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Nie Mingjue is tired. 

The Sunshot Campaign was supposed to be a quick endeavor, to bring the arrogant Wen Ruohan to his knees and make him pay for the atrocities he’s committed. Instead, the campaign has dragged on to nearly six months, each day more exhausting than the last. It doesn’t help that Nie Mingjue is a leading figure, always up to his neck in paperwork. If it’s not the paperwork that gets to him, it’s the endless meetings, hour after hour with agendas that have absolutely nothing to do with him. A newly minted commander discussing the plans for his troops that have absolutely nothing to do with Nie Mingjue’s own movements and commands. A minor sect leader complaining yet again how there are no appropriate accommodations for someone of their position. Nie Mingjue swears that if he has to hear one more fucking objection from the Yao clan head, he’s going to uproot an entire forest and throw it at him. 

It’s easier when it comes to meetings with the sect leaders Lan Xichen and Jiang Wanyin, despite his own personal feelings about the latter being brash and hot-headed. They at least understand the hardships and only ever come to speak of business. They never try to push their troops into Nie Mingjue’s command with flimsy excuses. They never complain that there is not enough for themselves. For that, Nie Mingjue is increasingly grateful. 

Progress on the war front is much slower than anyone would like. But at least they are chipping away at the monstrous hold the Wen sect has taken. Every battle is a struggle to stay alive, to claim victory from what surely looks like defeat. Though his own Nie disciples are skilled, some of the highest ranked disciples across the cultivator world, even they cannot withstand the sheer volume of Wen soldiers. They are only human after all, and it only takes one slip up, one Wen sword, to end it all. The Lan and the Jiang can somewhat hold their own but everyone else is…lacking. Severely.

Nie Mingjue grits his teeth at yet another report of retreat along the Northeastern front where the Jin are crumbling under pressure, unable to withstand even a small-scale assault. A sneer curls his lip; he shouldn’t have expected different from that sniveling bastard Jin Guangshan. He flips to another report and is just unrolling the parchment when someone knocks on one of the wooden poles of his tent.

“Sect Leader Nie.” It’s the Jiang brat. “May I come in?” 

“Come in.” Nie Mingjue rolls up the report and sets it neatly on the other scrolls on the left of his desk. Jiang Wanyin pushes the curtain inside and Nie Mingjue is immediately on high alert. While he always looks kind of annoyed and angry, a feeling Nie Mingjue understands very well, Jiang Wanyin looks distressed now, biting his lip and twisting Zidian on his finger. “What is it?”

“I need to leave. Tomorrow.” Nie Mingjue raises an eyebrow. He may be a leading figure, but he does not control the movements of the Jiang sect whatsoever. There is no need to inform him of their plans beyond where they are going to be fighting or stationed next. Jiang Wanyin seems to note his confusion and clears his throat, finally looking Nie Mingjue in the eyes. “It’s my brother.” 

Instantly Nie Mingjue understands the sheer panic in the other’s stony eyes. “Go.” Nie Mingjue stands and strides over. He may tower over Jiang Wanyin, but he does admit he respects the brat’s will to stand just as tall in his presence. “Leave your troops here. I will command them well.” 

Jiang Wanyin bows, and Nie Mingjue can see the way his hands tremble, clenched tight against his sides when they drop. “Thank you, Sect Leader Nie. I will be back as soon as possible.” 

Nie Mingjue watches that small back as it leaves, struck by how different and yet similar it is to Huaisang’s. It’s regrettable to involve someone that young in the command of war, but Jiang Wanyin is a sect leader after all. It’s only a given he should be involved at the higher ranks. Even still, it pains Nie Mingjue’s heart to see that echo of his little brother in Jiang Wanyin. He turns back to his reports and tries very hard not to think about what might happen if Jiang Wanyin never returns. 

Nie Mingjue sends a quarter of the Yunmeng troops with Lan Xichen to the east to try and back up Jin Guangshan’s flimsy attempts at defense. The rest he keeps with the Nie footsoldiers. He plans on taking back all of Qinghe in the next few weeks so that his soldiers can return home even if only momentarily. It infuriates him that their ancestral ground is being desecrated even as he dithers in meetings, even as he sits now in his tent poring over maps. He is but one man and he knows he cannot take out an entire army, but the longer he’s away from home, the more he wants to try. 

There are hardly any areas untouched by the Wens, but Nie Mingjue made the executive decision to send Huaisang to Lanling early in the campaign. The Jin may be part of the fighting force, but they were and still are the most intact sect and the least in danger. Huaisang will be safe there--or at least that’s what Nie Mingjue told himself when he sent him off with a convoy of wounded soldiers. Hopefully his silly little brother is still painting and writing poetry instead of fighting. Nie Mingjue may yell at his brother for dodging training, but he would rather Huaisang stick to what he’s best at. Which isn’t to say that Huaisang can’t protect himself, with a saber or other means. He may dodge training and night hunts when he can, but Huaisang is still a Nie. 

His thoughts on Huaisang are interrupted by rapid knocking. An urgent voice calls, “Sect Leader Nie! Sect Leader Jiang has returned!” Nie Mingjue’s brows furrow. It’s only been a week since Jiang Wanyin set off. How is he back already? Where could he have possibly gone in such a short period of time? “Should I bring him here to report to you?” the messenger asks.

“No.” Nie Mingjue stands and brushes off his robes even though they’re not dusty. “I will see him. Where is he?” 

“His tent, sir,” the messenger stammers. It’s rare for Nie Mingjue to actually greet others when they rejoin the camp from small excursions. 

“That will be all.” Nie Mingjue strides forth through the camp, greeting those he passes with a nod. Nie disciples have long since learned not to stop to bow, instead calling out respectful greetings while carrying on with their tasks. It took a bit longer to teach the Jiang disciples the same thing, but at last they too learned that Nie Mingjue values efficiency over all else. He sweeps into the Jiang section of the camp, a space much larger than the Nie section. Jiang Wanyin has done well to replenish his clan’s disciples, though that shouldn’t be a surprise. Even before, the Jiang sect was revered for their flexible and fluid sword style.

“Sect Leader Nie.” Nie Mingjue halts outside the tent where one of Jiang Wanyin’s close aides stands and bows. “I’m afraid Sect Leader Jiang is not in any state to receive visitors at the moment.” 

“Let him in,” Jiang Wanyin’s voice calls, and Nie Mingjue frowns. It sounds pained, forced. 

“I can see you another day,” he says, turning to leave. 

“No, no.” There’s a woosh of fabric as the tent flaps are pushed aside to reveal a heavily injured Jiang Wanyin. Nie Mingjue narrows his eyes as he surveys the lines of white bandages that cover Jiang Wanyin’s torso and arms. There are smaller bandages on his face. “Come in.” He stumbles back inside with Nie Mingjue following closely behind. 

Nie Mingjue stands as Jiang Wanyin gingerly sits down on the cot. “I’m sorry for the delay, Sect Leader Nie.”

“Delay? I was under the impression that you were remarkably quick. A week is not a very long time for a journey.”

“I did not make it to my destination.” Jiang Wanyin grunts as he rubs his arm, face scrunched in pain. “I was ambushed partway. It--” He swallows, eyes downcast. “It seems like they are using my brother against me.”

Ah. This was the exact issue Nie Mingjue had grappled with before deciding to send his brother away. It was bad they were apart because Nie Mingjue could not protect Huaisang with his own hands. But it would be far worse if Huaisang fell into Wen hands and was used to torture Nie Mingjue. After all, Huaisang was the only family he had left in the entire world. He really doesn’t know what he’d do if he were gone.  

“I’m sorry.” That’s all Nie Mingjue says, all he can offer. Jiang Wanyin is silent, and Nie Mingjue thinks maybe that’s his cue to leave. “I will leave you to rest.”

“I knew this could happen,” Jiang Wanyin croaks, sounding so tired. So tired for someone so young. “I knew they might taunt me with him when I couldn’t find him. But I can’t let go of the possibility that it really could be him. Isn’t that funny.” He gives a short, mirthless laugh before groaning, resting his head on his clasped hands, elbows pressing into his knees. 

“It is not.” Nie Mingjue does not miss the way Jiang Wanyin twitches, the way he looks up in surprise. “It is not funny, nor is it pitiful. Nor any other terrible judgement. He is family.” 

Jiang Wanyin again falls silent for too long, eyes wide as he stares at Nie Mingjue like he has grown a second head. “Family,” he whispers brokenly. 

“Yes. And as I have come to understand, family is important. Therefore, do not be afraid to pursue whatever whispers come your way. I will take command of your troops as needed.” Nie Mingjue nods and then bows his head. “I will take my leave and allow you to rest. Do not hesitate to come to me with concerns.” He sweeps out, leaving Jiang Wanyin confused. The aide outside scrambles to bow before they duck into the tent. 

Nie Mingjue’s walk back to his own tent is short, but it is enough time for him to recall his few memories of Wei Wuxian. A charming lad, young and brave and wild. Friends with Huaisang and probably not a great influence, but they kept out of actual trouble, only causing minor inconveniences and mischief. Smart, offering solutions Nie Mingjue would not be able to think of without the backing of extensive experience. An elder brother like himself, hovering around Jiang Wanyin, even if all that did was piss him off. As Nie Mingjue enters his tent, a frown forms on his lips. Someone smart like that should’ve weaseled out of whatever trouble he was in and come sneaking back into camp already. The camp is hidden, sure, but there’s no way Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have known where they were. 

No matter, this is not his concern. He will provide help when requested and support Jiang Wanyin as needed, but he has his own affairs to deal with, starting with the reconquering of Qinghe. 

Qinghe is absolutely devastated.

The rolling fields that Nie Mingjue used to roam with Huaisang are burned to ash. Mining villages that thrived before lay abandoned, literal ghost towns where only the wind lives. Nie Mingjue knows that if they hadn’t stopped to clear some spirits, they would’ve made much faster time, but he couldn’t just leave it be. Couldn’t bear to.

They camp out in the forest a few miles from the looming gates that protected the inner city, but even from here, Nie Mingjue can see the red drenching his walls. Those flags that desecrate the sacred stones will hang no more tomorrow, he vows in the flickering light of the fire they’ve set. Tomorrow he will reclaim his home and lay waste to the vermin that have crawled in until every last one of them is presented with their head on a stake.

“Sect Leader Nie.” 

He turns to see Zonghui, his cousin. Nie Mingjue had half a mind to send him away with Huaisang originally, but in the end he didn’t. Zonghui is incredibly skilled with his saber, an asset too precious to be hidden away when this war has taken so many talented cultivators already.

“What is it?”

“The troops are settling in for the night. We have already set up watch shifts. Go get some rest; it will be dawn soon enough.” Nie Mingjue simply grunts, not all too inclined to go relax right now. But Zonghui has the same Nie stubbornness in his blood, and he shoves Nie Mingjue in the general direction of camp. “Really, biao-ge, you of all people need to be ready for tomorrow.” 

Tomorrow, they will set siege to their home. Nie Mingjue only hopes that Qinghe comes out mostly unscathed. 

Everything smells like iron. The blood that splatters on the ground, the walls, the blades that bite through skin and bone. Nie Mingjue knows this is a smell that will haunt these halls for the rest of time. Still, it’s necessary, he knows. To drive these Wen bastards out, this level of bloodshed is necessary.

Nie Mingjue roars as he slashes through another few Wen soldiers, their bodies piling up on others. Some bear the black and silver of the Nie sect, some the purple of the Jiang. There’s not a moment to stop and think about the carnage, to mourn the loss of life. That will come later, when he has staked the head of Wen Xu outside the gates to taunt Wen Ruohan’s arrogance. Today, Nie Mingjue will have the last laugh. 

The path to the palace is a straight road. Whereas other places like Yunmeng and Gusu value curved streets, Qinghe was built with a grid system in place. Few get through the massive front gates that guard the city, so this structure wasn’t intended for defensive purposes. Rather, it was made for strategic placement and signaling, so when Nie Mingjue shouts they’re taking back the fifth block first, everyone knows where that is. 

The fifth block is the only truly defensive point Qinghe has. It was where people had evacuated to in the original siege because it has a small hidden alleyway that leads into the mountains outside the city. Nie Mingjue knows this will be rough because that area is also a bottleneck, intended to keep assailants from crowding forward and overwhelming them with numbers. However, they did not plan this assault with numbers but with technique. The Wens have an incessant need to keep pushing forward in their assaults, which means that this bottleneck works against them. They’re the ones pouring out of the bottleneck instead of waiting for the Nie forces to push in. Fools.

They overtake the fifth block with such ease that it’s almost a joke. They barricade the block and open the back path, allowing reinforcements to trickle in. The siege’s first day is over and it’s an overwhelming success. Nie Mingjue calls for a temporary camp to be set up while Zonghui sets up watch shifts again and dusk falls, blanketing a truly bloody scene. 

Nie Mingjue wants to go out and tear into more troops and find that wretched Wen Xu. But he knows that he needs to stick to the plan. This was not intended to be a quick takeover, and it pains him to be so tantalizingly close and yet still so far. Tomorrow. Tomorrow they will finish the siege.

But tonight, Nie Mingjue has correspondances to make and an army to rally. There’s some time while the designated cooks for the night prepare dinner, so Nie Mingjue ducks into his own tiny tent and sits at a makeshift desk made of a very large, relatively flat stone. Zonghui has already left a mass of reports for him to sift through, jumbled together in no particular order. Nie Mingjue misses the days he had reports placed by source and length. Meng Yao always did have an incredible sense of organization. But he shoves that thought far away in his mind. Meng Yao made his decisions, and Nie Mingjue will continue to condemn him until he chooses to be on the right side of morality again. 

He starts with a report by Lan Xichen.

By the time this reaches you, I pray that you will be victorious. The battle here is dragging, but we are slowly chipping away. We have just regained footholds in Suzhou and it has boosted the morale of many. Still, I hear whispering of the Wens preparing to launch an assault in the coming days. I will shore up my defenses with what I have, but if you could spare anyone, it would be much appreciated. 

Da-ge, these are hard times. I pray for your safety. To my understanding, Sect Leader Jiang and Wangji have reached the edges of the Yunmeng territory and are resting in Hefei. They will head for Chongyang as soon as possible and set up there as they attempt to retake Yunmeng. It appears Sect Leader Jiang has acquired many disciples along the way, and I have the greatest faith they will succeed in their endeavors. Still, da-ge, worries haunt my waking hours and often my sleeping ones as well. I know that I must do what I must and that I cannot be by their side or yours. But da-ge, please. Be safe. 

As always, the reports are more like letters, but Nie Mingjue has long since learned to let that slide. He is one of the few people whom Lan Xichen can be honest with, can bare his fears plainly to on paper. It is a position of the highest trust that Nie Mingjue intends to honor. He sets it aside and picks up a new report, wrinkling his nose at the grandiose Jin Guangshan painted on the top. The man wouldn’t know subtlety if it beheaded him. 

We here at Lanling are still holding strong. My forces await at Xuzhou for the promised help, but my patience grows thin. We must strike while their forces are in disarray. I await your response and hope it is good news.

The heavens themselves could not write a more arrogant demand in the form of a thinly veiled request. Nie Mingjue has half a mind to crumple this precious, expensive paper that Jin Guangshan has the gall to spend money on. Deep breaths, in and out, he reminds himself, setting that aside and picking up a report that is unmarked save for the smallest of lotuses on the corner. 

Sect Leader Nie.

I hope this finds you in good health. We have just arrived in Hefei and met up with Second Master Lan. We will march for Chongyang when the time is right. The road is fraught with Wen dogs and I, unfortunately, am ill-prepared to deal with large-scale assaults on my disciples. Second Master Lan has thankfully brought his own reinforcements, so I suspect we will leave within the next two days. I will send word when we have taken Chongyang. 

Jiang Wanyin does know how to write a proper report at least. Nie Mingjue unrolls a new parchment and dips his brush in freshly ground ink. These he will respond to now and the rest can wait.

I will send what aid I can, Xichen, but be prepared for a long onslaught. This will be no short and easy fight. I have faith in your capabilities to maintain your ground and protect your forces well. Shall I send material aid as well? By the time you receive this, I will have taken Qinghe back. Thus, I will have access to all necessary medical aid materials as well as food and armory supplies. Will you still go to Xuzhou? Sect Leader Jin is becoming impatient and I fear he will attack before the time is right, leading to catastrophic loss. 

Xichen, you have always held the greatest trust in my abilities. Though we are ill-prepared in the grand scope of this war, it is my turn to place trust in you. You have never faltered once in the long time I have known you, and I do not believe you will now. Go forth with the knowledge that the decision you have made is the right one, because I will as well. I will enclose a length of cloth with a scent on it that I know soothes your nerves. I apologize for not being able to offer more.

Nie Mingjue strips a length of cloth off his arm and folds it neatly. He picks out a different piece of parchment and encloses the ribbon with quick motions before sliding that into the center of the report. It will find Xichen well, he hopes, and offer some sort of relief where he cannot. Xichen has always been a worrier, but Nie Mingjue knows that this continued pressure to perform as sect leader is beginning to wear his nerves thinner and thinner. While Nie Mingjue would normally send Meng Yao with some other comfort aids, this is all he can do now. That bridge is broken, and Nie Mingjue isn’t sure if it will ever be repaired. 

Sect Leader Jin. I cannot command my forces to travel any faster as the road to Xuzhou is treacherous. Have patience, they will arrive. I advise you to look over your plans carefully. it wouldn’t bode well to have one of our greatest forces fall due to negligence. 

Jin Guangshan might have a fit over that, but Nie Mingjue smirks as he sets that reponse aside. The man needs to be told when he’s being a fucking idiot, and Nie Mingjue has never been one to sugarcoat his words. 

