest, most like. He definitely could use a capable guard.
So, time passed by uneventfully, until, almost a week into the job, Song Lan was woken in the darkest hour of the night.
⚔⚔⚔
“Ge! Ge!” somebody screamed at the top of their lungs, followed by pounding on the door of Song Lan's little bedchamber.
It had been a long time (three years) since someone had called him ge and for a moment, he couldn't remember where he was.
Then it came back to him. The voice was Nie Huaisang's. Did he have night terrors? Searched for his brother in the dark corridors of their cavernous mansion?
Song Lan jumped up. He was sleeping in his long underpants at least, so he didn't waste time putting on more clothes, but opened his door.
Nie Huaisang almost fell into the room, but Song Lan quickly put out a steadying hand. He did not look as though he were sleepwalking, though.
“Song Lan-ge!” Huaisang cried. “Help me! There's someone in my chamber!”
Fuxue was no longer a holy sword, but its blade was still sharp. Song Lan grabbed it.
He hurried through the dark corridors, making calming and quietening gestures at the servants who'd appeared at various doors. Luckily, each heeded his warning and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Auntie Sun address Huaisang. Good.
He reached the chamber silently, standing against the wall and glancing through the door left ajar. Luckily, there was a candle burning, casting flickering shadows, and the curtains were partially open, pale moonlight falling in. Still, much of the room lay in darkness and thanks to the clutter, it was hard to get a sense of where someone might be hiding.
After a long moment of standing still, though, of letting his eyes get used to the dark, Song Lan became increasingly convinced that there was no one in the room. Perhaps Nie Huaisang had gotten startled by a sound from outside. Perhaps he'd been dreaming, after all.
The covered furniture made strange shapes in the dark, so Song Lan couldn't blame Huaisang for his fright in any case.
Then, suddenly, he heard a rustle. One of the fabric coverings moved!
Song Lan raised Fuxue, tensed his muscles, ready to charge-
Only, the intruder was either tiny or flat on their belly, which made no sense.
Sword still held aloft, just in case, he strode into the room, to find a small tabby cat.
With a sigh, he lowered Fuxue and picked up the kitten.
Huaisang, however, was not at all pleased by the harmless sight, when he showed it to him soon after.
“Ancestors, how I hate cats,” he complained.
Song Lan held the kitten up by the scruff, unsure as to what to do with that information, or the cat itself. “Why? It might keep the mice away, you know.”
Huaisang pulled a face at that. “True, but... Oh, I'll show you tomorrow. I'm tired.”
Song Lan knew that for all that Huaisang spent most of his time on the daybed, he slept awfully little, no doubt kept awake by gloomy ruminations.
The servants dispersed, Auntie Sun kindly taking the kitten from him, saying a neighbour was looking for a mouser.
Huaisang lingered. He seemed to be staring at Song Lan's chest in fact (he was suddenly embarrassed to remember he was still only partially dressed), but then caught himself.
“Song Lan-ge-, I mean, sir, would you be able to stand guard...” he coughed as though embarrassed. “I know it was just a kitten, but also, the wind is strong tonight and they said there might be a storm later. There was a storm, the night da-ge-” He broke off.
“Of course,” Song Lan said without hesitation. “I'll stand guard. And Song Lan-ge is fine.”
The night passed peacefully then. The next morning, Huaisang gifted him a book.
“It's about historic battles, not something I have need of, but a hero like yourself-” he started.
“Not a hero,” Song Lan said, “but thank you. I enjoy reading.” He did, though he didn't read as much as he'd used to. Perhaps it would be good to have something to take his mind off of things, on those nights when he lay awake, lost in his own dark thoughts.
Huaisang gave a small smile at that. It was a little impish, a little roguish. It was... appealing, Song Lan was surprised to find.
⚔⚔⚔
Later in the day, Huaisang made good on his promise, showing him why he disliked cats.
He led him into the mansion's courtyard, which Song Lan had only crossed a few times on his patrol. Since his only concern on those occasions was safety, he hadn't looked around in detail. He'd barely noticed the large, plant-filled cage.
It turned out to be a aviary, inhabited, by a single, small, dirty-yellow bird, who looked as wan, dishevelled and miserable as Nie Huaisang. Worse, actually, since Huaisang had seemed to make an effort today, dressed in actual robes. Not his mourning robes, but rather more flattering ones in a rich, emerald green.
He'd also combed and braided his hair, Song Lan noticed suddenly, even put a silver and jade hairpiece in. He smelled of vanilla and sandalwood. Altogether the effect was rather... dashing. Huh.
