Summary: Demonic cultivation takes a toll on the heartiest souls. None recover, even when trained to combat its malefic influence since their youth. Nie Mingjue knows this well, yet Meng Yao can only see him as the enigmatic clan leader, the man with an exterior so cold he has no idea why Clan Leader Nie saved his life at all. Ensnared in a discipline and authority that threatens to devour them both, will Meng Yao be able to let go of his past, or will he destroy everything he holds dear in the process of trying to gain control?
Tracing the Bounds of Your Flames
Giant hands closed around him like the cosmic palms of Pangu collapsing the muddiness of reality. His breath echoed in the voidless expanse, and he was desperate to grasp onto something tangible. His arms flung out to find a hold, to heave himself above the surface of a viscid black terror encompassing him like an endless ocean of world annihilation. No matter how hard he kicked through the cosmic rivers, though, there was only more water to drown in. He went nowhere.
He suffocated until his consciousness inverted and he came coughing and choking into the greyness of reality, his mind scattered, alone and gasping on his bed. He was sweaty as specters kaleidoscoped into view, talismans and calligraphy bending and reshaping on the bedroom walls, melding with ornate patterns in their small and humanoid forms, twisting into gaunt faces that pointed and laughed at him in high-pitched, otherworldly voices. They multiplied until their wails surrounded him: voices of the undead – hungry souls begging for salvation, honor, recognition, vengeance, glory, death, love, and respect.
Mingjue would close his eyes. He would shake in his bed, clasp his hands over his ears, draw his knees up to his chest, and stay that way until dawn. Once the shapes on the walls had stopped squirming with rage and despair, a knock at the door would startle him, and the servants asked if he was ready for his morning meal. Usually, by that time, the shapes and voices were gone, and he could face the day.
Usually.
In his dreams, lumps of crimson flesh splattered across white snow. Deer and wolves watched from afar with pitless, animalistic eyes. Horses reared in the dark, frothed at the mouth, the metal between their teeth glinting in the red torchlight. The fire in his hand illuminated a small dome in the forest around him, enclosed by the glowing eyes of birds on tree branches and other beasts that lay in distant foliage.
His father was being torn apart by his own weapon. As the man thrashed in place and fell from his horse, writhing as the blade laid in pieces beside him in the snow, a wild beast crept near. The acrid presence of nothings whispered through the air prolonged the man's suffering. The hair on Mingjue's arms prickled. When the beast stood on haunches, arched its wooly and crooked back, bared yellow teeth and raised a claw, Mingjue froze. He was too weak to fight it alone.
Mingjue turned his horse the other direction and ran, leaving his torch and the mangled cries of his father far behind.
He threw away what little apricity he'd had in the boyish antics of his youth, in the callow dreams he'd once had of monster hunting and demon taming. How he'd bragged to mentors and soldiers after a sparring session in the training hall, subjects who all listened to him politely.
As Clan Leader, he focused on providing safety and prosperity for an entire realm, upkeeping the family name.
He hadn't slept soundly since.
Mingjue and his brother hardly spoke of it either. Unlearned in the art of mutual consolation, they grieved separately, in silence.
Years later, Mingjue asked the eldest of the upcoming cultivators of Lan Clan, Lan Xichen, how he maintained tranquility when outsiders and degenerates threatened Gusu's borders and its way of life. Despite being a few years younger than him, the young Lan heir already carried an aura of wisdom about him that made Mingjue stand in wonderment. Would he ever be able to achieve such carefree grace, even if demonic cultivation wasn't a Nie tradition?
"With your precepts, I'm sure there are many who disrespect the Lan way of life," he remembered saying. "How do you face them with such equanimity?"
At this, Lan Xichen smiled softly. Mingjue didn't understand that smile. "As long as I'm surrounded by people I trust, I know there will always be a place for the teachings of Cloud Recesses. But, Second Brother, I do not yet have to worry over an entire clan, unlike you… Some undesirables might be unavoidable, and perhaps necessary, in the grand scheme of things."
Had Lan Xichen heard the rumors, then?
The Nie elders were difficult for Mingjue to handle. They were curious as to why the young master hadn't yet established the roots for a concubine or wife. By nineteen years, Mingjue had already taken a few women to bed, but this was considered quite late by most, and they wondered when he would make the arrangements to produce a new heir. Mingjue had hoped his personal vexation would fade overtime, but the longer he waited, the more uncertain he became.
His father pampered many women who cycled through the palace, monthly and annually. They used to cavort excitedly during their stays in that way women do, but Mingjue never understood it. Emotionally, physically – for him, the thrill wasn't there.
At twenty-two, he realized the decorum of courting the opposite sex wasn't meant for him. So he chose to bolster his authority in other ways. True to Lan Xichen's words, he recruited men willing to serve him and what Nie Clan stood for: a bulwark of defense in the northern land at the borders of Qishan, a stronghold of weapon cultivation for centuries to come. The price of that cultivation, though, he never mentioned. As per tradition.
Mingjue merely nodded to the elders whose lips twitched and scowls pervaded his presence: old men from his father's regime who refused to let go of worn-out ideas of what made a "prosperous" household, of what a "strong" clan leader should be. Instead, Mingjue tempered his mind – against their disapproval and, more importantly, against the hordes of those he cut down to preserve his territory and lineage.
He cut down men possessed by greed; men who inched farther and farther into the Unclean Realm unbidden; men who partook in dark magicks, overtaken by the vengeful spirits they hoped to tame. He killed victims of others' dark cultivation – men, women, and children – who were unable to be saved.
Every one of them. Baxia destroyed them all.
Mingjue often asked himself, Will I be forced to become one of them in my final days? Will I too harm innocents and then be put down like a rabid dog?
He passed his days in a quiet, growing fear, unable to escape the fate he knew awaited him at the end of a long and bloody road. He submitted to his desolation and despair on a tenuous throne – like his father, and every Nie clan leader before him.
And then, at age twenty-six, the nightmares stopped.
. . .
The residual ache of large hands gripping him around the throat and stone steps sending lances of pain through his bones was too close.
Getting "here" was such a blur of space and time that Yao could hardly keep up.
The years he spent hidden away, enduring the lascivious gazes of his mother's benefactors and others who mistreated him with ease, seemed a feverish daydream. None of it connected to his life in Qinghe. Was it really meant for him after all? Had Clan Leader Nie made a mistake when he offered him the position of vice general, made him his trusted ward?