He opts not to write back to Jiang Wanyin. They may already be halfway through their journey to Chongyang before his report arrives in Hefei, and he cannot send a messenger in blind. But he will send a small envoy of disciples to Chongyang when the time is right. Part of Nie Mingjue wants to laugh because the time is never truly right, but they would be sitting ducks if they were to keep waiting. 

Nie Mingjue heaves a sigh and reaches for a new report when Zonghui knocks on the post. “Sect Leader Nie. Dinner is ready if you would like to join us.” Grateful for the break, he stands and exits the tent. Zonghui falls into step next to him with a sympathetic pat on his shoulder. Zonghui is a good man, steadfast and calm. His executive decision-making had boosted him to Nie Mingjue’s right hand when the position was forcefully vacated several weeks ago. He doesn’t care for titles and doesn’t seek glory, which makes his commands easier to follow for many. They know that he isn’t sending them out for some grand mission that will have their lives forfeit. 

The small clearing is already crowded with bodies, most sitting on the floor as they eat. Tonight’s fare is plain and simple: a bowl of rice per man with a small helping of preserved vegetables and the rare occurrence of fresh lamb. Tomorrow will be a day of victory, and tonight is just a taste of the feast to come. 

Nie Mingjue nods his thanks as someone hands him a bowl, larger than the rest. He tried to insist on eating the same portions as others, but people protested so fiercely that he just accepted whatever they put in his hands. In this sense, Nie Mingjue might be considered naive. He trusts deeply when there are no signs of suspicion. But he’s also incredibly quick to put up his guard when he senses any kind of dishonesty. It doesn’t hurt that Baxia can sense those intentions as well. 

Everyone is in good spirits, laughing and joking genuinely. He has missed this sight. Nie Mingjue takes a seat at one of the few tables. Someone pours him a cup of wine, and he holds it as he stands. The chatter quiets as many eyes turn to him, illuminated by the flickering light of the fires around the clearing. 

“Tomorrow marks a historic day. We have been away from home too long, and tomorrow we will reclaim the land that is ours.” A few cheers rise. “All of you have come to fight for what is right, to strike down injustice where it stands, and for that I commend you. Just as Da Yi once stood tall and shot down the sun, so will we stand together and topple the Wen from their mighty perch!” He raises his glass high. “To you who have fought to stand here on this cusp of history. To Qinghe our home! Tomorrow, we take it all back to show the world that we will not fall now or ever!” 

Shouts and applause ring out as people down their drinks after Nie Mingjue. He takes his seat again and begins to eat. It’s been a long day, but he wasn’t really hungry until the taste of salt was on his tongue. It takes him minutes to devour the entire bowl, listening to the conversations that float around him.

“Tomorrow I’ll be able to finally sit down and pray to my parents again. I have missed them so much.”

“There will be a lot of cleanup.”

“Do you think Second Young Master Nie will return?”

“Did you see how we overtook those Wen dogs in the alley?”

“Sect Leader Nie was incredible! Baxia cut through every single one of them!”

“I’m just glad we’re here and not in Lanling. I heard rumors that Jin Guangshan spends every night playing around!”

“No way! Is that why there hasn’t been any good news lately from their front?”

“Guess so. I heard that he invites fifty women to his tent each night!”

“I hear that he doesn’t even fight! Never picks up his blade.” 

“It’s his son that does all the fighting, that Jin Zixuan? Apparently he’s really good.”

“Well, that’s one good thing to come out of Jin Guangshan’s existence.”

Nie Mingjue slams his bowl down and the chatter cuts out. He surveys the crowd, eyes narrowed. While he might also hold those reservations about Jin Guangshan’s frivolous ways, he does not tolerate idle rumors in his camp or among his ranks. When it’s clear that this is just a warning glare, most return to their conversations. There’s a distinct lack of shit-talking about ally forces. With another suppressed sigh, Nie Mingjue stands, waving off Zonghui and the others who begin to insist he stay and drink a little more. He’s got endless reports to deal with and it wouldn’t hurt to review the plan for tomorrow again. 

Though most are having dinner right now, a few still lurk around their tents, polishing their swords and sabers and generally going about their duties. Nie Mingjue’s heart swells with pride that these are the people who have chosen to stand by his side and have worked their hardest to stand here on the battlefield. The people who have resolved to fight and possibly die for what they believe in. Tomorrow he’ll make things right and honor their sacrifices.

Nie Mingjue gives up after the eighth report that says some variation of, Send help! We’re dying! As if he didn’t already know that. The Nies are strong and sturdy, and sure, he’s had fewer losses overall than the other sects, but one of the difficult things he has to grapple with is the fact that the Nie sect is smaller than the other sects. Even in their prime, the Nie sect had about half the cultivators that other major sects had. Cultivating with a saber is particularly difficult because not only does one have to be physically strong, but they must be mentally firm as well. Nie disciples don’t even touch a blade until after they’ve proven that they can handle it. And even then, the only ones who can truly wield a saber in its full capacity are those of the Nie clan with direct blood ties to Nie Mingjue and his ancestors. It’s part of why he gets on Huaisang’s case. They’re the last of the clan, so they have to uphold the legacy. 

He sighs and rolls out a map, eyes drifting towards Lanling. He doesn’t get many letters from Huaisang. The last was several weeks ago, detailing Huaisang’s life at Jinlingtai, which is apparently wonderful and filled with art and poetry and dance. No one pressures Huaisang to practice and no one pushes him into fighting. He’d written briefly on the status of the political court, too, which Nie Mingjue appreciated, even if it was bare bones. It gave him some insight into Jin Guangshan’s movements and allowed him to anticipate troubles ahead. Nie Mingjue hopes even now that Huaisang is sheltered away, safe from the slaughter and wrapped in his ink-brushed arts. 

Shaking his head, he reviews what he’s read in the reports and matches it up to the map. The state of things becomes far more bleak as time goes on, he thinks, touching upon Chongyang with his fingertips and tracing the path to Xuzhou. They have acquired small victories, yes, but there still have not been any successful major conquests since they retook Gusu and chased the Wen back to Moling, and then further to Fuyang. Even their tenuous footholds they have regained are under constant threat. The siege tomorrow has to succeed, not only for personal means. A major victory under his own command would help raise morale everywhere. Once he regains Qinghe, he can send his troops elsewhere to be of use. Tomorrow has to succeed. 

The plan is for Nie Mingjue and a few elite disciples to take the back roads, hidden, while the main force draws away the attention of most if not all of the Wen front lines. Thus, only Wen Xu and his close group of lackeys will be left in the Unclean Realm. If Nie Mingjue can take Wen Xu’s arrogant head early, the rest of the Wen foot soldiers will be thrown in disarray and will be much easier to dispose of. 

Nie Mingjue and his small team set out at the early reaches of dawn while Zonghui leads the rest to flood down the main avenues. Shouts of surprise ring out before the birds even begin to call as they each take down masses of Wen dogs. Those shouts soon swell into a full clamor as Wen guards and soldiers run through the streets, slaughtering and being slaughtered.  

The high walls of the Unclean Realm tower as they always have. Somehow, though, Nie Mingjue feels they are far more intimidating now than they were when he was inside them. As with any other residence, the Unclean Realm holds several secret passageways, some left over from more ancient times when servants had to hide their day-to-day bustle and some developed only recently for defensive and offensive purposes. Nie Mingjue motions to the rest of the team, and they huddle together in the entrance of one hidden corridor, the one Nie Mingjue knows will lead straight into his throne room. 

“Feiyi, you take two disciples and go down the southern corridor. Barricade the doors and prevent anyone from coming in as reinforcements.” A petite woman nods, gripping her saber tightly. “The rest of you follow me. We’ll take Wen Xu’s egotistical head before the sun peaks in the sky.” Though they can’t cheer, the disciples around him look excited, eyes gleaming in the light of the talisman he’s using to minimally illuminate the path. “Let’s go.” 

Feiyi dives off to a side hall, the two disciples behind her almost sprinting to keep up. Nie Mingjue figures if she lives, then she can be an inner Nie disciple and take on the Nie name, just like Zonghui had. She’s tough enough to be one now, anyway. Nie Mingjue and his team keep up a steady pace, taking so many turns it would be dizzying to anyone less accustomed to the tunnels. Nie Mingjue has run these halls so many times, he could do it in his sleep. It isn’t too long before they arrive under a trap door. They can hear shouting and cheers above them, sounds of revelry that only serve to fuel the flames of Nie Mingjue’s anger. Wen Xu’s voice is loudest of them all, shouting for more wine, more women. Nie Mingjue draws his lips back in a snarl; that room is not intended for foolish partying. Whatever the hell Wen Xu has done on his throne is going to need some serious scrubbing to get out. Nie Mingjue meets the eyes of each of his disciples and they’ve sombered up, faces grim with determination and pure, unadulterated rage . 

Nie Mingjue extinguishes the talisman. Gives it a minute. Then breaks out of one hell into another. 

Just as expected, they find the lingering remnants of a party from the night before. Wen Xu’s face would be comical if not for the sheer hatred that pumps itself in Nie Mingjue’s veins at the sight of it. There’s that split second where none of the Wens know what’s going on, a moment frozen. But a swish of a saber and the thud of a body signals the start of battle, and Nie Mingjue roars as he thrusts Baxia, aiming straight for Wen Xu’s treacherous head. 

Wen Xu may be a fool sometimes, but he would not have gotten where he was without some level of instinct and skill. He ducks under Baxia’s sharp edge, thrusting one of the scantily dressed women towards Nie Mingjue as he unsheathes his own sword. Nie Mingjue easily sidesteps the screaming body, his eyes trained solely on Wen Xu’s hunched form. “WEN XU!” he screams as he slashes forward. The women have at least scurried away, pressing themselves against the wall and making themselves scarce, so Nie Mingjue doesn’t need to worry about accidentally slicing into them. 

Wen Xu again dances out of the way with agility that a man as drunk as he is should not have. “Ahhh, Nie Mingjue.” Nie Mingjue curls his lip; he hates the way his name sounds from Wen Xu’s rotten mouth. Slurred, teasing. “I was wondering when you’d get here. I’ve been looking forward to this, you know, facing off against the Nie Mingjue and the Baxia. Imagine how everyone will look when I present your head at the front of the gates.” He has that lecherous smile that sends shivers up Nie Mingjue’s spine. 

Nie Mingjue grips Baxia tighter, the metal embellishments biting into his fingers, and snarls. But the battlefield is no place for taunting words, especially not when there are this many blades swinging in the air. Wen Xu takes that as an invitation, laughing maniacally as he darts forward and jabs with his blade. He chases after Nie Mingjue, each thrust of the sword more precise than the last. The blade cuts into Nie Mingjue’s robes, glances off his skin. Nie Mingjue in turn wields Baxia the way she was meant to be wielded, harshly and uncontrolled. His slashes are wide and cover enough space to slice into the few intact desks and cushions around. Feathers scatter in the air, landing gently on the ground before being squashed underfoot. Wine jars and cups spill and shatter to the ground, leaving puddles of heady sweet alcohol to mix with the rust iron scent of blood. 

“What’s this!” Wen Xu calls, delighted even as he swipes wine jars at Nie Mingjue’s head. “The famous Nie Mingjue running away?” Nie Mingjue grits his teeth. He has to bide his time. Wen Xu has the patience of a small dog, and when he finishes yapping, he’ll have nothing else to give. “Where do you think you’re going?” Wen Xu leaps, and his blade catches against Nie Mingjue’s arm, tearing through the flesh. At the same time, Nie Mingjue swings Baxia diagonally across, catching Wen Xu’s leg in the process. Neither cut is deep enough to disable but they do bleed profusely. 

Wen Xu’s screech is full of fury. His movements become sloppy, fueled by his pain and anger rather than by his mind. Nie Mingjue parries blow after blow, waiting. Waiting for the moment that Wen Xu crashes into a pillar, jarring his senses. 

Again, Nie Mingjue bellows, “WEN XU!” And again there’s a moment where everything else fades and time is frozen. Wen Xu’s eyes widen with surprise and he starts to open his mouth to shout. A flash of light as Nie Mingjue swings Baxia with both hands, the unpleasant crunch of bone as it’s cut through. The head falls, forever frozen in its shock, and lands with a quiet thud. 

“Wen-gongzi!” one of the Wen guards cries before he’s cut down. The sound is echoed through the room as the Wens freeze. They don’t get to live in their shock for long as they’re felled by shined silver blades that slice through the air in beautiful arcs of blood. The clamor doesn’t register to Nie Mingue, too absorbed in the sight of Wen Xu’s corpse slumping before pitching forward and falling to the ground, ruby red blood leaking from his neck. 

It is quiet now, only labored breathing echoing through the chamber. Nie Mingjue strides forward, Baxia scraping lightly along the ground. He reaches a hand down, grips Wen Xu’s oily hair tightly and raises the head. A ghoulish expression looks back at him, and Nie Mingjue bares his teeth in a ferocious, feral grin. “Where did you think you were going?” he whispers. Cheers begin to rise from his small group as he lifts the head. Now, he thinks, it’s time to take it all back. 

He sweeps out of the room and into the open-air quad where Nie disciples used to train. It’s painted red with blood seeping from corpses piled on top of each other. Nie Mingjue does not see any black and silver robes on the floor. Relief courses through him properly when Feiyi and her men burst through the southern gates into the courtyard. Just outside is a lone Wen soldier, blade held high as he charges. But he stops short, despair creeping onto his face as his eyes land on the head of his fearless commander. 

“W-Wen-gongzi!” the soldier cries, sword tip falling to the ground as he backs up. “Wen-gongzi!” And then he turns and sprints away, screaming, Wen-gongzi is dead!

The retaking of Qinghe is almost too easy. The Wen are scattered, running about like headless chickens, which makes them significantly easier to round up. In the report, Nie Mingjue notes that not even a full third of the Wen forces were killed after Wen Xu died, most only getting their swords confiscated before they were shoved into the prison cells tucked in the lower levels. Nie Mingjue stakes Wen Xu’s head high on a wooden pole and has it placed outside, a fair distance from the gates. A warning, a threat, a promise.

News spreads faster than Nie Mingjue can write and send reports. His first messengers go directly to Lan Xichen and Jin Guangshan, and from there the entire cultivation world learns of valiant Nie Mingjue who took back his home and killed Wen Xu, laughing in the face of Wen Ruohan. A letter arrives the day after the siege from Jiang Wanyin, congratulating Nie Mingjue on his victory and stating they safely arrived in Chongyang. Nie Mingjue sends back Nie Feiyi and her selected troops in response, a whisper of reassurance for the two young, bold leaders as they assess how best to retake Yunmeng. 

With all other major cities retaken and in their possession, Nie Mingjue knows that it is almost time to invade Qishan and take Wen Ruohan’s head. Four days after the siege, he meets with Lan Xichen and Jin Zixuan in Nanyang, in one of the gaudy Jin tents that has every luxury imaginable inside. Jin Zixuan at least has the decency to look mildly embarrassed about it, which is far more than can be said about his father currently squirreled away in Jinlingtai (as Huaisang told him). 

“Sect Leader Nie. Sect Leader Lan.” Jin Zixuan bows. “I am humbled by your presence.” 

“Ah, Jin-gongzi.” Lan Xichen smiles, his voice somehow conveying his acknowledgement of Jin Zixuan, who straightens up. “Thank you for having us.” 

“Please,” Jin Zixuan sweeps the curtain back and nods inside. Nie Mingjue allows Lan Xichen to go first, even though by seniority he should’ve gone first. Jin Zixuan enters last. They stand around a carved lacquer table. Every inch is covered in maps, some worn from constant use while some look recently drawn. 

“Sect leaders. Thanks to the incredible victory Sect Leader Nie won over in Qinghe and our continued victory over these last several days, my father,” Jin Zixuan takes a pause that’s a bit too long to just be thoughtful, “my father has decided it is high time we head towards Qishan and Nightless City.” 

Lan Xichen looks across the ink-marked maps thoughtfully before resting his fingertips on Qishan. “Perhaps. However, we must not be greedy, else we risk losing far more than we have gained. It would do well to remember that Wen Ruohan still has three pieces of yin iron in his possession.” No one is going to acknowledge the pointed words that are clearly meant to be directed at Jin Guangshan.

“Yes, of course, Sect Leader Lan. Actually, I believe we should wait.” Jin Zixuan looks relieved that Lan Xichen has an ounce of rational thought, which sets off alarms in Nie Mingjue’s head. Exactly what delusional plan is Jin Guangshan trying to parade about? Is it so bad that Jin Zixuan looks relieved by literal common sense? 

“Oh?” Lan Xichen withdraws his hand and tilts his head. “Why is that?” 

“I believe we will be better off waiting for Sect Leader Jiang and Lan-er-gongzi. They are,” Jin Zixuan swallows, presses his lips together like he doesn’t want to say it, “very valuable cultivators.” 

Nie Mingjue agrees. Jiang Wanyin has really come into his own after some time. The massacre of Lotus Pier would have been enough to force any man to his knees, but somehow Jiang Wanyin managed to claw his way up again, wielding Sandu and Zidian with force Nie Mingjue knows to be from practice. Additionally, he has the same fiery disposition as many Nie sect disciples, which is possibly why Nie Mingjue feels some level of respect for him beyond acknowledging his abilities as a Jiang warrior. Of course he wouldn’t dare discount the ever calm and collected Hanguang-jun, either. Xichen is daunting enough on his own, but Hanguang-jun adds another layer of power. When Xichen is tied up with bureaucratic matters, it’s Hanguang-jun that is sent out and deals with everything from minor hauntings and water ghouls to possessions and moving corpses. So yes, both of them are very valuable assets. 

