Chapter Text
The war had ended, but Qinghe did not know peace.
The halls of the Unclean Realm stood tall as ever, banners snapping sharply in the cold wind, but the sounds within had changed. No longer the clash of weapons or the thunder of marching disciples—now there was only silence, heavy and lingering like a wound that refused to close.
Nie Mingjue had grown used to silence on battlefields. He had not expected to find it here.
He moved through the corridors with purposeful strides, boots echoing against the polished stone. Servants bowed as he passed; disciples straightened, their spines rigid. Everything was as it should be.
Everything—except his brother.
Nie Huaisang had returned from the war… changed. That much was expected. All of them had changed. But where others bore scars openly, Huaisang’s transformation was quieter, more insidious.
He avoided the training grounds.
He avoided meals.
He avoided him.
At first, Nie Mingjue had attributed it to weakness—his brother had always been delicate, more suited to fans and paintings than blades and bloodshed. But weeks had passed, and the unease had not faded.
Tonight, it sharpened into something unbearable.
A sound stopped him mid-step.
Soft. Broken.
Crying.
Nie Mingjue turned toward the source immediately, jaw tightening. The sound came from the inner quarters—from Huaisang’s room.
His hand hovered briefly over the door before he pushed it open without ceremony.
“Huaisang.”
The name came out firm, controlled—but the sight before him nearly shattered that control.
Nie Huaisang sat curled on his bed, robes disheveled, long hair falling loose over trembling shoulders. His fan lay discarded on the floor, forgotten. His entire frame shook with quiet sobs, as though he were trying—and failing—to keep the sound contained.
Nie Mingjue stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
“Huaisang,” he repeated, more sharply this time. “What happened?”
Huaisang flinched.
That, more than anything, made something twist violently in Nie Mingjue’s chest.
He crossed the room in three strides. “Who hurt you?”
“No one—” Huaisang’s voice broke, thin and uneven. He didn’t look up. “No one did, da-ge.”
“Then why are you crying?”
Silence.
Huaisang’s hands clenched tightly in his robes. His shoulders trembled again, and he seemed to shrink in on himself, as though he wished he could disappear entirely.
Nie Mingjue frowned. His patience, never abundant, strained—but beneath it was something else. Concern. Fear.
“Huaisang. Look at me.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Huaisang lifted his head.
His eyes were red-rimmed, tear-bright. There was something raw in them—something far deeper than simple sadness.
Nie Mingjue had seen that look before.
On soldiers who believed they would not survive the night.
His voice lowered, losing its edge. “Tell me.”
Huaisang swallowed hard.
“I… I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.
The admission seemed to cost him everything.
Nie Mingjue’s expression hardened—not at him, but at whatever had brought him to this state.
“Then I will decide what to do,” he said. “Just tell me the problem.”
Huaisang shook his head immediately, panic flickering across his face.
“No—no, you can’t—”
“I can,” Nie Mingjue interrupted, voice firm. “I am your brother.”
“That’s why you can’t,” Huaisang said, barely audible.
The words landed like a blow.
Nie Mingjue stilled.
A long silence stretched between them.
Then, carefully, he asked, “Is someone threatening you?”
“No.”
“Did someone dishonor you?”
Huaisang’s reaction was immediate—a sharp inhale, his gaze dropping again. His fingers tightened further, knuckles whitening.
Nie Mingjue saw it.
And understood.
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
“…Who?”
The word came out dangerously quiet.
Huaisang shook his head again, more violently this time.
“I can’t tell you.”
“You will tell me.”
“I can’t!” Huaisang’s voice rose, cracking. “Please—don’t make me say it—”
“Why not?”
“Because—” He choked on the words, tears spilling over again. “Because it won’t change anything!”
That was not the answer of someone who had been wronged.
Nie Mingjue narrowed his eyes.
“…You’re protecting them.”
Huaisang said nothing.
Silence confirmed everything.
A cold fury began to build in Nie Mingjue’s chest—but before it could take hold, he noticed something else. Something he had overlooked in his anger.
Huaisang’s posture.
The way he held himself—slightly hunched, one arm almost unconsciously wrapped around his middle.
Nie Mingjue’s gaze sharpened.
“Huaisang,” he said slowly, “are you injured?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
Another pause.