Once again he was in the palace of a wealthy clan – but this time, his every need was attended to. He had power. He was the master of telling servants how to prepare a space for an event. He was the one who told them how to fold his clothing, how to prepare his tea in the morning. He even disciplined Nie Huaisang when his brother wasn't around, to which the young Nie usually feigned innocence with a subtle smile.
It was a game they played, because Yao was respected – not just by the servants who provided him food and clothing because that's what they were told – but by the head cultivation family.
With his power, came the price of work. Yao's days were full of it. He kept record of meal orders, accounted expenses, directed catering, greeted guests, liaised between solicitations for an audience with the Clan Leader, ensured matters of Nie weapon cultivation were kept under wraps and under control. But he never had to worry about food or where he slept at night – whether one of his mother's patrons would be taking his room instead. The only person who tested Yao's patience was the captain of the guard – a troublesome man who refused to take orders willingly, even if it came from the Clan Leader, but he hadn't said anything to Yao's face, so there was no reason to make a fuss over someone so beneath him. It mattered not what that buffoon called Yao behind his back. Yao would ignore it, for as long as he could.
As if his life depended on it.
Other than that trifling annoyance, the only other person who held any kind of authority over Yao was the Clan Leader himself. And well…
Yao didn't understand him most of all.
Clan Leader Nie never mentioned the incident in the cave the day after it happened, to the point that Yao wondered if he'd been imagining it.
Yao would meet Nie Huaisang in the training arena to oversee the new recruits. They'd be chatting listlessly, when, after a moment, he'd turn his head and glimpse the Clan Leader watching them from afar. In the shady awning of a walkway, at first, Yao assumed Clan Leader Nie was watching his brother with that expression. The slackness of his jaw, the softened line of his brow – surely, it was a look meant for Huaisang.
Yao would meet his gaze and smile in return – only for Clan Leader Nie to quickly avert his eyes, clear his throat, and make his way over. He'd exchange a few quips with Huaisang, until finally giving Meng Yao a (rather stiff) greeting.
What was that about?
On occasion, Yao would catch Clan Leader Nie staring at him at other times. In court, Yao analyzed what the Changs or Wens were up to this time through a thorough assessment of their recent activities – or, after some discussion in the throne room, he would direct servants about what needed to be done to prepare a room for forthcoming guests. Yao would tell the servants what kind of decor to be placed in the guests' rooms to make them feel most at home given their background and, oh yes, he would remember what kind of tea they most preferred, and ask the servants to make a batch upon the guest's arrival. At the end of a long-winded speech, he would glance back to get Clan Leader Nie's approval, and see his shoulders fallen in momentary defenselessness.
Oh.
Then, the Clan Leader would correct himself with a huff, a jerk of his chin, and declare their next order of business.
…Oh.
Only the thinnest cracks in Clan Leader Nie's inexorable severity and skepticism ever showed, the remnants of a lingering emotion. For, as soon as Yao's head swiveled back, he thought perhaps he'd projected the pride and awe he saw there.
Perhaps Clan Leader Nie was just a difficult man to please. But although he was distant and hard to read, Yao felt safer with him near on the craggy ridges of Qinghe. It was an amusing diversion in his daily agenda, observing what made Clan Leader Nie avoidant. Yao had no obligation to play the game of one whose game he couldn't decipher. And Yao had to admit, the more enigmatic the Clan Leader seemed… the more direly curious he became.
Just what would it take for Clan Leader Nie's severity to break?
. . .
The arrival of noteworthy beast hunters in Qinghe was a task that required intensive research and planning to ensure men with a knack for fighting wouldn't accidentally step on the toes of a hunter they deemed troublesome or unworthy. Thankfully, Meng Yao was taking care of all of the details, so Mingjue merely had to convey the opinions of the Nie elders. Still, dealing with the elders on any matter was a tiring task, so Mingjue was at the end of his rope. As he listened to Meng Yao's detailed explanation about how to arrange transportation for the group, he wished to give Meng Yao pre-approval to proceed just so they could both go to bed. Although tired, the young vice general managed to transmit a modicum of his usual ebullience past midnight, and Mingjue found himself fascinated by how assiduously Meng Yao managed to put everything into place yet again.
Meng Yao was standing at the foot of the dais in the throne room. His eyes were sagging but attentive, beguiling and bright. "And there you have it. We can keep the guests separated based on what general region they come from, avoiding preferential differences as much as possible. Clan Leader, how does this sound to you?"
Mingjue breathed out, pleased. He was too tired to hide how relieved he was at hearing Meng Yao's plan, when he'd been stressing over the event himself. He stood from his seated throne and approached Meng Yao to clap him on the shoulder. "I should have known I didn't need to worry with you taking every meticulous detail into account."
Meng Yao's face nearly split from the smile that broke across it, in spite of himself – in spite of the hour – and it made Mingjue smile too, seeing him so proud.
Then Mingjue made a terrible mistake.
Caught in his admiration, his fingers brushed Meng Yao's cheek. The young vice general looked up at him with owlish eyes. The color drained from his face.
It could hardly be called a "touch" – Mingjue's fingers barely tickled the microscopic hairs on Meng Yao's cheek before he snapped his hand away. But his head pounded, trapped in the horror of what he'd just done. His hanfu sleeve rustled back to his side as Meng Yao voiced, "Ah –"
Too infuriated with himself to meet Meng Yao's gaze, he was afraid the other resented him already. It was unmistakable, the affection in the act. Too late to erase. The fact that no one else was present to witness his blunder was a minor comfort to Mingjue now.
Meng Yao hastily joined hands as he bowed. "Excuse me, Clan Leader." He trotted out of the throne room as fast as he could, nearly tripping over his feet as he went. His small frame disappeared around the corner. Mingjue clenched the muscles in his jaw. If only he could take it back.
Meng Yao had intrigued him from the start; Mingjue wasn't going to pretend that had nothing to do with appointing Meng Yao as his vice general, but he never intended to act on his feelings. He'd been with a few other men by now, but the relationships were short-lived: easily drifted into and grown out of, since young men married once they reached a certain age. Mingjue's feelings for Meng Yao, however, had been growing steadily over the last year, since he appointed him as his advisor.
Mingjue breathed deeply, trying to calm his mind.