“We will also be stronger when the disciples under Sect Leader Jiang are ready for real combat. I know they have had some training, but given the length of time…” Jin Zixuan purses his lips, and Nie Mingjue thinks he can see a shadow of Madam Jin’s influence there. “It would not hurt to wait a few more days at least.” 

“I understand.” Xichen nods with that ever pleasant smile. “I believe you are correct, Jin-gongzi. We are better off waiting a little longer, rather than making hasty decisions and plans.” 

Jin Zixuan bows again, gratefulness evident in his voice. “Thank you, Sect Leader Lan. You are both welcome to stay here if you would like. I will send word to Chongyang so they know where to send their correspondences.” He bows again and then sweeps out of the tent, leaving Nie Mingjue and Xichen alone. 

Nie Mingjue can see the tension actively leaving Xichen’s body, the rigid shoulders relaxing until Xichen looks like a normal human being instead of the prestigious Zewu-jun. “Da-ge.” Xichen gives him that blinding smile, and Nie Mingjue finds himself mirroring it. “It’s good to see you again. How is your arm injury?” 

“Healing well, though it would’ve been nice to not have it at all.” He shrugs, flexes his arm a bit. It stings, but no more so than it usually does when he’s training in the mornings. Xichen touches his sleeve, bites his lip. “Ah, you don’t need to worry about it. Really, Xichen, I’m fine.” 

Still, Xichen looks sad, and Nie Mingjue feels his heart twist. He’s known Xichen since they were incredibly young, not even quite big enough to wield swords or sabers. When Xichen’s face falls like that, it makes Nie Mingjue feel guilty, like he’s done something wrong even though he hasn’t. “Xichen.” He covers the other’s hand with his own and his eyes meet darkened amber. “What’s wrong?” 

“Da-ge, I’m worried.” Nie Mingjue is instantly transported back to when they were children, huddled together in a bed, Xichen’s shaking hands held between Nie Mingjue’s own. He hears what Xichen does not say, would never say aloud now that he has taken on the title of Zewu-jun and sect leader. Da-ge, I’m scared . 

“About what,” he asks softly, pulling Xichen’s hand down from his sleeve until their hands fall between them, still clasped. “Xichen, is there something going on?”

“I-” Nie Mingjue watches as Xichen bites his lip, fiddles with the hem of his sleeve. “I just have a bad feeling. Something is coming and I don’t know what it is, but it’s… It’s angry, da-ge, it’s so angry and hurt and filled with hate.” 

The same could be said about many involved in the campaign. Too many clans have been decimated by the Wen, and now with sole survivors putting their lives and legacies on the line to reclaim their homes, Xichen could’ve been describing any one of them. But this is different, and Nie Mingjue knows that. The way Xichen describes it makes it sound far more sinister than just your average angry, revenge-bent cultivator. Xichen’s eyes are filled with worry and worse, fear that Nie Mingjue hasn’t seen in a long, long time. 

“Xichen, whatever it is, we can handle it. And your esteemed brother, the infallible Hanguang-jun, can take it too. I bet that Sect Leader Jiang will have his back against anything, despite what anyone thinks.” He doesn’t miss the way that Xichen bites his lip a little harder at the mention of his younger brother. The Twin Jades of Lan really are just human, whatever their reputation might have one believe, and Nie Mingjue feels guilty for bringing up that stupid conception that they’re infallible. “Xichen, look at me.” He tilts Xichen’s chin up with his free hand, squeezing the other. “It will be okay. Believe me, Xichen.” 

“I do. I believe you, da-ge.” Xichen forces a smile, which only serves to deepen Nie Mingjue’s frown. 

He may be taller than Xichen, but that doesn’t stop Nie Mingjue from pulling his face up, until Xichen has to meet his eyes. “Don’t lie to me,” he whispers, soft and dangerous. Xichen swallows, eyes wide and dark. He opens his mouth to say something, closes it when nothing comes out. Nie Mingjue has half a mind to do something to Xichen to remind him how much he hates being lied to. But Xichen just shakes his head and gives that not quite real smile again.

“I do believe you, da-ge.” Gentle as it might be, Nie Mingjue feels something rough stabbing his chest as Xichen extricates himself, letting go of Nie Mingjue’s hand. The cool air touches where something warm once lived. “I should go. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning, da-ge.” And just like that, Xichen is gone and Nie Mingjue is left alone in the tent, surrounded by cold jewels that shine like the stars in the night sky. 

Something angry, hurt and full of hate really does appear a few days after, just as Xichen predicted. It shows up in Chongyang of all places, and no one is quite sure why. What is very clear is that it is capable of terrible acts. 

Nie Mingjue wasn’t there himself, so he isn’t exactly sure what kind of ‘terrible acts’ were committed. All he heard were fragments of different stories from disciples who lived through the encounter. 

They said it came when they were just on the cusp of defeat, when both Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin were cornered. They said it began with the shrill, haunting sound of a flute, piercing through the night sky and changing the color of the flames that burned bright from a vivid ocher to a frightening emerald. They said it brought corpses to life again, groaning and creaking and twitching in a way a human never would. 

One Jiang disciple described the fear he felt, bone chillingly deep, as he watched his best friend hurtle towards him, hands outstretched and strangely configured. He couldn’t bring himself to fight back and instead flung his arms up, waiting for claws and teeth to sink into his flesh and tear him to pieces. They never came. He watched as the puppet of his best friend ripped into a nearby Wen disciple, shredding their neck flesh with vehemence until they too became one of the twitching puppets whose skin was a garish shade of ashen green.

The stories diverged there. Some said there were flashes of red lightning that came and tore the ground apart. Some said there swept across the sky a darkness so deep they feared they would never see light again. Some described a humanoid figure descending from the sky in a flurry of crows, vengeance written upon its vicious smile. Most had begun to run away at this point. A few of those who stayed were fairly certain that Wen Zhuliu had attempted to fight off some of the corpses with his core-melting hand abilities, only to be drawn back to his master at the first sound of Wen Chao’s pain-filled cries. 

When Nie Mingjue asked why they were not completely certain, their faces twisted in fear and they confessed that they had been blinded by a swirl of energy so cold it was like a blizzard had been born in their bones. The dark, malicious energy had sent them sprinting away as fast as their legs could carry them. 

The rest of the story was jumbled up even worse. The only confirmed results from all this were the wretched deaths of Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu. Not even their bones were left behind in Chongyang, according to one particularly frantic story teller, who then went on to claim that this apparition was also the one behind the devastation left behind in the Yiling and Bailing supervisory offices. 

From those initial stories, rumors quickly develop and spread to even the reaches of Lanling and Qinghe. The apparition becomes a dreadful demon that dresses itself in darkness and plays melodies so deadly, they can kill with a single note. Wen disciples begin fleeing their posts by the dozen, terrified they will be next on the demon’s list. 

It is a heavy blow to Wen Ruohan. His sons, his precious Core-Melting Hand, his armies: all decimated in the blink of an eye. And yet despite all this, he continues to rule with an iron fist, making grand demands and supplying his armies with half-controlled corpses. His puppets tear indiscriminately into enemies and allies alike, satiated only by rivers of blood. Nie Mingjue vows over those rivers to put an end to Wen Ruohan’s reign of terror. 

Those rumors, however, continue to grow, becoming far more grandiose with each passing day. Nie Mingjue does not pay much attention to them after he hears the initial stories. Perhaps it was a spirit, but it was not likely a demon. The entity only targets Wen dogs and never harms the allied sects. That means it’s choosing its targets carefully, something demons are notorious for lacking. But even then, Nie Mingjue suspects it’s not the work of a spirit but of a human. Granted, they are someone who does not cultivate on the right path and does not have any qualms about murdering their enemies in cold blood, but still, a human. In any normal circumstance, Nie Mingjue would never support this person and instead seek them out for punishment, but given the crumbling status of the allied sects as the war drags on, Nie Mingjue decidedly has no choice but to recognize them as a valuable asset and to turn a blind eye to their crimes. 

It works well, until they seek him out on a hot, foggy night.

The summer haze lasts longer today than any other day. The sun rises early and sets late, burning through the air and leaving most sweating profusely, seeking shelter under the trees. Nie Mingjue calls for a minimal training regime in the morning, but it’s clear by noon that today is not a day for any kind of strenuous exercise. Everyone is sluggish at best, Nie Mingjue included. 

So they lazily set up camp, trying their best to keep an eye out for a Wen ambush. If they were caught unawares, they’d be dead instantly, but apparently even Wen Ruohan and his mass army of corpses are not immune to the heat. The only thing anyone hears is the cicadas screaming from the trees.

No one really does much until dusk, when the sun’s rays shine mellowly over the mountain. The air chills quicker than a hare’s hop. There’s a nearby river, so they all take turns to go wash off the dirt and grime of the day before slipping into clean clothes. The mood is much brighter now, Nie Mingjue notes on his way to his own wash, his new robes folded neatly in his arms. Someone starts a fire and gets dinner cooking; it’ll likely be ready when he comes back. 

The river glistens under the half moon, bubbling pleasantly over smoothed rocks. Nie Mingjue is the last person to bathe, so there’s no one else around and he sees no reason to leave his undergarments on. He leaves the dirty ones in a pile and slips into the water, sighing at its cool touch. Sinking into it, his fingers lazily undo his hairpiece and he leaves that too with his clothes before treading further, until the water is above his waist. He briefly submerges his entire body, hair floating around him before he rises up and flings his head back, his thick hair slapping against his skin. 

A soft rustling catches his attention, his eyes darting to find signs of movement. He hadn’t brought Baxia since he assumed that the river was close enough to the camp to be protected, but clearly that was naive. He doesn’t bother shouting who’s there and instead sinks deeper into the water, waiting for another sound. 

It comes as a whistle, low and appreciative. “Ah, Sect Leader Nie. Fancy meeting you here,” the voice teases.

“Who are you?” Nie Mingjue rises from the water again, still suspicious, but something tells him this isn’t an enemy. They’re not quite an ally, either, but they haven’t tried to shoot him dead yet, so there’s that. 

“Tsk, tsk. Shouldn’t you know me by now?” A shadow comes to life, padding into the hazy moonlight with a smirk. Their robes billow in nonexistent wind as they lean against a tree and twirl what seems to be a flute in their hands.

“I suppose I should,” he grunts, taking in the sight of Wei Wuxian. 

He’s different, Nie Mingjue muses. Not quite as cheery or energetic as before, his voice lowered to a purr instead of a jaunty chirping. He’s exchanged his high ponytail for a simple tie-back of his hair, which hangs longer than Nie Mingjue would’ve expected. His eyes still dance with amusement, shades darker than the light ash they were when they’d first met. How strange for a person to change so much in three months, though Nie Mingjue supposes that is the nature of war. 

“And what is the esteemed right hand of the Jiang sect doing lurking here?” Nie Mingjue grabs one of the soap bars off the river bank, lathering it in his hands before beginning to wash his hair with fluid strokes. “Would’ve thought you were with your sect leader, or perhaps with that Second Master Lan. You were quite attached to them if I recall.” 

Wei Wuxian’s face sours momentarily before adopting that easy, fake smile that Nie Mingjue finds oddly claws at his heart. “Well, y’know. Jiang Cheng’s dealing with official business and he knows he can call me if he needs to,” he says with a wave of a talisman. “And as for Second Master Lan, well, it’s. Complicated right now.” He says complicated a bit too forcefully. But it’s none of Nie Mingjue’s business, so instead he asks a different question.

“And you’re here instead of anywhere else because?” 

“Oh, nothing in particular. I just wanted to chat with the great Nie Mingjue, hero of Qinghe, great warrior of the campaign, blah blah blah. Titles aside, you’ve always been intriguing and I figured, why not now?” Wei Wuxian flicks his hand, eyes sparking. Nie Mingjue swears he sees red shade them, but it’s gone too quickly for him to be sure.

“I’m afraid I’m not that grand at all. Stories will be stories,” Nie Mingjue says as he allows the river to rinse away the soap that bubbles gently in his hair. 

“They will, won’t they.” Wei Wuxian seems to slither forward. “Of course, all stories are born from truth.”

Nie Mingjue raises an eyebrow, combing a hand through his hair. It feels sufficiently clean, so he turns to washing his body, replying, “Perhaps I should listen to the ones about you a bit more closely then.” 

Wei Wuxian laughs. “Perhaps. Though I rather like the fact that you don’t.”

“I prefer judging people on my own terms.”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian purrs, sitting on the edge of the riverbank. “I know.”

In this shimmering light, Wei Wuxian looks kind of like a cat. A large cat, lazing around even as it stalks its prey. Nie Mingjue doesn’t particularly like feeling like prey, but at the same time, there’s something strangely alluring about the way Wei Wuxian’s charcoal eyes track him. 

“Is there something you need from me?” The water ripples as he submerges himself briefly. When he comes back up, the soap bubbles have floated quite a ways away. 

“Oh, not now, but someday I think I might. Just something to keep in mind.” Wei Wuxian stands, bows slightly. “Have a pleasant night, Sect Leader Nie.” Just as he had emerged from the shadows, Wei Wuxian melts back into them, leaving Nie Mingjue wondering what the hell just happened.

The next day, Wei Wuxian makes his first formal reappearance. Jiang Wanyin comes trooping back into camp with his and Lan Wangji’s combined forces. Wei Wuxian is right behind them all, sweeping in like a grim reaper in his dark, billowing robes. The first week or so, he startles nearly every cultivator at least once a day, usually with a mischievous smile. Whispers spark across camp about his new attire, dark red bleeding to black, no sword at his side. A flute dangles where Suibian was once tucked. A few people seem to connect the dots: a flute on Wei Wuxian, the flute sound at Chongyang. But this is war and even something as exciting as Wei Wuxian’s return melts away to normalcy.

Except Nie Mingjue notices that Wei Wuxian is following him around.

When Nie Mingjue does his own training routine in the early morning light, he can sense Wei Wuxian’s presence among the trees. He lurks on the edges of the training field when Nie Mingjue is commanding. He even sits in on meetings that wouldn’t normally involve him, usually with a flippant excuse about how he needs to be there for Sect Leader Jiang as his right hand. Yet every time Nie Mingjue glances over, he’s dozed off in some dark corner. Nie Mingjue has his own personal ghost following him around. 

It sets Nie Mingjue’s senses on high alert. He’s always on edge because Wei Wuxian is right there, radiating some kind of feral energy so Nie Mingjue can’t sense other threats. He gets startled by Zonghui constantly now. He nearly decapitated a disciple that stumbled into his back a few nights ago.

Nie Mingjue is getting fed up with it. It’s a stroke of luck that he manages to catch Wei Wuxian fresh out of the bath one night. He grabs the smaller man by the shoulder and pins him up against a tree. Wei Wuxian, dressed in only his innermost robes, lets out a small oof in response. “What do you want,” Nie Mingjue snarls.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t look the least bit shocked. In fact, he throws his arms around Nie Mingjue’s shoulders and has a sultry look in his eyes. “What don’t I want, Sect Leader Nie.” Nie Mingjue bares his teeth, anger slowly giving way to confusion.

“What. Do. You. Want,” he grinds out, his face far too close to Wei Wuxian’s. It’s hard not to get lost in those dark eyes, like watching the birth of a galaxy. He tries anyway, futilely clinging to his frustrations.

“You know, Sect Leader Nie,” Wei Wuxian drawls, one hand toying with Nie Mingjue’s hair. “You don’t strike me as the type to go attacking innocents.” 

“You. Innocent,” Nie Mingjue snorts. 

“Yes, me.” Nie Mingjue can’t lean back as Wei Wuxian drifts ever closer, his breath warming Nie Mingjue’s chilled cheeks. “Innocent.” 

“You are the furthest thing from innocent I’ve ever met.” It only takes a jerk of his body for Nie Mingjue to feel like he’s toppling forwards, Wei Wuxian’s weight providing no help. He barely grounds himself with a firm step back, all but carrying Wei Wuxian in his arms now. “Absolute furthest.”

“Oh, dear me.” Wei Wuxian giggles, tip-toeing so that he’s somehow putting even more weight on Nie Mingjue. “Well, I suppose you’re not wrong. Ever since I was--” He cuts off suddenly, and Nie Mingjue gets the feeling he’s very far away, despite the fact he’s right there in his arms. “Since a while ago, it’s been very different for me.” 

Nie Mingjue grunts, pushing Wei Wuxian off of him. Another wrong move as Wei Wuxian goes pitching backwards, forcing Nie Mingjue to catch him by the arm. They might look like they were dancing like this. Wei Wuxian’s long hair swishes in the wind, still dripping wet. His eyes stare up at the sky. “Hey, Sect Leader Nie.” 

“What.”

“Do you get lonely?” Wei Wuxian tilts his head to look down the bridge of his nose at Nie Mingjue. There’s a lazy smile on his face but it’s tinged with pain. Nie Mingjue unfortunately knows that look well; he wears it often in front of Huaisang.

“What?”

“Do you get lonely?” Wei Wuxian finally deems it necessary to stand on his own two feet. “Without Huaisang around.” 

“Yes.” Nie Mingjue does get very lonely. He misses the kind of chaos in his life only Huaisang could bring. He misses hearing Huaisang sing, misses seeing him alight with joy as he paints. He even misses how Huaisang would complain about saber practice, though he would always complete it without fail. Huaisang, to him, was a part of his normal life when everything was okay. 

“You’re very honest, Sect Leader Nie.” Wei Wuxian hums, stepping close again. This time, Nie Mingjue gets the sense that he’s trying to find something. Warmth perhaps, by the way he leans against Nie Mingjue without any desire in his eyes. It’s hard to push him away. “I wish I could be like that.”