“Isn't she darling?” Huaisang startled him out of his reverie. He'd gently picked up the bird, who now sat bedraggledly in his hand. “Isn't she beautiful?”
It was fluffy, Song Lan supposed. Sweet, in the way of tiny animals, though beautiful wasn't a word he'd have used.
“Very droll,” he settled on, thoughtlessly reaching out a hand to touch the tiny bird with a gentle finger.
The tiny bird pecked at him viciously, so he quickly drew his finger back.
“Ah, no, Baobei, this is our paladin, we don't attack him,” Huaisang cooed. The bird only gave an indignant chirp and puffed itself up even more.
Song Lan thought of correcting him, then thought better of it. What does it matter if a vicious little bird thinks me a paladin still?
“I'm sorry,” Huaisang said, addressing him this time. “You see, she's also mourning, like... well, the both of us, I suppose. She shouldn't be living alone, but the last member of her flock died a fortnight ago. I went to the market twice already, though crowds sicken me these days, but couldn't find a suitable mate.”
Well. Song Lan thought he could excuse the bird's behaviour in that case. He knew what it meant to lose one's flock.
A few days later, Song Lan just happened to cross the market on an errand for Auntie Sun, when he noticed a stall selling birds. It didn't seem right, to put the little fellows into tiny cages, he thought absently.
Then he noticed a bird that looked to be Baobei's twin, except it was rather more yellow. A bright colour, like lemons bathed in sunshine. The little bird met his eye and burst into song. So he bought it.
It cost all his silver, but when he handed the little carry-cage to Huaisang later, the younger man's face lit up, bright as sunshine as well.
It was definitely worth all that silver and more.
⚔⚔⚔
There were no more murders, but nor had the killer been caught. Jin Guangyao sent a message to stay put and Song Lan did not mind complying. On the contrary.
He'd found he got up more easily in the morning these days.
Huaisang gifted him more books, so even the slow hours guarding the big oaken doors were not boring.
The days and nights passed by mostly uneventfully again, though Song Lan caught Huaisang one time as he tripped on the wide staircase. It was lucky, too, as the stone would have been unforgiving. As is was, the only casualty was Huaisang's pretty emerald green robes.
“Bother,” Nie Huaisang said when he saw the gash. It was rather tame – Song Lan had heard more fiery swears from him – so it was the way his face fell that gave something away.
“Da-ge gave me those robes,” Huaisang explained quietly at Song Lan's questioning gaze.
“I see,” Song Lan said. Then: “Well, perhaps they could be mended...” It was fine silk, but it looked possible.
Huaisang shadly shook his head. “Auntie Sun has arthritis, a-Ding is very competent but can't sew to save her life, uncle... I don't think he can help, nor Zonghui or the gardener... Perhaps a tailor in town, but what if they spoil it? I'd rather keep what's left...”
Song Lan cleared his throat. “I could try it?”
Huaisang looked at him, astonished. “You know how to sew?”
“It helps when one travels or has to go into battle. There is no time to visit a tailor's and when facing the enemy, you don't want your underpants splitting in two.”
Huaisang actually laughed at that. Then he nodded. “Thank you, Song Lan-ge.”
“I might not make a good job of it. This is rather finer fabric than I'm used to,” Song Lan warned, but Huaisang only shrugged.
“It can't get much worse.”
When Song Lan brought back the mended robes a couple of days later, Huaisang marvelled at it more than warranted, though Song Lan thought he'd done an acceptable job.
“Is there anything you can't do?” Huaisang asked.
To his astonishment, Song Lan could feel his face heat up. “It's nothing,” he said.
Huaisang only shook his head, looking amused. Then he frowned.
“I wonder that a-Yao doesn't have need of you. Am I selfish to keep you?” He sounded genuinely worried.
“I believe the Jin employ a tailor,” Song Lan said absently.
Huaisang playfully swatted at him with the fan he was carrying. “I mean as a guard! Yes, I know the Jin employ dozens of guards, too, but those are his father's.” The last word was pointed.
Song Lan and Huaisang had started playing Go once in a while. Huaisang won almost always, and on the occasions that he didn't, Song Lan was almost certain he let him win. In other words, he was far more clever than he seemed at first glance.
Plus, he was friends with Jin Guangyao. Of course he'd know of his fraught relationship with his... evil father.
Therefore, Song Lan could speak freely. “I think Lord Guangyao has his own guards. He was with Su Minshan and Xue Chengmei when I left.”
Huaisang looked like he'd bitten into something sour.