When Meng Yao carried out his housekeeping duties with the refinement and charm of a distinguished courtesan, Mingjue forced yearning down. He was ashamed, realizing how he viewed the younger man. He buried his feelings exactly so something like this wouldn't happen – except, it seemed, at unguarded moments.
Before a deep crevasse of longing, Mingjue was ignorant on how to get to the other side where free love reigned true, without falling into the murky depths beneath his feet.
For once, his sympathy won out over his logic. Hearing how the other men in his retinue spoke about Meng Yao, how young and defenseless he seemed, sitting alone in the woods, a mysterious smile playing across his lips at every request, no matter how mundane – yes, Mingjue would admit, the young man was charming, and not just for his work ethic. But he wasn't one to assign men he found attractive to powerful positions in hopes they would become closer.
Unless… that was exactly what he did.
Mingjue's forehead strained from thinking back on everything that had occurred between them – had it all truly been an elaborate ploy to bring Meng Yao closer to him, to keep him at his side? A fierce headache formed behind his eyes. He released his clenched fists and rubbed his head.
He should sleep.
There would be time enough to correct what he'd done.
As long as he could keep Meng Yao near for a little longer, that would be enough.
If not, things would just go back to as they were before.
Before the nightmares stopped.
. . .
Yao flushed violently – first from the shock of it, then from the realization that maybe, just maybe, he hadn't been hallucinating Clan Leader Nie's interest in him after all. He hurried out of the throne room as if he was being chased by a ravenous fire, seeing Clan Leader Nie's anger as he snatched his hand away. Yao swore he saw the veins in his forehead popping.
He couldn't bring himself to stay, as much as he wanted to reach out in turn, take Nie Mingjue's hand, fold himself into his large body while looking up at his face, kissing him passionately.
Oh gods.
Being smitten with his superior wasn't anything to pursue should Yao want to remain in power and respected as he was. There were still those who regarded him as nothing more than the rejected offspring of Jin Guangshan, the duplicitous suck-up who somehow managed to trick Clan Leader Nie into giving him this position. Couldn't they understand some people were just kind like that, for no reason?
Like Lan Xichen.
But Nie Mingjue was nothing like Lan Xichen… was he?
Why did Clan Leader Nie make such an effort to hide himself all this time? All this time, had he fancied Yao?
Meng Yao pressed his hands to his cheeks, where Clan Leader Nie's fingers had touched him not moments before, trying to calm his pounding heart.
Had the Clan Leader been allured by his small demeanor, the graceful sway of his hips?
Or was it… for the reassurance in his perfect memory? His desire to provide only the best hospitality for Nie Clan's guests?
…Yao didn't know.
But how Clan Leader Nie first said his name, rolling the tones in his mouth as if testing them, as if desiring to understand the depth of that name – Yao's face heated, fantasizing about being regarded by the Clan Leader as more than just his most trusted advisor. It felt heavy and dangerous and feather-light and enthralling and petrifying to think he might be able to see past Clan Leader Nie's cold exterior after all, the impenetrable man he projected himself to be.
Yao laid on his back, squirming excitedly, thinking over the smoldering glimpses of the Clan Leader's passion he'd seen, but always dismissed, never sure what it was. After a moment, Yao's thoughts creaked to a halt like wheels skidding in mud. He laid very still.
The hands of men grabbing him from behind pierced his mind. Fists that swung at his face. Being cornered in streetways and alleys, rancid breath stinging his cheeks on crisp, rain-drenched days as hands held him down, others punching him in the gut and mocking him for crying home to his mommy after being kicked out by Clan Leader Jin. They mocked him for his small appearance, for his womanly demeanor, held him by the face; their hands tore at the folds of his clothing, taunting him for only being as useful as his whore mother.
It could be a lot worse, he would tell himself. He could be beaten senseless, or molested by men who wanted to take everything from him until there was nothing, but at least he never gave them what they wanted. He took whatever they doled out until they grew bored of his lack of response – always sure never to incite further offense – so they would eventually leave him alone. It was easier that way.
In the Nie Clan throne room, Clan Leader Nie's hands felt nothing like the ones that reached out to grab and hold him down, who hurt and pleasured him in ways he couldn't control.
Surely, Clan Leader Nie had a flock of women waiting to meet him in bed should he want them. Yet Yao had never seen any such women in the palace. It wasn't as though he knew all of the Clan Leader's dealings, and neither did they ever speak of these things – but the way he treated Meng Yao when they were alone versus when in the presence of others, it was… notable.
Tonight being only one such example.
So tender and gentle – could it be, when he asked Yao to be his vice general, the Clan Leader wanted to keep him around as a…?
A lover?
Head against the pillow, Yao shook himself, hands clasped over his eyes. He was getting too carried away.
No. Nie clan leaders take concubines, not lovers, Yao reminded himself. And usually not male ones.
Still… he was always a hair's breadth away from the Clan Leader's touch. A touch and presence like fingers on his cheek, maybe his neck, or his chest, or…
Yao's white nightwear blended with the bedsheets as he flailed from side to side. His room was too big and too small at once, imagining what it would be like to have Clan Leader Nie's strong arms holding him down – considering where he'd been, and where he'd come from.
. . .
The next day, and in the coming weeks, Yao hoped to find the Clan Leader alone, but unfortunately, they were just as busy – if not busier. Yao had guests to greet, servants to direct, papers to sign, accounting problems to solve, unfulfilled banquet orders to troubleshoot – the list was endless. Whenever he did catch Clan Leader Nie alone, it was usually in passing in the halls, and the man kept his expression as fixed and features as stony as ever – if not more so. He always appeared uneasy. Curtly, he would ask after Yao's work and Yao's well-being, before saying he had something he needed to attend to, and sweep past him in a dramatic rush of grey robes. It left Yao breathless and frazzled, unable to find the right moment to insert his own inquiries.
When the guests arrived, there was even less time to rest, let alone sit down and have a chat with the Clan Leader. Not only did Yao have thirteen temperamental beast hunters to worry about – Clan Leader Nie included – but pushback from the captain of the guard took a turn for the worse.
"What makes you think you're the expert in hunting affairs?"
Yao blinked at him. The man had been unreasonable before – well, more than unreasonable – but his passive aggression was usually more tactful than blatant accusations of inadequacy. "I'm hardly the expert on hunting affairs," Yao conceded. "It's just that I already passed my preparations with Chifeng-zun and got his approval, so now I'm passing the order onto you –"
"A prettied-up house greeter shouldn't make important decisions regarding beast hunting."