“You can.” Nie Mingjue is being serious, so he’s not at all sure why Wei Wuxian bursts into laughter. 

“Ah, can I? I’m not so sure.”

“Anyone can with discipline.”

“Ah, you have such faith, Nie Mingjue.” There’s another shift in Wei Wuxian, one that makes that mouth curl into a cruel smile and those eyes gleam with mad delight. “Faith that anyone in this world can be kind and just if they just try to be.” Nie Mingjue steps back, but Wei Wuxian matches him and steps forward, a hand coming up to tilt Nie Mingjue’s chin back with a finger. “Tell me, do you think that people like Wen Chao and Wen Xu and Wen Ruohan can be kind or just? Do you think they feel mercy when they rip into people’s lives and leave pieces in their wake?” 

How does he answer that, especially when it’s coming from Wei Wuxian, whose home in Lotus Pier was burned to the ground? He doesn’t, instead stepping back again. Wei Wuxian allows that small space between them, but somehow it still feels like he’s so close. “Sect Leader Nie, if the world was so kind like that then we wouldn’t be here.” 

Nie Mingjue feels frozen. His heart hammers while his lungs refuse to take air. Wei Wuxian tilts his head up to look at the moon. It shines brightly in his eyes for a moment before he closes them. Bathed in the light of the half moon, he looks otherworldly, like a god born anew. When he opens them again, he has those same dark grey eyes he usually does and that strange energy Nie Mingjue felt is gone. He brushes past Nie Mingjue and returns to camp, leaving a tingling feeling against Nie Mingjue’s skin. 

Still, Wei Wuxian keeps following him around. Nie Mingjue can sense him lounging in the trees or sitting outside of his tent sometimes. When he manages to catch a glimpse of the man, he’s always sleeping of all things. Nie Mingjue gives up trying to understand it. 

It is kind of entertaining, he’ll admit, to see Jiang Wanyin’s eyes pop right out of his head every time he spots Wei Wuxian sneaking around Nie Mingjue. It kind of reminds Nie Mingjue of how Huaisang looks when he’s watching someone (fruitlessly) flirt with his da-ge. Though Huaisang is more on the amused/shocked side while Jiang Wanyin is more on the violently furious side of things. 

“Wei Wuxian!” Nie Mingjue looks up from his reports to see an angry purple storm bluster towards him, bypassing him to get to Wei Wuxian. Jiang Wanyin grasps the front of Wei Wuxian’s dark robes and shakes him, growling, “What the fuck have you been doing? You should be helping with our disciples.” 

“First of all, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian huffs while trying very hard to extricate himself from his little brother’s tight grip, “They’re your disciples. Technically I’m also your disciple, but I’m invoking older sibling rights to ignore you.” 

“ You! ” Jiang Wanyin sputters.

“Secondly, I’m trying to get some rest around here. So if you’ll kindly leave me to my going abouts, then--”

“ Rest ?” Jiang Wanyin shouts. “Rest where? Here? Why not back in your own tent for fuck’s sake! We prepare you a perfectly good bed in a nice tent and you’re going to rest out here where it’s cold and wet?” 

“I can choose wherever I want to rest, so yes, right here.” Nie Mingjue hears a swish of fabric as Wei Wuxian sits down. He’s trying to focus on his reports and not on whatever sibling drama is going on now. Last time there was drama, it involved soup and peacocks and really, Nie Mingjue isn’t even trying to sound stupid at this point. “Give the tent to someone else, I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t come crying to me when you get a fever. I’m not helping you this time,” Jiang Wanyin snarls as he shoves Wei Wuxian and stalks away, muttering something about complete goddamn moron and doesn’t know how to fucking take care of himself . 

“Sorry about that, Sect Leader Nie.” Nie Mingjue raises his head to see Wei Wuxian wave a hand in Jiang Wanyin’s general direction. “He can be a little. Much sometimes.” 

“He’s a brat,” Nie Mingjue agrees. Wei Wuxian chuckles in response. “But he does have a point. Why rest here when you have your own tent?”

“Ahh, it’s more comfortable here.” He makes a point of stretching and lounging on a patch of grass. 

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, I think it’s comfortable, and my opinion on that is the only one that really matters.” 

Nie Mingjue has to admit that he does make some sense. When it comes to personal matters, why should anyone else’s complaints be considered? “You should at least wear something thicker. It’s going to get cold now that the sun has set.”

“Mm, I guess, but I don’t want to go back to my tent now.” 

A sigh escapes Nie Mingjue as he folds up a report and stands. “Stay here.”

“Where else would I want to go?” Wei Wuxian calls to his retreating figure. 

Nie Mingjue’s tent is supplied with everything he might need--including this. He tugs out a thick cloak, intricate embroidery on the back befitting a sect leader. The material is soft under his fingers, and it should suit his, or rather Wei Wuxian’s, needs perfectly. He emerges from the tent and is grateful that the man in question is still laying where he was. It would have been rather embarrassing to bring this out only to put it back. 

He drops the cloak onto Wei Wuxian, who yelps as it hits his face. “Sect Leader Nie!” 

“Use this,” he says gruffly as he sits back down at his makeshift desk. 

Wei Wuxian sits up, touching his fingertips delicately to trace the embroidery. His eyes shine, glimmering like the silver thread. “Are you sure?”

“Would I bring it out here if I wasn’t?” Nie Mingjue snorts. “Take it. It does me no good sitting and collecting dust in my tent.”

Wei Wuxian drapes it over his shoulders with wonder. “It’s so soft.”

“As it should be.” Nie Mingjue rolls open the report again, a crease forming in his forehead. Their precarious position could be tipped in either direction if they’re not careful, so would someone please explain why there’s a push for Qishan now? They’re not ready. They need supplies at the minimum, and it’ll be at least a day before the next caravan arrives at camp. A sigh escapes through pursed lips. 

“You’re a more patient man than I’ll ever be, Sect Leader Nie.” Wei Wuxian saunters over, leaning forward over the other side of the desk to read the report upside down. “I think I’d have screamed by now.” 

“It is tempting,” Nie Mingjue sighs again, “But it would not be productive.” 

“Perhaps not, but one must let loose now and then.” Wei Wuxian traces a finger over the dried ink, wrinkling his nose. 

“You could afford to tighten up now and then.” What is it about this man that makes Nie Mingjue lose his tenuous grip on things? He scolds anyone on the wrong path easily, but it feels less like scolding when it comes to Wei Wuxian. All he gets in return is a laugh, gentle and kind.

They fall into a comfortable silence, Nie Mingjue working on his reports and Wei Wuxian collecting them off the table when they grow to a pile too high to manage. Once in a while, Wei Wuxian will wrinkle his nose and hum disapprovingly at particular reports, which earns him a few small smiles from Nie Mingjue. It’s rather nice, having company. 

“Sect Leader Nie, shouldn’t you call it a night?” The moon has climbed high into the sky now, almost beginning its descent. Still his candles burn and his ink stone grinds because these reports really are never ending. Wei Wuxian has a stack piled almost as high as his chest next to him. “You usually get up e--” He yawns. “Early, don’t you?” 

“You should call it a night yourself. You’ve yawned four times in the last few minutes.” Nie Mingjue rolls up another report and slides it across the desk. Wei Wuxian mindlessly picks it up and plops it into the pile, yawning again. “Five times.”

“It’s late, I’m allowed to yawn,” he protests, but there’s a sag in his shoulders that takes any bite out of his protests.

“Go,” Nie Mingjue urges, taking in the significantly smaller pile of scrolls next to him. “I won’t be up much longer myself.” 

Wei Wuxian stretches, his shoulders making a too-loud crackling sound. Just when Nie Mingjue thinks he’s going to stand and saunter off to his tent, he settles right back down and lays his head down on his arms. “Wake me when you’re done,” he murmurs before nodding off. Nie Mingjue doesn’t move, too caught up in the fact that he didn’t leave, didn’t go spend the night in his own tent. It might not be much better since their tents are more for shelter from rain than for comfort, but still. How strange. 

Nie Mingjue shoves the reports into separate bags: one intended for shipment the next morning and one for him to address later. As he does so, he contemplates how exactly he’s going to get Wei Wuxian back to his tent on the Jiang side of camp. He doesn’t want to wake Wei Wuxian, who looks overwhelmingly exhausted in the pale moonlight, but he won’t have him spend the night outside. A Nie sect disciple on their rounds ends up taking the bags as Nie Mingjue decides the best thing to do is just scoop up Wei Wuxian and take a short walk to the other side of camp. 

Wei Wuxian doesn’t so much as twitch as he’s being lifted, which worries Nie Mingjue because this is war . If a touch doesn’t wake you then you’d never wake at all. But then Wei Wuxian sighs and snuggles-- snuggles-- right into his chest, and Nie Mingjue feels fondness creeping into his heart. He dismisses it as nothing more than slight affection for Huaisang’s friends. 

Wei Wuxian stops lurking as much in the days following. He strikes up conversation with Nie Mingjue when he can, if one could refer to the one-sided chattering as a conversation. As he wanders from place to place, trailing behind Nie Mingjue, he notices that it’s easier to sense things again. Whatever Wei Wuxian was emitting before has quieted down. 

Jiang Wanyin makes more frequent trips to the Nie side of camp, yelling at his brother often for being a lazy prick. It reminds Nie Mingjue of when he’d yell at Huaisang for running from training to do something frivolous. Wei Wuxian lets his little brother berate him, teasing him back when Jiang Wanyin takes a breath. Though this may be war, they still have time to banter like this. 

“Aaaahhhhh, Jiang Cheng needs to take a break before he pops a blood vessel in his brain,” Wei Wuxian laments one night. Nie Mingjue swings Baxia in an arc of deadly precision. “Really, is it so hard to understand that I prefer relaxing outside than in my own tent?” 

“I believe he’s more concerned that you’re spending time on my side of camp rather than his.” Nie Mingjue stabs Baxia out, grimacing. The saber spirit is not happy with the lull in action and he’s been too absorbed in the bureaucratic nuances of politics to address its needs properly. Wei Wuxian emits a low whistle and Baxia…quiets down.

“How--” Nie Mingjue snaps his head up. 

“A little trick I learned,” Wei Wuxian responds nonchalantly, as if he’d just added spices to dinner and not quelled the raging spirit of a bloodthirsty saber. 

“Trick,” Nie Mingjue says with disbelief. 

“Would you prefer I not?”

He considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. “I appreciate the gesture. Though you shouldn’t play with saber spirits.” 

“I’m not playing, Sect Leader Nie,” Wei Wuxian solemnly says. 

“I see.” 

Without straining against Baxia, he goes through his training routine much quicker than usual, and he’s finished before the sun has even finished rising above the mountains. Which means he has enough time for a quick wash, or at least a rinse to get all the sweat off him. Normally he’d just go off to do whatever he needed to without any regard for the lurking body behind him, but this time, he flicks his hand and calls out, “I’m going to the river, if you’re coming.” He turns away before he can see Wei Wuxian’s reaction, but he does hear a bit more of an uncoordinated thump before quick footsteps trail after him. 

“Sect Leader Nie, are you not curious as to why my idiot brother keeps following you around?” 

Nie Mingjue looks up from a map to look at Jiang Wanyin, who shifts to his other foot. He may not be nervous anymore around the elder leader, but he’s still just a child, barely grown into those broad shoulders of his. 

“He does not bother me, so I do not mind.” 

“But--” Jiang Wanyin bites his lip to stop from blurting out whatever probably rude comment he was about to say. Instead, he carefully bows and murmurs, “If he does become a bother, please let me know and I will deal with it.” 

“I will.” 

Jiang Wanyin stalks out just as Wei Wuxian stirs in the corner of the tent, stretching upwards. He doesn’t make a move to stand, instead rubbing his eyes and blearily surveying the now empty tent. “Where is everyone?” 

“Gone. The meeting has finished.” Nie Mingjue turns and leans against the makeshift table. Everything is makeshift these days, except their eating bowls and utensils. 

“Oh, already?” 

“It’s been one shichen already.” 

“Oh.” Wei Wuxian rubs his eyes again, much like a child might. Nie Mingjue sees the shadows of his own brother. 

“You should rest if you’re still tired.”

“I just took a long nap while you were discussing boring--I mean, important war things.”

“Regardless. If you are still tired, you should rest.” Nie Mingjue turns back to the map, brow furrowed. “While we still have the time to be relaxed.”

“I suppose,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. His voice is much closer than Nie Mingjue had expected, so he rears back a sizable distance. Seriously, no one else can sneak up on him, but Wei Wuxian manages to do it every single time? “What are you looking at?”

“Positioning. Just because there’s a war doesn’t mean the common people have stopped suffering.” 

“Ah, so you’re trying to night hunt at the same time. Apparently being in the middle of a war means even more vengeful ghosts come knocking on people’s doors huh.” Wei Wuxian nods, thoughtful as his eyes trace the path laid out by Nie Mingjue. “Everyone or just you?”

“Myself and a few others, when they can. That Second Master Lan is a great help in that regard.” Nie Mingjue knows now what kind of falling out Lan Wangji had with Wei Wuxian. He mentions it cautiously, just in case they’ve made up in the time he wasn’t paying attention. By the way Wei Wuxian’s eyes harden, they have not. 

“I see,” Wei Wuxian murmurs stiffly.

“It’s mostly sect leaders. Has Jiang Wanyin not told you?” 

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “I guess he forgot.” 

Jiang Wanyin does not seem like the type to forget, but Nie Mingjue lets that go. Instead he asks, “Do you not feel the need to be by his side now?” 

“Hm?”

“Do you not feel the need to be by your little brother’s side?” 

Wei Wuxian tilts his head, eyes half curved moons. “No, it would be better if I wasn’t right now.” 

Nie Mingjue raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Ah,” he hums, “let’s just say it would be hard for him. For me.” 

“If I were you, I would never want to leave him alone.” Nie Mingjue would never leave Huaisang like that. A child, really, vulnerable. Jiang Wanyin stands on a castle made of sand, his sect recently remade. Nie Mingjue may have Zonghui and the other high-ranking disciples, but Jiang Wanyin was alone for many months. Nie Mingjue would have rushed to his side immediately if he were in Wei Wuxian’s position. 

Wei Wuxian gives him a rueful smile. “If only I hadn’t left him already.” 

“Those months you were missing?”

Wei Wuxian stills, breathing so shallowly that Nie Mingjue freezes himself. “Yes,” he whispers. “Yes, those months.” 

“He searched for you, endlessly,” Nie Mingjue murmurs back. Wei Wuxian shifts to stand at his side instead of behind him. “He walked into ambushes at the sound of your name.” 

Wei Wuxian laughs but it’s a hollow, humorless sound. “It would’ve been better if he’d left me for dead.” 

“Why?” Nie Mingjue touches the map at Chongyang. “I doubt he would ever.” 

Wei Wuxian touches Chongyang as well, slender fingers mere millimeters away from Nie Mingjue’s coarse ones. “I know. But it would have been better.” Then he retreats, sweeping out of the tent with one backward glance. “I hope you take care, Sect Leader Nie.” Nie Mingjue watches as the last of his grey robes flutter out of the tent, wisps of red flames left behind. 

“May I join you?” Nie Mingjue looks up at the voice he’s become familiar with. “On the night hunt tomorrow.” 

Nie Mingjue considers this. From what he’s seen in smaller skirmishes with the Wen, there’s no doubt that Wei Wuxian would be an asset. The only problem is that he would be a heavy-handed one that scares the allied troops more than anything else. Wei Wuxian is ruthless, even in the smallest of skirmishes. Then again, it’s only Sect Leader Jiang and Second Master Lan coming with Nie Mingjue, so perhaps it’d be okay. 

“I don’t have to. I can stay here.” Wei Wuxian’s voice sounds tighter than usual, and when Nie Mingjue looks up, he’s met with the sight of dark circles and red-rimmed eyes. 

“Is everything alright?” Nie Mingjue narrows his eyes, noting more and more signs of distress. Slight tears in Wei Wuxian’s clothing, angry scrapes on his hands and yet again that strange look in his eyes. 

“Everything’s fine.” While Wei Wuxian might normally be considered a good liar, he is not right now. Nie Mingjue purses his lips, opting to respond with a wave of his hand to the open seat next to him. Wei Wuxian hesitates but eventually takes the offer and settles there stiffly. 

Nie Mingjue considers the situation, fingers absentmindedly curling the edges of the parchment he’s been trying to read for the last several minutes. He hasn’t seen Wei Wuxian be anything less than snide, if a bit flirty. So it’s rather bizarre to see him look like he wants to sink into the forest and never return. As he sits, a leaf flutters down from who knows where in his hair. Nie Mingjue has to stifle a snicker because there’s a whole twig sticking out from the hair swept up behind his ear. How does he not notice that? 

It’s not even quite a conscious thought, the way he reaches out to gently remove the twig and toss it on the ground. Nie Mingjue stares back down at the report, silence falling heavy on their shoulders. Naturally as a commander he should say something to Wei Wuxian, right? It only makes sense to check in with one of the young masters who helps to lead the army, right? It wouldn’t be weird to do so. 

He flicks up his gaze and is surprised to see Wei Wuxian’s intense stare. Unlike most who would glance away, embarrassed to be caught, Wei Wuxian just gives him a curled smirk and continues to study Nie Mingjue’s features. Bold as always. Nie Mingjue clears his throat and flicks the edge of the parchment again. “The hunt tomorrow is only a small skirmish, surely you don’t need to waste your time on it.” 

Disappointment draws tight on Wei Wuxian’s face, but he just sighs and shrugs. “Maybe not, but you’re going, right? How nice it must be to have the head of the Nie sect come and deal with your little old ghoul personally.” 