Then—barely above a whisper:
“…Da-ge… I’m scared.”
The confession hit harder than any answer.
Nie Mingjue exhaled slowly, forcing himself to remain calm.
“Of what?”
Huaisang hesitated.
Then, with trembling hands, he pressed them against his abdomen.
The gesture was small.
But it was enough.
Nie Mingjue’s breath stopped.
For a moment, he said nothing—because there was only one conclusion, and it was so unexpected, so utterly unthinkable, that his mind resisted it.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than it had ever been.
“…Huaisang.”
Huaisang squeezed his eyes shut.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he whispered. “I really didn’t—I was careful, I—”
The rest dissolved into broken sobs.
Nie Mingjue stood frozen.
Pregnant.
His brother—his fragile, stubborn, secretive younger brother—was pregnant.
The room seemed too small. Too suffocating.
“Who is the father?”
The question came out sharper than he intended.
Huaisang shook his head immediately, tears falling freely now.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Huaisang—”
“I can’t!” His voice rose again, desperate. “You’ll— you’ll hate him, and then you’ll do something, and everything will get worse—”
“Worse than this?” Nie Mingjue demanded.
Huaisang flinched again.
And then, very softly, he said:
“He doesn’t want me.”
The words cut deeper than any blade.
Nie Mingjue’s anger faltered, replaced by something heavier.
“…He said that?”
Huaisang hesitated.
“…No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because,” Huaisang whispered, “he never did."
The first time it happened, it was an accident.
At least, that was what Huaisang told himself.
The lectures at the Cloud Recesses were suffocating—rules upon rules, silence upon silence. Huaisang had never been good with either.
He had wandered further than he should have one evening, slipping past the lantern-lit paths into quieter territory.
That was where he found him.
Jiang Cheng stood by the water, his reflection fractured by ripples. His expression was dark, distant.
Huaisang had almost turned back.
Almost.
“Jiang-xiong?” he called softly.
Jiang Cheng glanced over, irritation flashing across his face—before fading into something more neutral.
“…Nie Huaisang.”
“You’re not studying,” Huaisang said, attempting a smile.
“Neither are you.”
“…Fair point.”
A pause.
Then, unexpectedly, Jiang Cheng said, “Sit down. Or leave.”
Huaisang blinked.
“…That’s not very polite.”
“Then leave.”
“…I’ll sit.”
And somehow, that was how it began.
Not with intention.
Not with romance.
Just two people, both restless, both out of place, sitting side by side in the quiet.
“It didn’t mean anything,” he said. “We both knew that.”
Nie Mingjue’s expression darkened.
“…You’re certain?”
Huaisang laughed weakly, wiping at his tears.
“He made it very clear.”
“And yet,” Nie Mingjue said, gaze dropping briefly to his brother’s hands, still resting protectively over his abdomen, “here you are.”
Huaisang closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Nie Mingjue turned away abruptly, pacing once across the room.
This was unacceptable.
Unforgivable.
Whoever had done this—
“No.”
Huaisang’s voice stopped him.
“I told you,” he said, more firmly now, though it still trembled, “you can’t interfere.”
Nie Mingjue turned back, eyes sharp.
“I will not allow someone to—”
“He didn’t force me!” Huaisang interrupted, sudden and fierce.
The words echoed in the room.
Silence followed.
Then, more quietly:
“I chose too.”
Nie Mingjue’s anger faltered again.
Huaisang lowered his gaze.
“I just… didn’t think it would matter.”
The wind howled faintly outside, rattling the windows.
Inside, the world had shifted.
Nie Mingjue looked at his brother—truly looked at him—and saw not the careless, lazy boy he had always scolded…
…but someone standing at the edge of something vast and terrifying, utterly alone.
His voice, when he spoke again, was steadier.
“…You are not alone in this.”
Huaisang’s lips trembled.
“But I am,” he said softly. “Aren’t I?”
Nie Mingjue stepped forward.
“No.”
The word was absolute.
“I am here.”
Huaisang stared at him.
“And the child?” he whispered.
Nie Mingjue did not hesitate.
“Is a Nie.”
Something in Huaisang’s expression broke completely then—not in despair, but in fragile, disbelieving relief.
He covered his face, shoulders shaking again.
This time, when he cried…
he did not try to hide it.