Yao's pulse beat in his ears with amusement. He pursed his lips in a flat grin. "Then you'll have to speak with Chifeng-zun about that."
The man scoffed, laughed, shook his head. Yao could practically hear his thoughts: "This brat thinks he can threaten me with the Clan Leader's authority? What a joke."
Yao bowed to him and turned the corner, casting the tense interaction out of his mind. He had more pressing matters to worry about.
"Ah! Meng Yao!" Nie Huaisang's voice peeped up from behind.
When Yao turned, he saw the younger brother scampering over, bangs flying to the sides, robes swishing in an unbecoming manner. Nie Huaisang flipped open the fan at his side, sending wind and hair strands flying into Yao's face. "How are the guests? According to my brother, they're as unrefined as ever." His tone was almost conspiratorial as he talked behind the extended fan, though they were already alone.
Yao offered a gentle smile. "Yes, beast hunters are quite a lot. I certainly don't fit in with them, but everything is going as planned so far."
Huaisang closed his fan and patted Yao lightly on the shoulder. "That makes two of us. They're so scary-looking – I don't know how Brother can put up with it for so long."
"Well, Chifeng-zun is skilled at matters involving demonic cultivation and the beasts that come from it, whether occurring naturally or from human intervention. He should fit right in, though I know he was stressed about being able to organize everything on time in a manner that would please all the guests, while living up to the family name."
Huaisang nodded with confidence. "Yes yes. We're quite glad to have you taking care of hospitality matters. Without your skills, we'd both be ducks in a pond." They walked over the koi waters on the west side of the palace, weaving over bridges and through convoluted pathways alongside servants who carried items on learned paths so as to avoid being an eyesore to guests.
"By the way," Huaisang sang, "Brother's been acting strange lately."
Yao kept his voice calm. "Is that so?"
"Yeah." Huaisang gave Yao a pretending-to-be-unsurprised-yet-still-suspicious look. "Perhaps you have something to do with it."
Yao smiled and breathed out a small laugh as they reached the end of the servant quarters, the entrance to the main courtyard. "What makes you say that?" The younger Nie sibling couldn't keep it in any longer. He narrowed his eyes.
"He's been especially weird. Like, he avoids me if I even mention your name and immediately changes the subject. He doesn't even bother me about whatever painting I've decided to take an interest in over sword training this week and it's supremely weird." Huaisang shook his head, forgetting Yao for a moment. "Aiya, I swear, he's hopeless."
"I'm sure he's just busy with our guests."
"Don't try and act innocent! I know you know something!"
Huaisang's determination to get an answer out of him caused the ghost of the Clan Leader's fingers to brush Yao's cheek, and the blood rushed to his face. Yao forced the feeling down. "Hardly."
Huaisang pointed at Yao with his fan. "See! Now you're acting weird too!"
Meng Yao opened his mouth to defend himself, but then they heard a familiar voice across the courtyard. Clan Leader Nie was locked in conversation with one of the beast hunters currently staying in Qinghe, a few others trailing not far behind. Many of them were adorned with brown robes and thick furs, likely from past kills, with beads woven in unruly hair. Others were almost nondescript, donning modest leather garments alongside their axes and swords. Almost all were large and scarred, on par with Clan Leader Nie, but greatly contrasted to the Clan Leader's elaborately designed robes of greyish-silver and dark epaulets blooming with fire.
The Clan Leader promptly ignored Yao and Huaisang, though the shock of seeing them distracted him enough to forget where he was in the conversation with the beast hunter. Comically, he was on the same path headed toward them.
As he passed, Huaisang grinned at Yao knowingly, cluing both of them into the fact that the young Nie cultivator was far more knowledgeable about what had transpired between them than he was letting on, and had merely wanted to understand Yao's side of the story.
. . .
That night, Yao and Huaisang attended the banquet of loud, shouting men all eager to show off their beast hunting prowess with Clan Leader Nie at the head. The beast hunters boasted about townspeople who'd built monuments in their names, displaying bodily scars said to be from the massive beasts that had escaped their blades to the horror and awe and disbelief of the others. Yao and Huaisang stuck close to each other all throughout the night, even as Yao was occasionally pulled aside by servants asking when to bring out food and entertainment.
It was here at the banquet, more than once, that Yao finally caught Clan Leader Nie's attention. While a particularly loud and boastful guest had his leg propped on his table, arms flailing in front of his chest as he proclaimed the women in one village had insisted on personally thanking him for slaying the giant, multi-headed serpent at the base of a mountain pass between their village and the next, the Clan Leader surreptitiously caught Yao's eye. He tilted his chin, a thank you on his lips and Look at this fool.
Yao was hit with such overwhelming joy from Clan Leader Nie's postponed recognition that he had to lower his face to hide his blush.
When the meal was almost over, Yao excused himself from the final swordswomen dance – much to Huaisang's chagrin, being left to dine with the host of manly men alone – and went to check if the horses had been prepared for the night hunt. It was the primary event the beast hunters had come to Qinghe for in the first place, so everything needed to go as seamlessly as possible.
Yao exited the din of the feasting throne room and closed the door quietly behind him. His shoes padded across the courtyard in long, swift strides, down the steps leading to the stables to find the captain of the guard, whom he'd ordered to prepare the horses earlier that day.
Only, the man was nowhere to be found.
And neither were the stable boys.
And the horses were not ready.
For a moment, Yao stood at the precipice of the stairs near the stables with a sense of acrimonious irritation.
Had the man forgotten?
No. Yao knew better. The captain of the guard knew better.
He was purposely trying to undermine Yao's authority to get him in trouble.
Yao's temper rose, brooding over these things. He bristled under his elegantly patterned white ceremonial robes. Gifted to him by the Nies themselves.
Oh, it was probably a good thing the captain of the guard was nowhere to be found right now. Otherwise Yao would shove him down these steps himself, as his father had done to him years ago. That would teach him a lesson about being defiant against authority.
Venting his anger would have to wait, though. The main issue remained at present, so Yao roused the one stable boy who was left on duty, sleeping in the corner, seeing as the others had been dismissed prematurely. Another transgression to add to the list.
Yao and the boy worked nonstop to preen, saddle, and bridle every guest's horse, itchy and feverish, fitted with all their personal effects. By the time Yao could hear Clan Leader Nie and the others joking and laughing half-drunkenly, descending the steps, he and the stable boy were still making the final adjustments to each mount.