“We can’t spare the personnel for a trip longer than a few days.” He can trust himself, Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin to make quick work of a small issue like this, whereas disciples might take days and they don’t have days to spare. 

“Yeah yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.” Wei Wuxian huffs, cheek resting on his hand while his elbow sits at the edge of the table. Was there something Nie Mingjue had said that would have made him upset? Is he really that upset about not being able to go on the night hunt? It’s just a small excursion out... Actually…

Thinking back on it, Nie Mingjue realizes he’s never actually seen Wei Wuxian go off alone. Sure there’s plenty of times when he finds Wei Wuxian alone , hanging at the far edges of the camp, but that’s the thing. He’s always within the edges of the camp. He never leaves the camp boundaries, not even when it comes to training. A question sits on the tip of Nie Mingjue’s tongue, why , but it doesn’t seem like Wei Wuxian would want to answer anyway, not when there is a pout on his face and his eyes are furrowed closed.

“Alright.” It’s said more on instinct than in actual agreement, so when Wei Wuxian looks up in surprise, he’s met with equally surprised blankness. But Nie Mingjue quickly regains his serious expression from before, nodding with a grimace. “Stick close. It shouldn’t be more than a day if it is what the report says.” 

“Will do! Maybe we’ll even have time to spare.” Wei Wuxian laughs, looking happier than Nie Mingjue has seen him this whole time. Does he really not like being in camp that much? But then why doesn’t he go out? It’s not like he’s confined here. 

Questions for another time, perhaps. It’s hard to dampen the mood when Wei Wuxian looks like a child given their favorite candy. “We leave at dawn. Go get some rest.”

Wei Wuxian slips out the tent, giving a two fingered salute at the entrance and half purring, “You too, Sect Leader Nie.”

When dawn comes, Wei Wuxian somehow looks even worse. Whatever shadows were under his eyes are even darker, or at least they look like they are. Maybe it’s just the way the light is shining on them, but Nie Mingjue has to suppress a wince when he first sees them. Lan Wangji does not, a grimace stiff on his face as he observes Wei Wuxian slog over. 

“Where’s Jiang Cheng?” Even his voice sounds terribly rough, like he’s gargled rocks. 

“He’s staying at the camp to help organize the remaining cultivators for our next attack. We don’t need that many people to come.” Nie Mingjue unrolls a small map as he speaks. “We will need to pass through these areas as there are requests there as well. We should reach our final destination in three days.” 

“Better get started then.” Wei Wuxian gives an exhausted grin, pushing the edges of the map closed. Nie Mingjue nods, and so begins the trek up to Tianjin. 

“And of course, you wouldn’t believe the things I had to do to get her to say yes! It was just one measly little favor you know--” At this point, Nie Mingjue has no clue what Wei Wuxian is even talking about. It’s been a few hours since they left the campsite, taking the backroads to avoid detection. This isn’t Wen territory, but who knows where they might be lurking. They’re making decent time between Lan Wangji’s purposeful strides and Wei Wuxian’s bouncing ones. It hasn’t, however, escaped Nie Mingjue’s notice that the two of them are far apart, with himself in the middle somehow. Every time Lan Wangji attempts to shuffle closer in that awkward way of his, Wei Wuxian skips a couple steps ahead--never too far from Nie Mingjue but a sizable distance away from Lan Wangji. 

It feels a bit like being in the middle of a lover’s spat or maybe a children’s quarrel. There were some rumors they had a severe confrontation at Chongyang, but Nie Mingjue assumed they could act cordially enough around each other. While they haven’t insulted each other or attempted to stab each other, they are not exactly cordial, either. 

By the time they reach Tianjin, Nie Mingjue knows more about Lotus Pier’s crab trade than he ever needed to, and he can feel the back of his head melt from the heat of Lan Wangji’s stare. The man is nothing if not stubborn and silent. They proceed to the town inn, booking three rooms as well as meals. They arrived just before sunset, meaning there is a bit of time to review--

“Sect Leader.” Never mind. Wei Wuxian waltzes in with the grace of someone who hasn’t slept in three days, which is to say he walks straight into the door frame and then proceeds to walk in anyways just to flop over on Nie Mingjue’s bed with an elongated groan.

“Did you need something?” 

“No,” comes the muffled reply. Nie Mingjue stares long and hard at the unmoving lump of black and red on his bed. “No,” Wei Wuxian repeats, even more muffled somehow, like he’s rubbing his face into the fabric. 

“Do you not have a bed of your own?” There should be beds in all three rooms; does he need to speak to the innkeeper?

“I haf one.” Wei Wuxian unfurls slightly to give Nie Mingjue a sleepy yawn. 

“So then--”

“Comfortable here. Good night.” Nie Mingjue has never actually seen someone say good night and then immediately fall asleep, but within seconds , Wei Wuxian is snoring. Nie Mingjue blinks once, twice, then looks down at his map and decides it is not his business. He can question Wei Wuxian about this later when he's awake. 

Wei Wuxian wakes up just before the moon reaches its peak, groaning as he uncurls fully and stretches out. Nie Mingjue has a flicker of a smile on his face as he speaks, sliding a few last essentials into his qiankun pouch. “Right on time.” It earns him a bewildered glare, but realization dawns not long after.

“Augh, is it time to go?” Wei Wuxian sits up and stretches again. His shoulders pop audibly, so loud that it makes Nie Mingjue pause for a moment. 

“Yes. Second Master Lan is already waiting for us.” 

“Ah.” Wei Wuxian grimaces, standing and straightening out his outer robe. “Best not keep him waiting then.” 

Nie Mingjue raises an eyebrow but nods, grabbing Baxia. When he doesn’t make another move, Wei Wuxian tilts his head and makes an after you motion. “Are you not bringing anything else?” Nie Mingjue questions, eyebrow creeping up higher.

“No need! I’m just that great.” Wei Wuxian snickers, again bowing slightly at the door.

Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes but heads out anyway. It’s already late, so if they want to get this done in time to catch any kind of sleep, they need to go. He’s grateful he packed some extra supplies in his qiankun pouch, just in case. 

The night hunt goes as expected. A minor ghoul, created by the drifting resentful energy from a local cemetery. Lan Wangji is as efficient as ever, striking between Baxia’s forceful slices and Chenqing’s sharp notes, but more than once does Nie Mingjue find a chord is struck too close to his own skin for his liking. After the ghoul has been purified, the moon is about half way down its descent into the horizon, and Nie Mingjue feels like his nerves are setting themselves on fire. He wonders briefly if this is perhaps the saber spirit leaking into his temperament, an ailment he has been wary of for months now. It is just around his age that the spirit starts to crave more blood, more carnage, but he cannot allow it to go out of control during war. He will not harm his allies like that. 

Strangely enough, he catches Wei Wuxian staring at him afterwards, lips pursed thoughtfully. What could be on his mind, Nie Mingjue wonders as they plod back into town for some much needed rest. While it’s no secret that the Nie Sect deals with darker energies than usual cultivators do, the complete timeline and consequences of saber cultivation are kept as secret as possible. Of course it’s hard to completely hide it when sect leaders die from qi deviation at a young age every single generation. But still, Wei Wuxian shouldn’t know any details, so shouldn’t he be more confused than thoughtful? More curious than pensive? 

Nie Mingjue would ask him if not for the fact that Lan Wangji is right there. Somehow, Nie Mingjue doesn’t think that kind of conversation topic would go down well. Call it a feeling. 

Instead he looks up at the sky, narrowing his eyes at the moon. “We should leave as soon as possible. We’ve wasted enough time walking. We’ll fly when the sun rises.” Lan Wangji nods curtly, but Wei Wuxian visibly sours, brows furrowing. “Is something wrong?” 

“Huh? Oh, no of course not.” Wei Wuxian shakes his head, forcing a smile. “Fly, definitely. It’s the fastest way to get back. Of course. It’s just that uh, I really exhausted myself today--”

“It was only a minor ghoul, not even enough to make a dent in my youngest disciple’s energy.”

“And it’s so much effort flying--”

“Sword flight takes minimal cultivation energy.”

“And I just think it’ll be faster if I walk--”

“No.” Lan Wangji’s flat tone cuts through Wei Wuxian’s wobbling voice. “It will take you three days to return to our camp should you walk, but only one day if we fly. We cannot afford to waste time here.” 

“Second Master Lan is correct, we need to return to camp as soon as possible.” Nie Mingjue narrows his eyes at how Wei Wuxian begins to fidget. “Is there something preventing you from flying?”

“No! No, it’s just, you know, I really don’t like heights anymore since I was kind of dropped--”

“If you really do not wish to fly, I will just take you with me.” Nie Mingjue sighs, raising Baxia slightly. “I can handle it.” If it were anyone else, he might have just left them to walk. But Wei Wuxian has a track record of getting into trouble when he’s alone, and Nie Mingjue would prefer to not have Jiang Wanyin questioning him on the whereabouts of his brother at every given chance. 

“Ah, you don’t have to, really, I can handle it--”

“I have decided. You will fly with me.” 

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth as if to argue, but Nie Mingjue sweeps away with a flick of his hand. He is in desperate need of some rest before he attempts to control a saber with the weight of two people instead of one. 

Morning light shines down on two figures sailing above the treetops, Lan Wangji’s regal, straight-backed silhouette quickly followed by a more lumpy shaped silhouette composed of Wei Wuxian clutching onto Nie Mingjue’s shoulders. If one were close enough to look, they would see the hard press of Lan Wangji’s lips as his eyes flicker back to look at Wei Wuxian’s swaying figure. Nie Mingjue feels the movement, but it’s not uncommon for Wei Wuxian to have a bit of a sway to his standing or walking so he thinks nothing of it until he feels the hands relax on his shoulders and Wei Wuxian’s head lightly smack into the center of his back. Nie Mingjue tries to twist around to see what’s going on, but he’s truthfully not that flexible. Did Wei Wuxian pass out? Due to what? Was he injured in some way and had hidden it? The ghoul wasn’t particularly vicious, but sometimes weak spirits cause the worst injuries due to carelessness. 

Nie Mingjue exchanges a look with Lan Wangji, who has already flown closer, possibly in an attempt to support Wei Wuxian in some way. Silently, they begin to descend, carefully so as to avoid jostling Wei Wuxian, who is scarily quiet. Truthfully, Nie Mingjue isn’t even sure if he’s breathing right now, which makes him hurry his descent even further. 

On the ground, Nie Mingjue is quick to turn around and grab Wei Wuxian, who collapses into his arms. Quickly, he undoes the ties of his outer robe and tugs it open, feeling around Wei Wuxian’s torso for any kind of wetness. But there is none, and the more Nie Mingjue looks, the more confused he is because there really doesn’t seem to be any sign of injury. Lan Wangji furrows his brows. He hesitantly raises a hand to Wei Wuxian’s face, just a bit from his nose. Then he frowns even deeper, restrained anger lining his features. 

“He is asleep.” 

…What?

Nie Mingjue narrows his eyes. He…He is . He’s breathing calmly and deeply, face relaxed, and he’s asleep . How does one even fall asleep while flying? While holding someone else and standing, no less? Nie Mingjue has to give it to him, Wei Wuxian surely is one talented individual even if those talents make no sense. 

“It appears that Wei Yi--Wei Wuxian will only sleep when he is near you, sect leader.” Lan Wangji withdraws his hand quietly, tucking it behind his back as he straightens to stand. 

Huh. Nie Mingjue had never paid that much attention, but now that he’s thinking about it, that’s true. He’s only ever seen Wei Wuxian sleep in front of him, and from the talk around the camp, it seems like he’s never asleep in his own bed or when he’s in camp away from Nie Mingjue. How bizarre… Nie Mingjue has never heard of this kind of occurrence before, not between spouses or even supposed soulmates. He says as much to Lan Wangji, who simply looks down at him then at Wei Wuxian, a heavy frown on his lips. 

“I will ask brother to look into this. For now, we must continue our return to camp. They will be expecting us.” Ever punctual Hanguang-jun. Nie Mingjue frowns as well, looking down. What should he do about this? 

Oh. Wait, there’s an easy solution. Of course! Nie Mingjue leans down and hefts Wei Wuxian up, looping a limp arm over his shoulders and then wrapping his own arm around Wei Wuxian’s waist. This is easy enough, and with flying, it’s not too hard to maintain one position. Nie Mingjue nods to Lan Wangji, who again looks like he’s drunk straight vinegar, and the two zip off again into the air, back to camp.

As soon as they land on the edges of the camp, disciples from all clans come to greet them. A few fret over Wei Wuxian with concern, most of them Yunmeng Jiang elder disciples. But others curiously peer over, murmuring among themselves. Nie Mingjue catches a few whispers of Is he dead? and He shouldn’t have gone . He glares down at the disciples, the chatter stopping immediately afterward. As they stride into camp, more and more eyes are drawn to the way Nie Mingjue is hauling Wei Wuxian around, especially when Jiang Wanyin storms forward, worry written all over his features.

“Is he alright?” Jiang Wanyin murmurs, reaching up to touch Wei Wuxian’s face and frowning.

“He is. He’s simply sleeping,” Nie Mingjue replies, easing out from under Wei Wuxian’s arm. “It would do him well to sleep in his own tent.” 

Jiang Wanyin nods, reaching out his arms to take Wei Wuxian. Strangely, when the man leaves his grasp, Nie Mingjue feels a sort of hollowness, a chill taking over the areas where Wei Wuxian’s warm body had leaned against his own. He watches as the two brothers hobble off, and he’s struck by how similar it looks to how he and Huaisang looked, years and years ago. When they were only children. 

He finds himself watching for an inordinate amount of time, watching Jiang Wanyin lug Wei Wuxian past several tents. After the sixth tent, Wei Wuxian stirs, clearly mumbling something to his brother, who just scoffs and starts lightly scolding him. Nie Mingjue tilts his head at the sight. During the entire flight back, Wei Wuxian hadn’t so much as twitched at anything. The chill of the air, the call of the birds, absolutely nothing. It had almost been like he was dead to the whole world. And yet as soon as they return to camp and as soon as he’s away from Nie Mingjue, he wakes up? 

Nie Mingjue shakes his head. Surely this is just a silly observation that doesn’t mean anything. Maybe that nap while flying was more rejuvenating than he originally thought. Maybe being half dragged across the ground was more unpleasant than he remembered. Whatever the case, Nie Mingjue decides it’s not worth the mental space required to agonize over it. At least that’s what he tells himself.

The next day, Wei Wuxian is back to his springy self, bounding around the camp like an over excited rabbit. He looks healthier somehow, glowing. Nie Mingjue, on the other hand, looks like he was hit by several trees. 

“Well, you look like you need a nap!” Wei Wuxian flounces over, settling down in that grandiose way of his across from Nie Mingjue, whose eye is starting to twitch just a bit at the sight of more black ink stroked characters. Endless those are, truly, terribly endless. 

“Yes, well, not all of us are allowed such a luxury.” There’s no true bite to his words, just an overabundance of dryness. Exhaustion is normal. It’s always been kind of normal, dealing with Nie affairs and Huaisang. It’s just a new kind of exhaustion that comes with war. 

“Tsk tsk, you of all people should get a break. I’ve never seen you sleep, and I know I’m awake for many hours of the day.” Wei Wuxian flicks the corner of the parchment, laughing. 

“Perhaps I only sleep when you do.” Nie Mingjue raises an eyebrow, mirth coloring his eyes. Wei Wuxian seems to be at a loss for words at that, his usual witty and immediate comeback absent as the air stills. Stiffens even. He glances up to see a face carefully kept blank but eyes shining with disbelief.

“S-so,” comes a stuttered response that shatters the silence, “thank you for uh, taking me back. Here, I mean. To camp. From the night hunt?” 

“There’s no need for thanks, I only did as needed.” 

“I mean, I know but… Thank you anyway. Hardly anyone would want to heft me up onto their shoulders for an extended period of time, so I guess I should count my lucky stars that it was you and Lan Zh--Second Master Lan who were there with me.” Wei Wuxian sounds awfully sincere despite his airy tone. 

“You do not weigh very much.” Not the most relevant thing to say, but Nie Mingjue has always been a touch awkward. He clears his throat. “It was not that much more effort.” 

Instead of sputtering as he might’ve expected from Jiang Wanyin, or stony silence as would be expected from Lan Wangji, he hears tinkling laughter, soft at first before it explodes into a wheezing laugh that sets an odd curl in his chest. Wei Wuxian does not laugh sincerely often enough, if this is how he sounds. A very small part of Nie Mingjue’s brain tells him it’s better than no one hears this laugh, so it can be his. But the better part of his brain slams the door on that thought. 

“Ahh, well, no one around here weighs very much except you, I’m sure,” Wei Wuxian teases back gently, a wide grin on his face. “No one is quite as strong as our fearless da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue looks up at that to find Wei Wuxian’s cheeks tinted an odd shade of pink. Being called da-ge by someone who is not blood-related is not unusual. Actually, it’s extremely common, especially among Nie disciples. He can’t even count how many times he’s walked up to overview someone’s training, given them a tip and gotten a shouted Thanks, da-ge! followed closely by gasps of horror. It’s not terrible to him, not at all. In fact, it’s rather funny. But it is just a touch odd that Wei Wuxian says it, and a shade odder that he’s embarrassed about it because he had said it with such confidence. 