“Can't stand either of them. Minshan thinks he's better than me and that Chengmei fellow... Urg.” He shuddered. Then he cheered up again. “But I guess they are both dangerous, in their own way, so a-Yao is protected. Which means you can stay.”
He smiled at Song Lan, clearly pleased.
To Song Lan's great surprise, he could feel himself smile back.
⚔⚔⚔
Huaisang's official time of mourning might have passed and he was eating and rising again, but his heart clearly hadn't moved on yet.
One day, bringing in the breakfast tray that a-Ding had handed him, Song Lan found Huaisang kneeling on the floor in front of the portrait, sobbing into a handkerchief.
He set down the tray and hovered, unsure as to what to do. Eventually, he crouched down beside Huaisang and put a hand on his shoulder.
“It's a magnificent portrait. Who was the artist?”
“Me,” Huaisang said, voice muffled. Then he burst into renewed sobs as Song Lan awkwardly patted his back.
Then Song Lan had an idea. “You know, you should put it on your ancestral shrine. Or make a shrine. It might help you grieve...”
He couldn't bring Nie Mingjue back from the dead, but giving him a place of honour in the house, as he surely deserved, might help both his spirit and Huaisang's?
Huaisang's sobs eased as he evidently thought about it.
The next day, he requested Song Lan's help in moving a beautiful table into his chambers. He'd even tidied up a spot for it. Had indeed tidied up in general.
“Da-ge always hated my mess,” Huaisang said. “He was very tidy, like you.”
“It's a paladin thing,” Song Lan admitted.
Huaisang nodded. When he next spoke, his voice was quiet. “You know, we argued a lot, in the months before his death. He wasn't doing well, erupting into rages and I... I'm so unlike him and father. They were both great warriors, and I... I'm not that kind of man, and you know some people think there is only that kind of man.”
“There are as many kinds of men as there are men and more,” Song Lan said, indignantly and not very cleverly, though it was true.
He was pleased to see a wan smile on Huaisang's face.
“I'm sure he loved you very much,” Song Lan added. “You said he bought you the robes, your paints, build the aviary...”
“Yes, I know,” Huaisang said. “I just worry that he didn't know, how much I loved him.”
“I'm sure he did,” Song Lan said emphatically.
He couldn't help but think, then, though, of how harsh he'd been with Xingchen, to get him to leave. How he hadn't said goodbye to this shifu or brothers and sisters at the temple.
“Let's build the shrine,” he said, to distract himself as much as to help, and Huaisang nodded.
They did, then, putting flowers around the painting and lighting incense and candles. Both Nie brothers looked good in their warm glow.
⚔⚔⚔
As time went by, Huaisang seemed to blossom like the late spring flowers, colour returning to his cheeks. He'd started to take an interest in his household again and in the town business.
He was idle, spoilt, messy, and sometimes silly and rude.
But he was also sweet-tempered and cheerful and he cared for his staff like family. He gave to charities and handed coins and sweets to the street urchins. He was mostly polite to the merchants and shopkeepers and labourers and if he wasn't, then he was charmingly rude.
He was charming in general. Witty.
Very clever, too. A strategist like a general.
He could ride a horse and was a far better swordsman than expected, as Song Lan found when they jokingly sparred one time. No match for him, of course, but still – clearly it had all been down to lack of interest, as he'd thought.
Huaisang was also – almost – completely shameless.
He liked to watch Song Lan train. At first, Song Lan hadn't thought much of it, knowing as he did that Huaisang enjoyed company.
Though his gaze had seemed a little intense at times.
It was when he was asked to move some books from the highest shelf again, that Song Lan started to think otherwise.
A book had been tucked away behind the others, and fell down, to land on the floor with its pages open. On a rather explicit and detailed illustration, of two men... well, swiving, not to put too fine a point on it.
For a moment, all was still as they both stood frozen, Nie Huaisang's face crimson and Song Lan's ears burning hot.
“I'm sorry, uh, I know this isn't to a lot of people's taste, but I buy a lot of books, I've never looked at this-” Huaisang started, unfreezing to frantically try to pick up the book and almost tripping over his robes and falling flat on this face in the process.
“My last partner was a man,” Song Lan said. He wasn't sure why – perhaps to spare himself having to listen to someone disparaging such relations, as some were wont to do.
Huaisang stilled again. “Oh? Your order isn't... celibate?”
“No. Your brother's wasn't, was it? Not many are,” Song Lan said. His ears still felt hot, but why shouldn't they talk about it? They were both men grown. “Though it's been a while, what with everything...” He shrugged a little helplessly.