Covered in horse hair and slobber and dirt, Yao hid his sleeves behind his back as he saw the men off. He smiled at the Clan Leader in relief and warmth when the man nodded to him, and then ran like a child to watch the beast hunters leave out the front gate. The thunder of their hooves reverberated in the dusty mountains of Qinghe and eventually disappeared into the brisk, moonlit night.
. . .
A week later, when the beast hunters were finally gone, Mingjue hoped things could go back to normal. Maybe he and Meng Yao could fall easily back into the rhythm of administration and daily housekeeping they'd had before. Perhaps he didn't need to explain himself at all; he'd merely been tired, and stressed, and made an easy mistake. There was no reason to make something out to be more than it was.
It was impossible to miss, now, though, the difference in Meng Yao's attitude. He was as diligent as ever, reporting to Mingjue and overseeing the Qinghe household, asserting his opinions on political matters in court with his usual gusto. Though his words remained the same as before, now Meng Yao maintained a level gaze with Mingjue for a bit too long to be polite. He cocked his eyebrows playfully, shoulders and hips held at an angle, smirking slightly when Mingjue found himself entranced.
What was that about?
Mingjue had assumed Meng Yao fled the throne room, flustered enough to run – when he was usually so methodical in his movements – because he was scared of what Mingjue might do to him as "Clan Leader." It was no huge secret, to anyone paying attention at least, that Meng Yao was into men. The effeminate curve of his smile, his petite form, how he dared not invade the space of any other man without explicit permission or need… As a child, Mingjue overheard fortuitous conversations between guards and his father's guests. About how, more often, barbarous men would take advantage of young men and women like Meng Yao. As for himself, Mingjue doubted many in the clans throughout the land considered him to be anything less than the paragon of weapon cultivation and masculine prowess he was reared to be, like his father. The few women Mingjue had shared a bed with years ago always seemed to have the same idea. Surely, Yao would take Mingjue for an edacious sodomist if he ever acted on his feelings, with a sexual appetite close to his father's or the men Mingjue overheard as a boy in the palace halls. The realization he may be one of them, having reached out to Meng Yao as he did, made him curse his own inadequacies as a leader and as a man.
This last week, though, Meng Yao always lingered at the edge of his vision for a little longer than necessary. They were supposed to leave each other to their work, focus on other things, but Meng Yao seemed to be testing him.
Finally, sitting at his desk one night, Mingjue noticed Meng Yao lingering at the door. He'd handed Mingjue his report on the new recruits of the guard without any of the usual pomp – no batting eyelashes, no levity in his words – said goodnight and farewell, bowed, and then turned to leave, only to stop at the threshold. With his back turned, Meng Yao fidgeted with his hands, evident in his long white sleeves moving at his sides. This couldn't go on any longer.
"Meng Yao. Wait a moment." Mingjue set down the reports Meng Yao had handed him. The pins and beads in his hair clinked slightly. His vice general spun around in the doorway, his expression one of impassivity and slight sorrow. Mingjue motioned for him to come back inside, and when Meng Yao stood across from his desk again, looking down with his hands folded politely, Mingjue spoke. "What happened in the throne room – I didn't… It wasn't meant to make you uncomfortable."
There was more going on behind Meng Yao's blank mask than what he showed, his expression serene, but Mingjue didn't know how much more of an explanation would be appropriate. He wanted to give Meng Yao a reason for what happened, but didn't want to make things more awkward than they needed to be. He also really didn't want to lose Meng Yao entirely by telling him the truth…
Mingjue was about to dismiss the young advisor, when Meng Yao spoke first. He was alarmingly quiet.
"Clan Leader, rest assured, I know it was an accident."
Mingjue sighed in relief, until Meng Yao continued.
"But I wonder… if something like this might happen again, considering your feelings for me."
Lightheaded, face heated, Mingjue became angry and appalled. What was he talking about? Mingjue was always careful not to let his feelings show so he wouldn't accidentally pressure Meng Yao. Just how much had seeped through?
"Meaning?"
Meng Yao's voice took on a sly and flirtatious quality, hearing the restraint in Mingjue's voice. "I mean…" Meng Yao sat down across from Mingjue, and folded his legs to one side. Mingjue was startled by the informality, and at a loss for words. "The way you've been watching me, Clan Leader. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" There was something playful in Meng Yao's accusation, the way he shook his head with humor and disbelief.
Mingjue struggled to keep his breath under control with the younger man sitting across from him in such a suggestive manner. One hand propping him up, the other was on his thigh, then at his ankle, teasing up the end of his hanfu. No, Meng Yao couldn't know the effect this was having on him.
As he sat there, conflicted, Mingjue started imagining what the skin on Meng Yao's thighs felt like –
Was this a test to make sure Mingjue could keep himself in check? Or was Mingjue merely reading too much into an innocuous situation?
Aware of Mingjue's gaze, Meng Yao leaned forward, onto his knees. He planted his hands on either side of the table between them, around the scrolls he'd handed Mingjue, and didn't check if the ink tray to one side had spilled from the billowing of his sleeves.
If this was a test, Mingjue was failing horribly. "What are you doing?" His question came out pathetic and accusing – ensnared by the other's splendid seduction, unable to do anything but fall into his pace. What he should do was tell Meng Yao to remember his station and leave his room at once, never to speak of this again. Maybe even banish him.
Mingjue had never felt less sure about anything in his life.
He was only slightly aware of Meng Yao's fingers dragging across the santalwood table, brushing aside scrolls, ink bottles, and calligraphy brushes. Then fingertips grazed the stubble on his chin. Very close to him now, Meng Yao guided Mingjue's lips into a gentle kiss.
The young man's lips tasted like falling leaves and autumn rains, those that seldom touched the northern mountains. The image and scent struck Mingjue in sharp definition at his hesitant softness, but Mingjue didn't have time to process it before Meng Yao pulled away, afraid of what he'd just done. His shaky breaths warmed Mingjue's cheeks.