Before Nie Mingjue gets to think on it too long though, he hears someone screeching at the top of their lungs. His head snaps up at the same time as he grabs Baxia, because if they’re being attacked right now, he needs to be ready. Wei Wuxian mirrors him, Chenqing in his hands in a flash. Both of them shove through the tiny tent opening to see--

Purple robes flashing by. Those shrieks register quickly as shrieks of laughter rather than of terror. It’s some of the younger disciples running past, playing some kind of game. Nie Mingjue forces himself to relax, easing his grip on Baxia marginally. Wei Wuxian takes a touch longer to relax his own grip, and by the time he does, Jiang Wanyin comes storming past, shouting at his disciples for being unruly and skipping training. 

Perhaps Nie Mingjue had been suppressing far too many thoughts for far too long, because he is suddenly overcome with an intense wave of nostalgia, of sheer longing for simpler days. When he had to chase Huaisang and grab him by the collar to drag him to training. When Huaisang whined like there was no tomorrow, and the sound, while annoying, was also so endearing that it always drew a sort of huffed laugh out of Nie Mingjue. When war was a distant thought, not an immediate reality. 

“Well!” Wei Wuxian’s cheery voice rings out. “Looks like everything’s fine!” He does not sound very fine. In fact, he sounds a little stressed out. He’s not even looking at Nie Mingjue, instead staring almost longingly at the disciples and Jiang Wanyin, whose bellows echo more softly as he gets further away. Nie Mingjue can sense the same kind of nostalgia in him that he felt just a moment ago, and he realizes, or rather remembers, that Wei Wuxian is also an elder brother of sorts. He too grew up with Jiang Wanyin during a time when their greatest worries were showing up to the Gusu Lan summer seminar on time and passing the exam with above average marks.

And now? Now there’s inescapable loss at every corner. Nie Mingjue might be old enough to bear the weight of war, but for them, it is the shift of everything. No more bursting through the bamboo forests, dodging water while they laugh. No more sneaking out at night to get tipsy. No more feeling safe. It breaks Nie Mingjue’s heart. 

“Shall we?” Nie Mingjue opens the tent again using Baxia, gesturing for Wei Wuxian to enter first. Wei Wuxian stares after the disciples a little longer before nodding, ducking back into the tent with a heaviness on his slim shoulders that was not there before. 

It is a long moment before either of them attempt to speak. The suffocation of growing up crowds heavy in Nie Mingjue’s throat, but not for himself. No, his forced aging was much earlier, with the unexpected yet completely known death of his father. It was always a distinct possibility that he might be the one raising Huaisang.

“Do you…” Wei Wuxian starts, fiddling with the charm that dangles at the end of his instrument. Nie Mingjue rolls up the report and sets it aside, hands resting firmly on the knees of his crossed legs. “Nevermind. It’s nothing.”

“Speak freely, Wei Wuxian. There is nothing to judge between friends.” Friends might be a stretch, but in truth, Nie Mingjue finds that he trusts Wei Wuxian. Over the days and months, he has come to know the man that hides in the most honest way and lies to protect others from more gruesome truths. Of course, he would never claim to fully understand Wei Wuxian, but…he feels perhaps they are close enough to talk. Especially since it seems like Wei Wuxian refuses to let anyone else within arm’s length. 

“Promise you won’t tell Jiang Cheng. I don’t think I could stand his teasing.” Wei Wuxian gives a short, humorless laugh. 

“I swear it.”

Wei Wuxian’s voice drops to a whisper and Nie Mingjue has to lean in to hear him. “I don’t belong here. I should never have been picked up by Jiang-shushu. I--I’m the one who ruined Lotus Pier. I ruined Jiang Cheng’s home. I can’t even help him rebuild it.” He lifts up his head to give him the most devastated stare that Nie Mingjue has ever seen on his handsome features. “Jiang Cheng works so hard. He’s out there, training disciples, rebuilding his home, building up everything piece by piece, and I’m scared to be with him, because all it takes is one clumsy hand to topple the tower. Those disciples, from before. Did you see how Jiang Cheng was chasing them?”

Yes and no. Nie Mingjue saw, but he hadn’t been paying particular attention. Though maybe he should have, seeing how distraught Wei Wuxian is getting over it. 

“I saw us. I saw Jiang Cheng and I and the other disciples as kids, running around Lotus Pier causing all kinds of trouble for Jiang-shushu and Yu-furen.” He lets out a choked chuckle. “Jiang Cheng definitely takes after his mother. But I was struck with such a sense of responsibility, Sect Leader Nie. I saw them and I saw us, and all I could think about was the fact that I was the one who ruined it all.” He looks up, meets Nie Mingjue’s steady gaze with wet eyes. “I can’t be the one to bring pain and suffering again. 

Anyone else might not understand. Perhaps Jiang Wanyin could, but at the same time, Nie Mingjue knows the specific fear Wei Wuxian is speaking of and knows that no one else can truly understand it. He would readily admit that he likely does not truly understand, either, but he can feel the depth of sincerity Wei Wuxian has when confessing. He knows what it’s like to feel like the cause of misfortune. His own experiences with his father sit heavy in his mind as he picks his answer. 

“I lost my mother first. I was perhaps only a few years old at the time. A bit of a brat, not unlike Jiang Wanyin.” That shocks a laugh out of Wei Wuxian, who has taken to hiding behind his hands. “Huaisang was born shortly after, and I remember thinking, did the heavens take my mother so that Huaisang could be born? I remember cursing them for it.” Nie Mingjue barks out a laugh. “Whatever the case, I hated Huaisang when he was born. He was small and fragile. In our Nie clan, you can often tell the strength of a child when they’re born. There’s something about the way they cry, the way they wriggle in their mother’s arms. And I knew Huaisang would not match me or my father, but rather his mother.” Wei Wuxian pauses, peering through his fingers. While it wasn’t exactly rare to take multiple lovers and spouses, the practice was…not exactly welcomed in some clans. But he does not seem to judge, and Nie Mingjue continues onwards.

“Make no mistake, she was neither fragile nor weak. She may not have held the same physical strength as my father, but her mind was sharper than even the most well-crafted saber. She could outwit my father with just a single word. As I grew older, I came to understand that different people with different strengths have different places where they are strong. They have their own value in the grand scheme. My father did not love Huaisang’s mother as he did my own. He did not treat Huaisang and I the same way. I resented him for that. But he was my father as much as he was Huaisang’s, and when he died because of my foolishness, and I was left with a very young Huaisang, I…I thought perhaps this was the universe punishing me for my selfishness.”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth drops open, shock widening his eyes. Everyone knew about the former Nie clan leader’s untimely demise. Most claimed it was bad luck that his saber snapped when it did. A few whispered about power dynamics, politics. Nie Mingjue was no longer a child at that point, and he distinctly remembers that at the time, Yunmeng had only had one daughter and one son. So even a tale this old would be new to Wei Wuxian, wouldn’t it. 

“It was challenging, raising Huaisang while also balancing all my new responsibilities. His mother was around for a bit longer to help, but eventually she too passed. She did not wield a saber, but I assume the burden of being near one constantly was too much for her more…delicate constitution.” That was always a grey area. Those who wielded sabers clearly interacted with and battled the saber spirits, but those around them… Nie Mingjue had never heard of a spouse who did not wield a saber live very long, either. Perhaps the Unclean Realm held more secrets than he realized. 

“But you did your best, and look at him now.” Wei Wuxian laughs, though it’s not entirely humored. “He’s smart, even if he pretends not to be. Truth be told, I was a little surprised he was hiding away in Lanling. I half thought he was sending you secret messages or something.” 

Nie Mingjue shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Huaisang has never been physically inclined. And all his thoughts go towards escaping trouble himself. He has no place here.” That draws an odd sort of expression from Wei Wuxian, not quite disbelief but something akin to it. Nie Mingjue narrows his eyes slightly. But Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem like he’s going to say anything else either. “Regardless, family is half who you are born with and half who you choose to be with. The nursemaids who helped me raise Huaisang and who, I admit with great respect, raised me are as much family as my own flesh and blood. I consider even some of my disciples to be family, though perhaps more as cousins of some sort over immediate relations. Thus, would that not make you, who was raised with both Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli, as close to family as it will ever get? Do you not cherish them as such?”

“Of course I do!” Wei Wuxian is quick to snap back, his eyes flaring with a different sort of anger. “Jiang Cheng and shijie mean everything to me.”

“Then why do you not believe they return your sentiments? To my eyes, it looks as though they treasure you more than anything else as well.” 

“I…” Wei Wuxian glances at the tent flap, as though Jiang Wanyin is about to burst in to yell at him for whatever he’s about to say. He takes a deep breath and turns his full attention to Nie Mingjue. For the first time, Nie Mingjue realizes exactly how dark his eyes look. “I would do anything if it meant keeping them safe. But somehow, everything always comes back to me. I bring misfortune wherever I go, even more so now.” Though Nie Mingjue waits patiently, there is no elaboration on the last bit. 

“I disagree,” he says simply after an extended silence. Wei Wuxian presses his lips together but doesn’t argue, perhaps giving up. “The past is what it is. Whether you made the mistake or not, what has happened can never be reversed. All you can do now is put forth your best effort to pursue your goals. If those are to protect and rebuild Yunmeng Jiang, then you only need look outward.” 

Wei Wuxian avoids his eyes. “And you?” he asks, voice nearly a growl. “Where do you look when you’ve been betrayed?” 

Ah. 

“I look forward, as I always have. I know who stands by my side now and that is enough.” Nie Mingjue gives him a curt nod. The younger man blinks slowly, and he gets up even slower.

“Thank you,” he says with an odd stiffness he did not have before. “I have much to think about.” And then he’s gone in a rush of fabric, an afterimage of red flickering at the mouth of the tent for Nie Mingjue to stare at.

Lan Xichen began to provide some intriguingly detailed information on the inner workings of Qishan and Nightless City, though he adamantly refused to tell Nie Mingjue who it was from. “It’s from someone trustworthy. Da-ge, trust me .” He was so earnest and serious that Nie Mingjue all but threw his hands up and gave in. He could never fully oppose Xichen when he started using that tone.

The information proves to be unsettlingly accurate as Nie Mingjue ambushes not only one or two but seven different platoons that are circling around the edges of Qinghe territory. Nie Mingjue accepts the information more wholeheartedly after that. 

Until Yangquan, that is. It’s supposed to be safe, quiet. Not a single Wen platoon should be nearby. So Nie Mingjue embarks alone for what looks like a small night hunt, assuring his troops he will return in a mere day.

The spirit in question is easy enough to handle, an angry murder victim terrorizing the people of the town because they had stood by instead of helping. Nie Mingjue doesn’t judge the townsfolk outwardly, but internally he makes snide comments about how this wouldn’t have happened if they had all just grown spines. He then immediately berates himself for such thoughts, because who knows what their circumstances are? They all claim they weren’t present for the murder, and Nie Mingjue is far too tired to be parsing lies from truth from farmers. 

“Mister!” He looks up from his packing to see a girl of no more than twelve years of age peering at him from the door with big doe eyes. 

“What is it?”

“Can you help me with something?” He resists the urge to sigh and nods, standing up and brushing himself off. It’s likely just a small task. Perhaps she lost something in the trees. She lights up and waves to him, dashing away to the edge of the woods. He quirks an eyebrow but follows, taking Baxia with him but leaving everything else. There’s nothing of worth in his qiankun pouch anyway, just some extra robes and parchments. 

She’s quick, running through the woods with only the ease someone who’s explored them extensively would have. He expects nothing less as he picks his way to her. At least she has the sense to pause every once in a while so he can catch up. Because of the pace, he doesn’t even notice he’s getting further away from the town until she halts in a clearing. He’s feeling a tiny bit winded, but when he catches up, his voice is as strong as ever. “So what’s this all about?” 

She turns to him with a big smile on her face. “Nothing!” And then she runs off. Nie Mingjue shouts after her but she’s already gone, blended into the trees, and he sighs. Well, she’s a kid, and kids like to pull this kind of stuff every once in a while. Still, there’s something ominous about this area she’s led him too, something that raises all the hairs on the back of his neck. He unsheathes Baxia, holding her steady as he scans the woods. 

There’s no movement beyond the slight rustling of leaves from the wind. This war’s really starting to take its toll on him, he thinks. I’m just being paranoid . He begins to sheathe Baxia again, but a crunch makes him whirl around, and then his vision is blurring and he’s seeing stars on the ground.

Huh?

He raises Baxia blindly, since everything looks blurred and double layered. When he spies the telltale red of the Wen, he roars and slashes in the general direction of what feels like a body. Someone falls, someone else shouts. Nie Mingjue staggers to his feet, blood dripping down his face and his neck. Cowards. Nie Mingjue will not allow himself to fall at their feet when they attempt this kind of pitiful attack. 

He shakes his head, clearing some of his vision. There’s only seven of them, that shouldn’t be a problem. They wield their swords like a fawn taking its first steps. Bad posture, bad grip. But sharp blades, light glinting off them. Nie Mingjue sneers; Nie disciples would never be allowed to touch even a dull blade if they were this bad. 

Someone shouts again and they all come charging forward from different directions. That makes it marginally more difficult to dodge some of the blows as Nie Mingjue slashes. A blade catches his back, his arm, his leg. One narrowly misses his gut, slicing deep into his side but not piercing through. 

One thing that people always underestimate is exactly how little Nie Mingjue controls Baxia. When his saber is calm, she’s much easier to summon and manipulate to his will, but when she’s hungry , Nie Mingjue is basically just a human body being jerked around by a really angry saber. So he’s not surprised at all when she jerks towards the nearest Wen and impales herself right through him. He has to yank her out of the corpse before she’s able to drain all the blood, which just serves to irritate her into biting at the other Wens. 

The last of the disciples fall, and Nie Mingjue too falls to his knees, panting. Baxia is stabbed into the bloodied grass, and she drinks her fill as Nie Mingjue tries to gather himself. It’s later in the day, on the cusp of dusk. He will need to stay another night in Yangquan. No matter, he will just make up for the delay tomorrow. 

He realizes, later, that he should’ve been more alert. Should’ve immediately run from the clearing and taken shelter somewhere else to catch his breath. Instead, he catches an arrow in his shoulder, the force of it pitching him forward. It’s drugged, he realizes as he reaches up and touches where it entered his skin. Dark spots dance and then take over his vision as he crashes to the ground, his last sight one of boots and the red hem of Wen robes. 

“...Ge.” A voice rings through the haze, lilting, teasing. Huaisang perhaps? Another one of his attempts to try and wheedle his elder brother to take him to the market? But why would Huaisang be in Yangquan? Why…

“Da-ge.” No. That’s not Huaisang’s voice. It’s not Xichen’s either. But it’s familiar, far too familiar. Nie Mingjue forces himself to wake up, forces his eyes to open. When he does, he sees Meng Yao’s fake plastered smile only inches from his face. “Ah, so the great da-ge awakens.” Impossibly, Meng Yao’s eyes crinkle more at the corners, his smile grows wider. He looks like a snake, gleeful in catching its prey.

Nie Mingjue tries to roar, lurching forward only to be held back by his wrists clamped to the wall above his head. His throat is sandpaper, words clunky blocks of steel. He coughs, heaves, manages the weakest snarl he’s ever heard. Meng Yao just continues to smile, frozen. His eyes are void of warmth, though Nie Mingjue did not expect any. He looks…heartbreakingly familiar. 

“What do you want,” Nie Mingjue spits.

“Ah, as impatient as ever.” Meng Yao leans forward, fingers hovering just far enough away that Nie Mingjue can’t bite them off. “But that’s alright, I suppose. I have time that you do not.” 

His surroundings become clearer and clearer. A dungeon, undoubtedly. Iron bars that grind against cold stone. A flickering torch, held by a servant dressed in crimson. A table of sorts, just behind Meng Yao. The younger man notices where he’s looking and shifts to hide the table in its entirety, just before Nie Mingjue can decipher what’s on it. 

“ What do you want ,” he spits again, more forcefully. He can feel a chill on his skin, and he realizes his chest is bare. His wounds aren’t bandaged, and they’re still oozing, so it must not have been very long since Yangquan. Who knows where he is? Is this perhaps in Nightless City? Or some other Wen-reigned province? If he could just break free, he thinks, straining lightly against his confines. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Meng Yao’s voice is as floaty as ever. Nie Mingjue scoffs, even as his wrists burn like they’ve been shoved into a fire. But the iron itself is not hot. How could that be…? “They’re covered in a kind of adhesive, if you will. Something of Xue Yang’s.” The name lights fury deep in Nie Mingjue’s belly. Meng Yao shakes his head, his smile dampening just a touch. He speaks almost teasingly, too lightly. “He has his uses, I suppose, though I don’t like him much.” 

“What. Do. You. Want,” Nie Mingjue grinds out once more. He’s met with an exasperated sigh. 

“What do I want?” Meng Yao tsks softly. “I want many things, da-ge. But for now, let’s settle with: I want you to know pain like I did.” 

Nie Mingjue growls, but it turns into a pained gasp as he feels something burning on his side, the same place where he was cut previously. He refuses to glance down at it, but he knows Meng Yao is pressing something there. Either this salve is very good at smelling like burnt flesh or it is actually burning him. 

“Ahh, our precious da-ge. So righteous. So strong. How would it feel to know you are only human?” Meng Yao murmurs, shifting to kneel. He had always been rather small. Agile and deadly with speed over power. But how comical it must look for him to be kneeling in front of Nie Mingjue, commonly touted as one of the largest men to have ever existed. “How would everyone feel, seeing da-ge like this.” Meng Yao giggles, booping Nie Mingjue’s nose with a delicate finger. A smear of blood remains when he draws it away, sits on the pad of his finger, and Meng Yao stares at it before dragging it slowly along one of his sleeves. It matches the Wen red trim all too well. 

Nie Mingue continues to bite his tongue. Perhaps if Meng Yao keeps talking, he will learn something. But his hopes are not very high. The younger man is nothing if not cunning. 