Huaisang nodded. He'd closed the book, but still held it in his hand, face still pink.
“Uh. I prefer men to women, though I've not have a lot of experience. But I swear that I've not looked at this in months, not since before... You know. It doesn't feel right.”
He looked miserable at the last part. This time, Song Lan thought it might not just be sadness at his brother's death.
“You're a young man. I'm sure your brother would not have wanted you to deny all your urges. As long as you go about them honourably, of course,” he said gently.
Huaisang seemed to flush more at that, but he laughed and swatted at him with his fan. “Spoken like a true paladin!”
This time, Song Lan did not correct him, too distracted by what Huaisang said next.
“You know, I wasn't entirely truthful; I actually have an entire collection of such books. Some with depictions of women, too. If you're ever at a loss as to what to do, I'd be happy to share...”
⚔⚔⚔
Huaisang also started painting again, while Song Lan took up a new hobby courtesy of Auntie Sun: he learned to knit.
It actually worked out well, because while Huaisang soon needed a new subject for his art, Song Lan found he didn't mind sitting for him if he could knit while doing so.
While it wasn't his favourite thing, he had to admit, Huaisang was skilled and made him look rather more heroic than he'd ever been.
Huaisang had run out of books to gift him (not that Song Lan required gifts!), but he'd found a tea that was truly delicious.
Sitting and drinking it, with knitting and paint brushes discarded, while Huaisang nibbled Osmanthus cake... Well, it might not be how Song Lan had pictured his life, but it certainly wasn't bad.
When the town crier announced one day that the murderer had been caught, Song Lan could sympathize with the fear in Huaisang's voice.
“Gege, do you think you'll be called back to Golden Koi Tower?”
⚔⚔⚔
Though life was better for both of them, it wasn't all sunshine and roses.
One morning, Song Lan woke from dreams of Baixue.
At first, the temple had stood proudly against the sparkling snow and the hardy pines, so pleasingly familiar to Song Lan. The next, it was a blackened ruin, the ravenous flames already turned to cold ashes and the snowdrifts discoloured with blood, a shockingly vivid scarlet.
Just like it had been in real life.
He managed to shake the dark feeling soon enough. Almost completely. Before Huaisang – or anyone in the Nie household – noticed.
Or so Song Lan had thought.
It was a few days later – they were well into summer now – when the news came: Jin Guangshan had died, and Jin Guangyao had taken over the most prominent house in Cloud Recesses, apart from that of the Lan family, of course.
“You can stay now, gege, since a-Yao has his own guard now. On top of his two... confidants,” Huaisang said brightly. Then his expression grew anxious. “That is, if you want to? You might have plans of your own...”
Song Lan thought about it. Truth be told, he'd felt listless recently, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps, he realised, it had been his fear of having to leave the Unclean Realm, as much as the dark memories that wouldn't fade.
He wanted to stay. But in what capacity?
“Do you still have need of a guard? The murderer was caught weeks ago,” Song Lan said uncertainly.
“I'll always have need of you, if not of a guard,” Huaisang said easily, then seemed to grow fearful again at his own honesty. “But it's your choice, as I'm sure we'd make do. Though I do think this house needs a paladin, or former paladin, and you'd honour da-ge as much as me... but again – your choice!” he tagged on hurriedly.
Song Lan could feel himself smile. “Well, if it honors you both, then of course it'd be my honor to stay.”
Huaisang beamed. “That's good, I was hoping you'd say that, gege. Because... well, let me show you.”
He ran off, robes swishing.
“A-Sang?” Song Lan called, but when there was no reply, he followed with a fond sigh.
Huaisang led him to a little shrine. Not the one for his brother, but another one, tucked away near Song Lan's chambers.
There were flowers and incense, and a painting, done in ink, delicately and subtly.
“I know you've been feeling down lately and then I remembered what you said to me,” Huaisang said, uncharacteristically. “I hope didn't overstep; I didn't know what Baixue looked like or your temple family, but I know it's far north, and I saw your sword...”
Song Lan stared, lost for words. The painting showed meihua, delicate blossoms and snow-laden branches, with pines in the background. He felt tears gather in his eyes, but they were good tears.
Huaisang's eyes were wide and shining.
“It's beautiful,” Song Lan said gruffly.
Then he leaned in to kiss Huaisang. For a moment, he felt a-Sang stiffen and was ready to pull away. Then a-Sang grabbed hold of his robes, pulling him closer.
For a fleeting moment, Song Lan thought that he could feel their dead approve.
Then, a-Sang answered his kiss in full, and he thought only of the living.