Mingjue closed his hands around the other's, which felt impossibly soft and small in his own. Fright crept into Meng Yao's gaping expression. He was calculating whether he needed to tear his hands away and escape Mingjue's wrath at his insubordination – but Mingjue brought an arm around Meng Yao's shoulders, squeezed his fingers and pulled him close to his chest. He breathed a sigh of relief when Meng Yao leaned into the touch. Mingjue tangled his fingers in the roots at Meng Yao's nape and pulled slightly, directing the other's face in another kiss. Mouths opened into each other, drinking the other's breath, and Mingjue wanted him – he wanted to show Meng Yao just how valuable he truly was, how much he deserved to be loved in exactly the way he desired, regardless of his upbringing or his past. Meng Yao's hands clasped Mingjue's neck, and he moaned, and then Mingjue had his face in his hands, and Meng Yao's body relaxed against him until he almost fell over on the desk keeping them apart.
As if they'd encountered each other many times before, when Mingjue finally broke off the kiss, Meng Yao was already rushing around the desk's edge to meet Mingjue on the other side. He knelt before him. Their lips barely made contact when Mingjue placed a steady hand on Meng Yao's chest. The young vice general was panting, his face flushed and expression hazy, his fingers tightening and loosening on Mingjue's broad shoulders. Something hungry and desperate was in his eyes, as if he'd been waiting for this moment just as long.
Meng Yao licked his lips. "Permission to continue, Clan Leader?"
Mingjue couldn't help but smile at the slurred quality of Meng Yao's voice. He allowed himself to fully cup Meng Yao's cheek this time, to feel the softness of his flesh. His thumb stroked the delicate skin beneath Meng Yao's eye, down to the corner of his mouth. The muscles in Meng Yao's cheek contracted as he smiled too.
Robes entangling, teeth clashing, Mingjue enveloped Meng Yao in his arms. The smaller man trembled, his meek hands wrapped around Mingjue's large chest encouragingly as Mingjue desired to touch every part of him. With someone so small in his arms, Mingjue worried he might hurt him, but Mingjue didn't want to do anything to harm or scare him. He wanted to protect him from everything the world might throw at him, whatever others might call him.
In a mess of hands slipping underneath fabric – tongues licking and teeth nipping at whatever exposed skin came of loosening ties – the pressure between them grew until Mingjue stood. Meng Yao sat on the bed. Mingjue kissed him gruffly as he slowly untied Meng Yao's belt, the other blushing madly as Mingjue pulled the layers up and over his arms. His small frame, the desire and vulnerability in his face, holding his arms close to his chest – Mingjue wanted to envelop him again, tell him it was all right, to not be afraid. But he was never known for his way with words.
Mingjue brought his hairy lips to Meng Yao's neck, earning another breathy gasp as Mingjue thumbed his waist with one hand. Meng Yao closed his eyes, his breathing ragged, losing balance as he sat on the bed. Mingjue grasped Meng Yao's supple thighs as he groaned beneath him – and yes, they were as lithe and sensuous as he'd imagined. His fingers trailed up Meng Yao's hips and then down his abdomen, to his groin. Mingjue took him into his hand, and Meng Yao shivered in the low light. He watched Mingjue again, needing and salacious, as he made to scoot farther back on the bed. Mingjue followed him, and after shivering for another moment, Meng Yao straightened his spine to recapture Mingjue's lips, his arms around his neck.
The ghost of a sob lingered on the other's lips as they kissed and stroked each other, but the more firmly Mingjue gripped Meng Yao, the more fervently the other pulled him close, so Mingjue's worry and trepidation dissolved.
Finally, he took his hand away, and Meng Yao scowled disappointedly, until he saw Mingjue shedding his own clothes. As his flashy nightwear fell to the floor, Meng Yao blushed shyly, taking him in. Mingjue scooped Meng Yao into his arms again. He felt the small of his back, the curve of his waist and shoulders, the dips of his slender hips and his spine. When Meng Yao was gasping in renewed appreciation, Mingjue insistently grabbed the breadth of his ass, and the noises that erupted from Meng Yao's mouth made his head buzz with delight as Mingjue dug his fingers into his spumescent cheeks.
Now, with Meng Yao's back on the bed, Mingjue hovered above him, and the other groaned as Mingjue planted kisses down the lines of his chest. His tongue swirled around the insides of Meng Yao's thighs as his hands kneaded Meng Yao's waist, and when his mouth returned to Meng Yao's neck, Meng Yao lurched beneath him, sounding on the cusp of an epiphany. When Mingjue grinded into him, Meng Yao was feral with the unconscious movement of his body; everything wet and hot and sweaty as he pulled Mingjue closer, so Mingjue fingered inside him, and Meng Yao bit his lip, crying out, as Mingjue felt Meng Yao's velvety insides give and take and he became a man possessed. When Meng Yao's hips rocked in sync with his own grinding, Mingjue removed his fingers and straddled Meng Yao's hips.
Pausing a moment, Mingjue took in the ravaged, tumescent state of the smaller man beneath him. Meng Yao could barely speak, barely look at him, his back pressed against the sheets, his head roiling in pillows, gasping in high, anticipatory breaths. Mingjue wanted to confirm this was what Meng Yao really wanted, when Meng Yao spoke, delirious and impatient.
"Please, Clan Leader, I want you to fuck me – ah!"
Slowly, Mingjue braced himself against Meng Yao's thighs, spreading him open, sliding into his slick inner walls. Meng Yao's fingers tore at the sheets on either side of him as his body tensed and he panted in great effort. Mingjue quickly leaned down to plant a wet kiss on his cheek, and Meng Yao whimpered at the slight movement of Mingjue's cock inside him, which shot trails of pleasure up the inside of Mingjue's gut. He would go as slow as he needed. He wanted Meng Yao to feel wanted, cared for, for more than just his body or even his glorious mind. The young vice general brought his hands to Mingjue's face, his nails pinching his cheeks. Mingjue's braided hair fanned over their faces, necks, and shoulders.
After a few moments of reassurance, Mingjue moved, and Meng Yao soon became louder than before. He was beautiful, spread out underneath him. His moans wavered between cries and sobs, and Mingjue worried more than once that he was hurting him and came to a stop, only for Meng Yao to release haphazard syllables in response. "P-please, don't stop, I-I – hah!"
Mingjue took inane pleasure in being able to make him stop talking with a thrust, when the younger man was usually so good with his words and enticing looks. Below Mingjue, he was an incoherent mess.
Mingjue took Meng Yao's cock into his hand, and Meng Yao's luxurious tones crescendoed rather quickly, his knees falling limply to the side and the pressure of him all around Mingjue clenching deliciously. Mingjue crumbled too, feeling Meng Yao against him, everywhere, giving him everything. He gave him everything.