“How does it feel to know you are not as great as the world sees you? That you’ve failed, countless times. Should I scream it from the mountain tops? How our darling da-ge killed his own father, ruined his clan? Trusted me?” Meng Yao giggles again, spreading salve tenderly on Nie Mingjue’s arms. “I wonder what Huaisang would think, if he knew what kind of person his precious da-ge was. Vicious. Bloodthirsty. Murderous.” Every word is punctuated by nails digging into his skin, leaving small red crescents. “Perhaps he wouldn’t care. Huaisang has always been an airhead, hasn’t he? Was that a result of your teachings?” Nie Mingjue closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing. Meng Yao makes a small displeased sound, continuing with his salve. 

“Huaisang-ah, oh what a sweet boy, hm? More interested in paintings, in fashion. In birds, free little things. He always longed to be one, you know. He wanted to run away, from all the pressure you placed on his delicate shoulders,” Meng Yao drawls, voice fading for a moment. Nie Mingjue hears rustling, the clink of clay on stone. Something new is spread over his chest and it feels like needles piercing through his skin, tiny and cold. “I can’t count the number of times he’s complained about you. Too strict, too unforgiving. He said he hated you, you know. He said he wished you weren’t his brother and that he wasn’t yours. He’d sigh and tell me I was better suited to be a Nie.” At this, Meng Yao’s voice dips into a dangerous hiss. “How dare he, hm? How dare he assume I would want to be linked to a beast like you. Incapable of control. I heard it from the nurse maids, before, about how you were the one who lashed out at Huaisang’s mother. At your father. Just days before their deaths.”

Nie Mingjue swallows. He repeats his mantra in his head. The past is the past. You cannot alter the past, only the future. The past is the past. You cannot alter the past…

“Da-ge, weren’t you so ambitious? Didn’t you desperately want to take over the clan? The sect? Put everyone under your tyranny? You love control, don’t you, da-ge. You would never let me do anything unless I checked in with you first.” Meng Yao hums, running his nails down the elder man’s throat, leaving raw red marks. “Are you trying to do that with Yunmeng now? Jiang Wanyin is so pliable, isn’t he? He’s not a leader, not like you are.” Honeyed words, whispered right into his ear. “The power you have, da-ge, and yet you cannot use it effectively. Tell me, how has the Unclean Realm fared without me? Are you constantly assaulted by issues? I bet you are. You were always so reliant on me. That made it so easy to crawl into your heart, earn your trust.” 

Nie Mingjue growls, lunging forward again. Meng Yao gets knocked back slightly, but he just laughs, pressing his hands to Nie Mingjue’s chest and shoving him back against the stone. “Oh dear. I suppose a beast needs a lesson, hm?” 

But before he can elaborate, a different figure saunters in from beyond the bars. “Yaoyao!” Nie Mingjue cocks his head just slightly to the side, the act sending pain through his neck. Meng Yao looks more than displeased by the nickname, lips pressed together before he turns with that fake smile again. “Yaoyao, we’re being summoned!” 

“Xue Yang.” Nie Mingjue’s head snaps to see that little gremlin flouncing about. “Summoned? By who?”

“By daaaaaddy of course.” Xue Yang giggles, twirling something on his finger. A key perhaps? It’s hard to tell when it never stops moving. “He says we should bring our guest too.”

Meng Yao sighs, standing and dusting off his robes. “You.” He points to the servant holding the torch. “Summon the guards.” The poor thing scurries away with a nod. He turns back to Nie Mingjue with a falsely peaceful smile. “Ahh, da-ge. If only I could have more fun with you. But it’s alright, I will have more time if you survive this.” He grabs a needle and Nie Mingjue stiffens. “Don’t be afraid.” Meng Yao tilts his head with a growing smile. “This won’t hurt a bit.” 

A prick, barely noticeable. A single truth in the web of lies, Nie Mingjue thinks as the world blurs and he slumps forward.

Wen Ruohan’s chosen throne room is absolutely massive. Whereas the one Nie Mingjue resides in is small, simple in nature, Wen Ruohan’s is almost an entire cavern. The jagged stone of the walls seem like natural cave formations, but the flickering torch light makes shadowed monsters on the walls rather than showing off the natural beauty of the space. The stone glimmers, shining in a way that only volcanic rock does. Lining the walls are elaborate pieces of what Nie Mingjue would normally classify as furniture, if not for the fact that they’re toppled pieces stacked onto each other like someone had thrown them against the wall and kept the shattered pieces along the edges of the room. A once elegant throne sits firmly in the center at the back, and upon it sits Wen Ruohan, looking as greasy as ever. If not more so, really. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light, but he looks like he’s half melting in the grand seat.

Nie Mingjue blinks a few times, shaking his head slightly to try and clear the last of the fog that hazes the edges of his vision. His wrists are bound behind him, rope rough against his already damaged skin. He peers out at the scene in front of him and feels a chill run up his spine.

The room is filled, filled, with corpses. Most are swaying slightly, as though they’re about to collapse at any moment. But all bear the crawling marks of malicious energy, the blank eyes of the dead. Nie Mingjue feels bile threaten to boil up as he notes there’s no distinction. It’s not just men, but women, children. A few elders even. His eyes flick to the center of the room where it floats: A lump of metal, radiating such strong killing intent that his heart immediately starts racing, his hands itching for Baxia. If only he could siphon some of the yin energy, he could break free. But frustratingly, Baxia is across the room to the left of the metal lump, held by a trembling servant. In front stands Meng Yao, frozen smile plastered on his face as always.

“Master Wen, you summoned me?” 

Wen Ruohan ignores Meng Yao’s soft inquiry. Instead, his eyes bore into Nie Mingjue’s hunched form, a sneer curling his lips. “The mighty Nie Mingjue, at my feet at last.” He sounds hoarse, his voice more like an animal’s growl than anything else. Meng Yao makes a discontented sound as Wen Ruohan stands, a bit unstable, but he makes no move towards the elderly man as he half stumbles down the stairs. 

He seems to be dragging a leg, limping forward through the corpses until he stands before Nie Mingjue. Were his eyes always so dark? Nie Mingjue has to force himself not to flinch when a rough hand comes up to grasp his jaw, pulling him forward. It’s like staring into a black hole. The man might as well be a corpse, his face so gaunt and thin. Yet there’s still that cruelty to his features that marks him as undeniably alive. 

The moment seems to stretch, but it surely can’t last more than a few seconds, a minute perhaps. Wen Ruohan releases him suddenly, leaving Nie Mingjue to lurch forward. He watches as the old man trudges back up to his throne and sits, leisurely lounging in the throne. He points to Meng Yao. “You.”

“Yes.” Meng Yao strides forward until he’s standing before Nie Mingjue once more, his lips curling up into a similar sneer. Like tyrant, like traitor. He has half a mind to spit in the younger man’s face, but there’s something about his expression that doesn’t quite match up, an odd dissonance. Nie Mingjue keeps up a guarded expression as Meng Yao crouches down, seeming to survey him. Shouldn’t he already know what kind of wounds he has? Does it even matter? 

“What shall it be today?” Meng Yao spins around, performing a theatrical bow to Wen Ruohan, who watches with what seems to be mild annoyance. “Should I remind him of his failings? Of your greatness? Perhaps I could use his dear blade to inflict some more pain?” 

“Do what you like,” comes the gruff answer. Meng Yao’s smile fades a bit, but he regains it just as quickly. Nie Mingjue knows that expression, that clear unhappiness at dismissal. Underappreciation. A pang of regret shoots through Nie Mingjue, however brief. He had known what happened in his court. He had known that Meng Yao was being harassed at best. Yet he had insisted that it was on Meng Yao to prove himself. A bitter taste spreads on his tongue. If only he had realized earlier that people only see what they want to, not what is there. 

Meng Yao is nothing if not thorough. Somehow he managed to satiate Baxia enough to hold her, slim hands expertly running down the blade. He smiles coldly, lifting her and bringing the tip under Nie Mingjue’s chin, forcing him to tilt his head up. At least it siphons off some of the negative energy clinging to his body. 

“Ah da-ge, look at us now.” Meng Yao murmurs, sliding the tip down Nie Mingjue’s throat to his chest, above his heart. “Not so mighty anymore, are you. But of course you knew that. How many hours did you spend confiding in me? Whispering how afraid you were?” That seems to please Wen Ruohan, who barks out a laugh. “Are you afraid now?” Meng Yao’s eyes are wide, constantly flickering towards the door. Nie Mingjue blinks, confusion clouding his thoughts again. “Don’t you want to be rescued? Ah, but maybe they won’t live. Maybe they’ll die out there, in the courtyard.” Meng Yao swallows, tongue flicking out to wet his lips once. “Perhaps you’ll die here, alone, knowing you failed.”

Dying was always a possibility. It’s war. No matter how skilled you might be, sometimes all it takes is a single unlucky stroke to end your life. A wayward arrow, not even intended for you. A wrong step. Mortality is something every soldier becomes intimately aware of. And Nie Mingjue is no exception. He is just as mortal as the rest, moreso since he knew he was selling years of his life every time he swung Baxia. 

But somehow, this felt worse than any death he could have imagined. He had hoped, naively now, that at the time of his death he would have accomplished more. That he would have guided his clan, his sect into a better place and left it easy for Huaisang. Above all else, he had hoped to rule long enough to have a child and to train his child to take over for him. So Huaisang could continue to spend his days leisurely painting birds, or at least so they could support each other as family. 

He had hoped that he could have protected the others of Huaisang’s generation longer too. Lan Wangji, Jiang Wanyin, Wei Wuxian, even Jin Zixuan. All bright minds, far developed beyond their years. He knew as far as guidance was concerned, he was likely one of their only sources in war. Lan Qiren had been grievously injured, Jin Guangshan was a spineless coward. All those responsibilities he had… Did he even do well at them? Or had he tried to mindlessly shove ideals down their throats? Had he crushed their ideas, their contributions to favor his own stubbornness? Was Meng Yao right? Had he accomplished nothing in his lifetime? 

The guilt swells in his chest, and he hangs his head slightly, lips pressed together and eyes closed. Meng Yao is rattling off something else, probably about his father and mother and Huaisang’s mother and how he failed them all. Failure. It tastes like ash and iron heavy on his tongue. 

Nie Mingjue is so lost in his thoughts, his regrets, that he doesn’t at first realize that the cavern is shaking. That there is slamming at the grand double doors, as though the heavens themselves were striking against them. Meng Yao is frozen, his grip on Baxia so tight his knuckles have turned white. Wen Ruohan raises an eyebrow, but likely he believes it’s just an army attempting to slam down his doors. Mere humans cannot hope to overpower him, so he simply does not care for them as anything more than fodder for his own army made of corpses. 

One. Two slams. The doors give way, wood splintering and metal bearings creaking. Nie Mingjue watches in wonder as they shudder with one more slam before falling to the floor, sending up clouds of dust. And there, like an angel of death, is Wei Wuxian. 

And Wei Wuxian is absolutely furious . The energy that whips around him is blacker than night, sharper than even a freshly polished blade. His steps are purposeful yet light against the floor. Wen Ruohan has stood in a flurry of robes, hand extended out like Wei Wuxian is a wayward corpse he can control.

“You,” Wen Ruohan whispers, voice clear and filled with pure malice. “How.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, but it is far from the tinkling laugh Nie Mingjue heard before. He watches, frozen, as Wei Wuxian halts before the first corpse standing in the room. He seems to survey the room disinterestedly before he settles on Wen Ruohan’s twisted expression. “How?” How oddly light his voice is, soft yet ringing around the room. “How? Wen Ruohan, even through your arrogance you should know how.” 

“Impossible. You found it.” 

“I did.” Wei Wuxian flicks the end of his flute, a wave of energy rippling off him. “Thanks to your son.” 

“Wen Xu?”

Wei Wuxian barks out a harsh laugh. “No,” he replies, far too amused for the situation. As though they were simply meeting up for tea, exchanging daily pleasantries. “No, your other son. The one who takes more after the whore who was his mother, I suspect.” 

“Wen Chao.” If there were any doubts Wen Ruohan cared for his younger son, they were dispelled now. Anger twists his features more, both his hands raised as he seems to gather the malevolent energy from the corpses, from the yin iron. “How dare you.”

“I dare!” Wei Wuxian shouts gleefully. “I dare , because you are nothing more than a senile old fool who doesn’t recognize friend from foe.” 

Too much happens in the next second. Nie Mingjue can’t understand all of it, but by the end he knows three things have happened.

One, Wen Ruohan roars, unleashing whatever he was gathering and commanding the corpses to surge to Wei Wuxian, who gets buried in a moment.

Two, Wei Wuxian lets out a blood curdling shriek and unleashes a more potent wave of malevolent energy that flings the corpses off his body, as though they’re merely flies to be swatted away. Some make sickening sounds as they slam against stone. The air is thick, cloying. 

Three, Meng Yao is frantically saying something as he brings out a knife, eyes wide as he ducks behind Nie Mingjue’s back. For half a second he thinks it’s funny, the way he’s about to die literally stabbed in the back. The other half of the second is spent in confusion, because there’s a slicing motion but no pain, no gush of blood. Just his arms coming to dangle by his sides.

“Quickly,” Meng Yao mutters, tossing the rope aside and spreading some kind of salve on Nie Mingjue’s wrists. It burns intensely just like before, but…when Nie Mingjue raises his hands, the marks are already significantly healed. Still tender, but no longer gaping wounds. He turns to Meng Yao, and he can only imagine the strange expression on his face, to which Meng Yao cracks a very small, tired, genuine smile. “Da-ge, we don’t have time, we need to help Wei-gongzi.” 

As unfortunate as it is, he’s right. Wei Wuxian is powerful, Nie Mingjue knows, but even he falls victim to exhaustion. The dark circles under his eyes are evident, and though he plays Chenqing with fury, it’s not quite as forceful as it was before. How long has it been since they last saw each other? No matter the real answer, the one that resonates in Nie Mingjue’s mind is too long . This is possibly the worst moment to recognize that he had been in Wei Wuxian’s company for so long that it feels like reuniting with his own shadow. 

“ Da-ge , please, we don’t have time for this.” Meng Yao snatches up Baxia where he had dropped her and thrusts her into Nie Mingjue’s hands so quickly that he nearly drops the blade. Only years of practiced habit prevent that. “We need to help him.” He watches as Meng Yao snatches up a blade from somewhere, the edges dulled. Not ideal, he presumes, but Meng Yao was always able to pick the best out of a bunch. There’s so much to say, but when he meets the younger man’s eyes, he knows this is not the time. But some part of him wonders if there ever will be a right time. 

They dive in with practiced ease. Where Nie Mingjue slashes, Meng Yao stabs. Another pang in Nie Mingjue’s chest. It’s like they never separated. Today is a day of revelations, isn’t it? 

Rather than attempt to fight through the hoard, they make a complete beeline to Wei Wuxian, who continues to radiate cursed energy, ripples coming in even intervals. But each one is weaker than the last. Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao reach him just in time as he forces out one last wave, pushing the corpses back enough to allow his two allies to shield him. His breathing is so ragged that for a moment, Nie Mingjue worries that he’s been run through somewhere, that he’s breathing his last, but Wei Wuxian looks up with fire in his eyes, blood on his lips, and Nie Mingjue is struck with just how incredible the man is. 

“You did well,” he grunts as Wei Wuxian buckles slightly, one knee dropping to the floor while his free hand braces on the other. “So what now?”

“Now?” Wei Wuxian laughs wetly. “Now we finish it.” 

As far as Nie Mingjue is aware, neither of his companions have ever trained together. Nor have they fought together, but looking at them, you might think they were lifelong friends. Meng Yao keeps his sharp eyes out specifically to protect Wei Wuxian, picking off corpses as the latter heaves and struggles to stand upright. He hisses something urgently into Wei Wuxian’s ear, a hand gripped tightly around the slumped man’s bicep. Wei Wuxian jerks his head up, eyes snapping up to briefly meet Nie Mingjue’s before he slashes another corpse. Nie Mingjue can’t look back any longer, the sheer number of corpses increasing with every passing minute, but behind him he can sense the two younger ones shifting together. Meng Yao picks up a few extra blades and throws them with wicked precision towards Wen Ruohan. Of course they’re stopped as if hitting an invisible wall, and it seems to enrage Wen Ruohan more, but as much as rage becomes power, it also blinds. Every stopped blade, every wave of corpses, every roar seems to be getting stronger and more powerful, but Nie Mingjue can see the trembling in the elderly man’s shoulders, in his hands as he throws them out. Wen Ruohan is exhausting his energy, rather than rationing it. A desperate force.

Wei Wuxian’s haunting melody plays behind him, each note shrill, and yet Nie Mingjue finds it doesn’t bother his ears one bit. Wisps of energy coil, dragging back and forth between the battle for control. Nie Mingjue doesn’t despair, but exhaustion sinks into his bones with every heavy swing from Baxia, who seems unhappy that corpses do not give blood as live bodies do. A particularly piercing note rings through the air, long and drawn out, and just like that, the tides turn enough to give them the advantage. Meng Yao, ever observant, has been inching closer to Wen Ruohan. Wen Ruohan strides toward them, perhaps in an attempt to physically call the malevolent energy to him. Nie Mingjue knows this is it, the final effort, so he draws up every last bit of strength he can muster and roars, barreling forward like an untamed bull. He raises Baxia high before he’s even sure of the distances and slashes down hard just as Meng Yao thrusts his blade forward with a cold grimace. 

Time seems to slow down. There’s a terrible tearing sound as flesh is torn from bone, but for a moment that is the only sound. Then slowly other sounds bleed in. Panting breaths, some wet and ragged. Slow thuds as corpses fall one by one. Rumbling, as though a stampede were approaching. Wen Ruohan stares down at Baxia’s blade as she feeds, his skin becoming paler and paler. Then he lifts his eyes to stare into Nie Mingjue’s, disbelief overtaken by sheer rage. But there’s little he can do, pinned between two blades. 

He coughs once, chokes once and falls still. 

It’s Baxia that pulls Nie Mingjue out of his shock, humming in his hand when she’s sated. Meng Yao releases his sword, leaving it impaled, and quickly ducks around to Nie Mingjue’s side. He hesitantly rests a small hand on Nie Mingjue’s larger one and whispers something before easing Baxia out. Without a firm grip to support it, Wen Ruohan’s corpse falls forward and collapses in front of them, his head mere inches from Nie Mingjue’s feet. A tiny pool of blood starts to form, but before it can reach him, Nie Mingjue is being tugged away by Meng Yao. 

He follows blindly, stumbling over corpses despite Meng Yao’s best attempt to pick out the clearest path. Baxia’s tip clangs to the ground as Nie Mingjue is brought to a halt and Meng Yao lets him go. He can’t bring himself to look up, but at the peripheries of his vision, he can see the younger man fussing quietly over Wei Wuxian’s kneeled form. Time distorts so much that he’s not sure if it’s only a minute or an hour before various voices are shouting, among them Lan Xichen’s and Jiang Wanyin’s. 

“Da-ge!” “Wei Wuxian!” “Sect Leader Nie!” A flurry of bodies descend on them, and Nie Mingjue’s grip tightens before a hand comes to touch his. He looks down at the connection before trailing his eyes upwards. There’s those worried brown eyes, just under a thin blue headband.

“Xichen.” That’s all he really manages before he begins to topple forward. Two sets of hands on each side of his shoulders and arms helping to lower him to the floor. He hears urgent murmuring, but exhaustion takes over, and he finally succumbs to gentle sleep. 

Nie Mingjue is tired. 

Though the actual physical war is over, the political one has just begun. Everyone wants a piece of the Wen territory even though it’s not even really worth dividing. The lands are scorched, the towns empty, hell, even the people are half dead already. Jin Guangshan, despite hiding in Lanling the whole time, is excessively vocal about claiming his rewards. One of which is land, artifacts, the usual spoils of war. And one of which is his supposed proud son, Meng Yao, newly dubbed Jin Guangyao. That makes Nie Mingjue’s lips curl in disgust. But Meng Yao simply smiles and accepts the name with grace he’s always had. 

Nie Mingjue’s relationship with Jin Guangyao is in and of itself an issue. Lan Xichen insists that it was all because of Jin Guangyao that they had been able to pull off so many ambushes toward the end of the war. He was the one feeding them information, and while logically it makes sense, it still puts Nie Mingjue’s mind and heart into conflict. He wants to believe that Jin Guangyao hadn’t purposely murdered someone, but it’s hard to deny the truth he’d seen with his own eyes. They have yet to have a formal conversation about it, as Nie Mingjue is buried in paperwork in Qinghe while Jin Guangyao has taken a more permanent position at Lanling. That lack of time is also stalling the younger man’s request to swear brotherhood with him and Lan Xichen. Another headache he isn’t really capable of dealing with immediately.

Lan Xichen returns to Gusu to begin rebuilding efforts, just as Wei Wuxian returns to Yunmeng with Jiang Wanyin. Though both leaders promise their best efforts to help sort through political discord, Nie Mingjue ends up with more paperwork than ever simply because they cannot turn away from their rebuilding efforts as often as they might have liked. Nie Mingjue does not blame them. How could he when his own Qinghe is mostly untouched?

From the burnt earth comes new sprouts of life, but Nie Mingjue can’t help but feel, well, a bit lonely. He has Huaisang back, which is delightful, but he’s become rather used to the company of competent individuals. Beyond that, he simply misses the casual company he had acquired when he and his fellow cultivators were crammed together in small campsites. When disciples bow to him now, he acknowledges them with a nod instead of a clap on the back, and that leaves his heart strangely hollow. It’s an odd side effect of everything else. 

With how busy everyone has been, he isn’t expecting visitors, yet a nervous attendant knocks on his door one night with a small message. He doesn’t recognize the writing, so it can’t be someone  from his court…

I’ll see you soon da-ge~ 

Wei Wuxian

Oh? Nie Mingjue’s eyebrows shoot up as he rereads the message. Wei Wuxian? Why would he be in Qinghe? Yunmeng had been doing well lately, but still, there’s plenty to do all around. Just last month, he had heard that Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan had finally stopped dodging each other and had begun properly courting, so a wedding could be in the books very soon. Besides that, war has brought new influxes of hopeful disciples every week, a mix of those who seek pride and glory and those who seek the power to protect their homes. Jiang Wanyin is many things, capable leader included, but even he cannot handle that many disciples alone, surely? 

Nie Mingjue sighs, rubbing at his temples. It’s far too late in the night to be worrying about this. 

True to his word, Wei Wuxian pops in the next day with a cheerful smile and a couple steam buns wrapped in cloth. Nie Mingjue hears the man’s boisterous laughter long before he sees him, but when he does walk in, Nie Mingjue’s heart does a little flip.

His eyes are curved cresents, crinkled at the corners so deeply that it wouldn’t be surprising if Wei Wuxian had crow’s feet earlier in life. But it suits him, the kind of glowing joy he emits. It suits him so well that it has Nie Mingjue’s breath catching his throat.

“Da-ge!” Wei Wuxian essentially launches himself forward, and he’s in front of Nie Mingjue’s desk in a heartbeat. He bats his eyelashes and grins impossibly wider. “Did you miss me?”

Nie Mingjue barks out a laugh, standing from his seat and walking around the desk. He glances quickly to the door. Closed. “How could I not?” Apparently this is not the answer Wei Wuxian was expecting, and he flusters for a moment, mouth opening and closing before he holds out the cloth-wrapped buns. 

“I brought you something. They’re not from Yunmeng since our lotus harvest hasn’t yielded too much yet, but I thought maybe you’d appreciate a snack?” That’s an awkward choice of words, but Nie Mingjue just smiles and accepts the buns, peeling open the wrapping and taking a bite. Still warm. 

“Thank you,” he says after he swallows. “What brings you to Qinghe?”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Do I need a reason to visit you?”

“No, you don’t. I just thought perhaps you were here to see Huaisang.” Nie Mingjue takes another bite, eyeing Wei Wuxian thoughtfully. The younger man plucks a bun from his hand, tearing it in half and shoving the whole half into his mouth. He looks rather like a squirrel like that, round cheeked. It’s cute. It suits his age far more than the serious looks he had on before. Absentmindedly, Nie Mingjue lifts a hand and wipes a crumb from the corner of Wei Wuxian’s mouth. 

“I uh, I actually. I did kind of, but I thought maybe you could use some help?” Wei Wuxian’s voice pitches higher, but Nie Mingjue just chuckles. 

“Some help? With what? Shouldn’t you be offering your services to your sect leader?” Nie Mingue motions for Wei Wuxian to sit as he rotates back around to sit in his own seat. He sets the last bun and a half aside, away from the ink grinder. It would be a shame to have his snack ruined like that. 

“Jiang Cheng’s got it just fine. And actually, shijie is helping him a lot, so there’s really not much for me to do.” Wei Wuxian shrugs, flicking the tassel on Chenqing that hangs at his side. 

“Jiang Yanli?”

“Yeah! Shijie’s so awesome. She figured out how to guide cultivation energy using food! It’s still being developed, but it’s really interesting how--” And there he goes, rambling about how his sister is creating a whole new field of cultivation, which begs the question, what else could be out there? Nie Mingjue finds he does not mind listening, though the series of reports and requests sit by his side as endless as ever. “...But anyway, because of all that I don’t have anything to do there really, so I thought maybe I could come help out you and Lan Zhan? It can’t be easy. Jiang Cheng is always complaining about the amount of paperwork he has to do, but back in camp I saw you had so much more, and I just figured that you would have a lot now too.” 

Nie Mingjue flicks his hands to the parchments stacked high. “I do, but it’s nothing I cannot handle.”

“Yeah, but why handle it alone when you can get some help?” And, well, Nie Mingjue can’t argue with that.

It becomes a routine easily. Wei Wuxian shows up around mid-morning bearing steam buns or sweets and takes half of Nie Mingjue’s reports, sorting them by content then importance. When he gets a hold of some parchment himself, he even writes down brief summaries of the different stacks so Nie Mingjue can more quickly delegate tasks down to his disciples or send correspondences to Lan Xichen and Jiang Wanyin and Jin Guangyao. He finds he finishes his work earlier so he can take the time to see Huaisang, to stroll around the training grounds and the town with the two youths who have boundless energy. Things are good. Easy.

Wei Wuxian likes to make conversation about nothing at all. Some days he’ll speak of the lotuses, how he hopes they’ll return to their former glory. Other days he chats endlessly about his past, before the war. And Nie Mingjue finds himself sharing stories as well, sending the other into peels of laughter when one is particularly embarrassing. More and more he finds he enjoys the cadence of the other’s voice, soft and lilting at times when he reminisces about how his shijie liked to sew special marks into his clothes as a child but cheerful and brash other times when he’s telling some story about Jiang Wanyin’s inability to cook. 

Somehow Wei Wuxian’s mere presence draws in Huaisang as well, who slinks in to help with paperwork once in a while. Which is far more often than before, when he never willingly set foot into Nie Mingjue’s workspace unless it was an emergency (and by emergency, he means shattering his favorite bowl or begging to be released from saber training). 

“Hey da-ge, do you like Wei-xiong?” Huaisang casually asks one day, nose wrinkled as he reads through Jin Guangshan’s demand for Wen territory once again. 

“He is a good man,” Nie Mingjue hums back, writing a reply to some far off young clan leader. 

“He is,” Huaisang agrees, “but that’s not what I meant.”

“Hm?”

“Do you like Wei-xiong?” Huaisang sets aside the report, resting his chin on his hands while he leans over on his elbows. He has that kind of suspicious look that just screams trouble.

Nie Mingjue purses his lips, hand pausing briefly. The answer is easy: he does. But it’s harder to define to what extent. And if he replies yes, then Huaisang is going to want to know everything because that’s who he is as a person. His little brother is so nosy sometimes. He shrugs, dismissing the question lightly with an amused, “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

Huaisang huffs, flipping his fan open. “You’re no fun.”

“Shush you.”

But the conversation sparks more thoughts. Nie Mingjue respects Wei Wuxian, definitely. He thinks the younger cultivator has shouldered burdens far too heavy for his age, but he has done it well. He acknowledges that the man holds countless insecurities, many of them spilled over a cup of good liquor. He radiates boundless joy when he laughs, and his smile is as brilliant as the sun after a long night. 

Does he like Wei Wuxian?

“Da-ge?” Said man’s hand waves in front of Nie Mingjue’s face. It’s evening now; the sun has long since set and the stars twinkle in the sky above. The candles flicker gently in the summer  breeze, the same breeze that lightly sways Wei Wuxian’s bangs that frame his face. His cheeks are flushed slightly from drinking, a shade of not quite red that suits him well. “What are you thinking about?”

“You.”

Evidently not the response Wei Wuxian was expecting at all, if his widening eyes are anything to go by. Another endearing thing about him, Nie Mingjue notes: His ever expressive eyes. Wei Wuxian flusters for a moment before downing a small cup of liquor and letting out a loud sigh. “You’re going to send me to an early grave with jokes like that, da-ge.” Rather than his usual light, joking tone, Wei Wuxian sounds oddly choked up. 

Nie Mingjue raises an eyebrow. “I was not joking.”

Wei Wuxian lets out another weak, choked laugh, pouring another cup and downing it. His slender fingers rub over the edge of his cup, though Nie Mingjue finds his gaze drawn to his face, studying him quietly. At his habit of chewing on his lip when he’s nervous. Another thing to chalk up to the time they spent together at war. 

“I was wrong about you,” he says quietly. Wei Wuxian’s head snaps up, confusion coloring his features. “Before. When you first, ah, rejoined us, I suppose.” 

The clouding over is immediate, all signs of mirth or nerves gone as Wei Wuxian’s hand tightens. His voice is tight, with rage maybe. Pain. “It’s alright.” 

“It’s not.” Nie Mingjue is a man with just as many, if not more, flaws as strengths. He knows when he makes mistakes, though he rarely properly apologizes and acknowledges them. He’s a sect leader, after all; he needs to be unwavering in that way. Crafty in his apologies. Jin Guangyao had always been better at that than him. But when it’s like this, just between two people as the moon hovers high above them, he lets himself speak freely. “I should not have judged you based on fear-filled rumors from other people. I was hasty.” 

“Maybe you were, but you didn’t look at me like--like I didn’t belong,” Wei Wuxian replies softly, fingers now at his hip. Undoubtedly fiddling with Chenqing. Nie Mingjue feels another urge to remind the younger he should be bearing Suibian as well, even if he favors Chenqing. But now is not the time for that, not when Wei Wuxian seems so delicate. “You didn’t look at me like I was a monster.” 

Monster. Demon. Nie Mingjue presses his lips together, shame welling in his stomach. Suddenly, drinking more liquor doesn’t seem like such a good idea. “But I thought it.” Every word comes out heavy, an admission of guilt. Wei Wuxian stills, and for a moment, Nie Mingjue thinks he’s not even breathing. 

“Maybe you did. But you didn’t turn me away,” he whispers, defeated. Nie Mingjue’s brow furrows further.

“Why do you insist on trying to defend me? I was wrong.” 

Wei Wuxian heaves a sigh that’s heavy enough to sink him into the ground. He doesn’t look up when he speaks. “I have always known there was something different about me. I was raised in a unique situation, with my parents, with Jiang-shushu and Yu-furen. With Jiang Cheng and shijie. The fact I even went to Gusu for the summer was unusual. I was even offered the opportunity to not attend the Wen so-called instruction.” He pauses, and Nie Mingjue feels like he should speak up, but somehow that also feels wrong. “I was always trouble, for everyone I met, and then the invasion of Lotus Pier happened and I felt like everything was coming to light. All my crimes were finally being punished.” Lotus Pier. Not home.

“You know that’s not true. They would have come regardless of you. You were just…a convenient excuse.” 

“Maybe I was,” the other man agrees. “But still, it was me who gave them the excuse. I should have stayed with Lan Zhan and sat still, waited for Jiang Cheng. He’s never let me down. If I had, maybe things would have been different. Jiang Cheng was furious, too, that I’d gone and killed the beast. I overshadowed him, but I couldn’t try and be humble about it. I tried so hard not to talk about it, but people just wanted to know, and I knew, I knew that it was taking its toll on him.” A deep frown mars Wei Wuxian’s pretty features. “I could never do anything right.”

“You protected him.” Nie Mingjue reaches over and lightly sets his hand over Wei Wuxian’s. It twitches slightly but makes no motion to move away. “You did what you thought was best. And truthfully, it probably was for the best in the end.” 

“Ahh, you’re a good man, da-ge.” Wei Wuxian laughs, though it’s humorless. 

“You’re an even better one,” he replies, squeezing his hand. 

“Yeah?” Wei Wuxian looks up, eyes shining. Tears that he won’t let fall. 

“Yes.” 

Huaisang liked to say that he could sense tension in the air. Or rather that he could sense life, its silent push and pull, give and take. Nie Mingjue had never understood, but he had listened, quietly, as his brother tried to describe it. It’s like, it’s like the entire world is still except for the things that live. Everyone has their own unique signature. Some are stronger than others but everyone has one. And if you reach out, sometimes you can touch it.

Somehow Nie Mingjue was starting to understand what he meant just a little more. It was like there existed nothing outside of just them, two men who were given burdens to bear at a young age, who struggled against showing weakness. If Nie Mingjue could sense energy, he’d probably sense something like deep, pure exhaustion and guilt rolling off Wei Wuxian in waves. But underneath it all was something like pride, strength, kindness. Dimmed perhaps, clouded, but Nie Mingjue could sense it all the same.

He’s staring, but at least Wei Wuxian is staring back. Staring back with kind but broken eyes. Pretty, kind, broken eyes. 

“What are you thinking about,” Wei Wuxian whispers.

“You,” he answers, leaning forward. 

Soft lips, a little chapped. The taste of liquor and salt. A hint of incense. A soft exhale. 

A knocking at the door interrupts the moment, dissipates the stillness in the air. Nie Mingjue has half a mind to throw whoever it is right down the stairs, but he shakes that thought out of his head, standing and striding over to the door. He opens it to a poor messenger who looks terrified. A new guard maybe, considering they don’t look familiar. In a stammering voice, they relay some information from the guard tower. Some minor scuffle that really shouldn’t be Nie Mingjue’s job to deal with, and yet unfortunately it is. He sends off the messenger with a quick note that he’ll be down soon and turns around to face Wei Wuxian. 

“Duty calls?” He’s back to his melodious teasing. 

“Duty calls.” Nie Mingjue strides back to grab Baxia, glancing down at the younger man for a moment. “Perhaps you should retire for the night. Tomorrow is another long day of work.” 

“That sounds like a good idea.” Wei Wuxian snatches up the bottle but doesn’t take his usual swig. Actually, all things considered, he’s drunk far less tonight than usual. Unusual to say the least. Did he know the night would turn out like this, somehow? Nie Mingjue could never underestimate those sharp eyes. The younger bounces over, leaning up on his tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to Nie Mingjue’s cheek. “Good night then, da-ge.” 

Nie Mingjue watches his retreating figure, a dark splash in the full moon’s light, and thinks that maybe things will be less tiring from now on.