Meng Yao tried and failed to swallow his own voice as he quivered to a halt, still whimpering and hugging Mingjue close to him. They stayed that way, panting, for a while.
Mingjue was exhausted as he pulled away from the other's warm insides. His thighs ached. He could barely hold himself up – but seeing Meng Yao beside him, breathless and content, admiration swept through Mingjue's body, radiant and true. Only now was the chill in the room apparent against his sweaty back. He slumped down beside Meng Yao, rattling the bed and stabbing himself with the metallic pieces in his hair. He'd forgotten they were there, in the heat of things. He reached up to loosen them, but Meng Yao was already sitting up, threading them out.
And Mingjue let him, and they were silent.
. . .
Neither of them knew how long idyllic times would last. What they did know was Nie Mingjue was a clan leader with a precarious reputation, and Meng Yao was an advisor with considerable sway in court, one whose political positioning was already in question due to his background. Of course, there would always be rumors. Whether it had been started by a servant who heard them down the hall, or one of the elders who wanted to pressure Clan Leader Nie into producing an heir, it didn't matter. Either way, the effect was the same.
Business carried on as usual – minus some dissecting looks from Nie Huaisang whenever Yao and Clan Leader Nie were in the same room – not to mention Yao's absolute hysterics when he was pulled aside by the Clan Leader into a spare room whenever they had a free moment. His weeks were now split by how many nights he spent in the Clan Leader's room, sharing sweat and heat and saliva, feeling too full and completely drained at once.
The closer he and the Clan Leader became, the more Yao felt how thin the threads of his current life were – how the spiderweb of lies and desire constricted around him, the bindings closing around his throat and mouth, suffocating him, making him unable to breathe.
The incident at the stables was only the beginning of a long list of infractions the captain of the guard would commit against him. The man smirked and shook his head, even affirmed Yao's commands – only for Yao to find last minute that he would have to be the one to check in the weekly shipment of booze, apologizing profusely to the merchant who had been standing at the entrance for hours. He would have to endure the men who shook their heads and expressed their dissatisfaction with the unruly ways of Nie, find a way to correct their soured opinion of Clan Leader Nie's reputation. He would have to clean the weapons in the armory himself, including Clan Leader Nie's sword, which was too heavy and unwieldy for him. He sliced his fingers many times. Though Yao was not a cultivator, the kind of demonic power that lay within the saber – he could feel its supernatural vibration in the air, the phantom of a whisper that detailed exactly how the weapon would poison and possess his mind using all his greatest fears if not for the hold it already had over Nie Mingjue.
Yao assigned such tasks to other underlings as often as possible, but it turned out the captain would even interrupt others as they carried out Yao's orders. Frustrated, Yao was too embarrassed to admit to anyone the extent of his distress the troublesome man caused despite being second-in-command. To his face, the captain of the guard hardly acknowledged him, unless it was with a condescending sneer. Yao never knew if he found Yao so deplorable for his position or his heritage or his stature. Perhaps it was just a conglomerate clusterfuck of all three, but anyway, it didn't really matter. He had little time or reason to think on it; every day, he would rush back and forth, interface with guests, keep up with his duties, make sure the servants knew their tasks, maybe thwart a potential disaster caused by the jackass of a man, and at the end of it all, get called to the Clan Leader's room to share a night of passionate coitus. Then he would wake up and start it all over again.
Later, when they tried disciplining sex, Yao relished in the feeling of helplessness. Held at Clan Leader Nie's mercy, the bonds that stung his wrists, restrained above his head, unable to scream past the gag in the mouth, unable to stop the saliva dripping everywhere as his insides were pounded into a delicious pulp – sometimes, with the captain sabotaging his plans, with the repetition of his daily chores, he wouldn't see Clan Leader Nie or Huaisang for an entire week, and at night he would make a plan, obsess over the details of his ravishment, how he wanted to be held down and forced to enjoy it. Forget the men who undermined him. How Clan Leader Nie would threaten to take everything away from him like the desiring fool he was, undeserving of his position.
The truth of the captain's vendetta against him was revealed, one day.
Yao had always suspected it to be the case, given how the man was constantly undermining Yao's authority and expertise on every subject, denouncing him as a guest greeter and nothing more, but he had wanted to give the man the benefit of the doubt. He had wanted to pretend a life of comfort and luxury, surrounded by those who respected him, wasn't so unattainable after all.
"What makes you think a whore's son can order me around?"
So that's what it was.
They were standing near the main courtyard, on the servant's side. Yao stared through him, to the men of his past. The ones who would grab and touch him still if not for fear of the Clan Leader's wrath. A few backhanded comments wasn't enough to prosecute this captain who thought he held so much power. As if Yao would cause an uproar about something or someone so insignificant. His heritage was already something he'd rather not disclose or discuss with anyone if he could help it. And he definitely wouldn't let this man know how cutting his remarks truly were when he'd endured much, much worse.
Yao smiled.
This was a man daring to be defied, but Yao wouldn't play his game.
He wouldn't let him know how much it bothered him.
How much he wanted to slit the throats of all the men who mistreated him.
How his mother cleaned his wounds as they both ached from the sorry state of their lives.
"I'll do it myself then."
He bowed.
The captain nodded in satisfaction, hmphing as if he'd won.
As Yao swept past him, his gut gave a violent twist.
He hated those who treated life like a game, like others were toys to pick at and play with. The strong who insulted the weak. The privileged and wealthy who beat down on the unlucky and impoverished poor. He'd teach them a lesson if he could.
It was true, increasingly, he heard the whispers behind his back within the walls of Qinghe. It was nothing new. Reminders of others' hands picking at his body, curling into a corner and sobbing with bloodied lips, the skin on his neck raw from being choked until unconscious: A joke to the high noblemen and women who saw their status as a blessing from the Heavens, never to be questioned. And when Clan Leader Nie called Yao to his room, Yao saw himself trapped in a never-ending cycle: Forced to appeal to the higher class with his diligence and his appearance and his wit and his skill, becoming the very thing he promised himself would never come to pass: An over-glorified courtesan whose only purpose was to serve the wealthier, more prosperous, luckier few who had been granted the fullness of a noble birth, not the tragic joke of only half of one, forever doomed to be chased by pitying laughter and empty smiling faces and masks masks masks of smiles and deceit and horror by people whose only desire was to use him and abuse him until there was nothing left.
No, he would rise above them all.
He would remain untouchable and glorious and supreme, using anything and everything in his arsenal to ensure his position was as secure as it could possibly be.
Yao couldn't show his incompetence to anyone, especially not Nie Mingjue, who had given him this position because he trusted him to do exactly what needed to be done. He hadn't slipped up yet. If he showed weakness now, not only would he disappoint Clan Leader Nie, he'd have to explain why the bindings cutting into his wrists, the give of his hips and his thighs made him scream so vigorously so late at night. He'd have to face the demons of his past.
No, he wouldn't do that.
He would move forward.
He wouldn't succumb to the sting of those thoughts.
He'd make sure no one treated him that way again.
The captain of the guard would pay for daring to cross his path.
He only needed to find the perfect moment. Then he would shift the blame.
Nobody had to find out. Many men died in war, after all.
Far too many victims of war lived to enact the tales of their anguish on innocents afterward, too.
. . .
Circled by flames in a lightless void, Mingjue tracked the path of the dancing shapes in the darkness around him. He stood on his feet now, having grown accustomed to the unstable world. The flames around him were blue, yellow, white, green, orange, red, purple, even black. They danced in circles, crisscrossed and coalesced into larger, multicolored flames that sparkled with golden light, dispersed and continued circling.
Eventually, the blackness lifted slightly, and in the distance, was revealed the figure of a man. Mingjue ran toward him, squinting, trying to make out who it was. He recognized him only when he came to rest ten paces away. Panting slightly, though Mingjue was grown now, he froze at the image of his father in a green and black hanfu before him. It was the same he'd worn the night he was killed.
Slowly, the man turned around. Grand robes dragged across the illumined floor, and crimson blood dribbled down his front. There were deep claw wounds in his chest, tearing open his clothes, stripped down to his rib bones. A thread of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Mingjue beheld him with aghast, hit by the scent of hot iron and smoldering flesh. The colored flames flickered vaguely behind them.
When his father spoke, his voice was distorted by the lack of pressure in his lungs, having been ruptured by the wounds. "My son, you need to understand. There's a reason things have always been done the way they are. If you fall out of line with tradition, retribution will reign down upon you. There will be nothing to stop it. You cannot choose to walk the path of an idolatrous fool."
Mingjue was so horrified and astounded by the sight of his father's exposed flesh, bleeding in real time, that his sagely words and calm expression hardly reached him. When he finally registered what had been said, he mumbled, "Father, I know I've disappointed you. Even before your death, my sights were always set beyond the walls of Qinghe's traditions. I have done my best to live up to your name, and your father's name, and my great grandfather – but I have no excuse for being unable to fulfill my duties to preserve our line." Mingjue stood there, before the crackling of the flames. He hadn't spoken the truth. There was an ebb and flow to all things, including tradition. If his father or grandfather or great grandfather couldn't accept that, then they didn't truly live in peace with the Dao. "I have people I can trust now, and a novel view of what needs to be done to maintain Nie Clan's position in the new world. Demonic cultivation doesn't have to be the end of all of our rulers' days. Suffering alone is worthless."
Despite the blood rapidly draining out of his chest, his father smiled. "My son. Concubines and lovers were never meant to bear the burden of demonic cultivation. What makes you think he can?"
Mingjue's face became hot with shame. Even though he and his father were nearly the same height now, having his intentions read so easily made him feel childish and infinitesimal. He had no logical basis for his claim, only the conviction in his heart. Meng Yao's coquettish smile as he joined hands and bowed in his presence. Meng Yao's blushing, screwed up face as he gasped beneath him, his begging words, surrounded by lavish sheets, the warmth of his skin, the reassurance in his presence as he took care of matters in Qinghe alongside Mingjue, not just leaving it to Mingjue by himself, to feel the responsibility of being alone.
The dark void around Mingjue dissolved. He glimpsed a sun-misted day: A sacred place where birds chirped lively and the sound of rushing water and leaves rattled from the breeze, sifting through the trees and an earthen cave entrance. Mingjue's father crumbled before him, fading into ash, into dust that melted into the background and whisked away.
When Mingjue awoke in real life, he found silky hair in his face.
Meng Yao slept soundly beside him.
Warm from the summer inside his heart, Mingjue draped an arm around the other's small body. He hugged Meng Yao close to him, taking in the scent of his hair: wafts of fruity osmanthus floating to him through the delicate strands. Meng Yao roused a little, humming softly, stretching his arms, giving Mingjue more access to his body.
With arms around him, Mingjue just held him.
He wanted this moment to last forever. For the elders and his ancestors to understand that nothing was more beautiful or reassuring than the presence of the one beside him. For them to see that his choice wasn't the mere defiance of an unwritten law, but an active rebellion against the loneliness and despair of the cultivators of Nie Clan's past.
What, more than that, was worthy of respect – to devote himself to the protection of those he loved?
. . .
The halls were alight with the sounds of battle.
Swords clashed, men screamed, clan colors stained red with blood, and Meng Yao found himself in the middle of it all, taking in the macabre scene.
So this was war. The Wens had overstepped their boundary a bit too far this time, and the consequences would be disastrous.
Meng Yao saw opportunity in this tragedy.
He picked up a blade – a normal blade, a Wen blade with Wen colors. It needed more red, though.
The captain of the guard stood there, in his way.
Yao already knew why.
He'd gone too far this time, planned to frame Yao for the escape of the serial killer and temptress Xue Yang.
He didn't notice the sword Yao had hidden behind his back, nor would he believe that Yao was willing to use it.
"What, you think you can stop me? You think your whore mother could stop any of the men who threw her a pretty penny and then fucked her without a care? Clan Leader Jin just took easy pickings with her – you're nothing to him, you mean nothing – you have no reason to think you're special! You son of a –!"
Yao thrust the sword into his abdomen. As the man's face twitched with shock and horror and anguish and despair, and all the emotions Yao wished he could know the sheer depth of in that moment, having envisioned it a thousand times, annihilating the men who thought he was just a pretty little thing who would never bite back, betraying them without the slightest bit of remorse –
His small world of Qinghe over the last five years contracted, dithered, and faded around him. It zoomed out, until it was a tiny speck in his view. Yao was swallowed by the horizon, where icy wind pelted all around him and nothing was real. Too far below him, everything made sense.
He remembered what the young cultivator and heir to the Lan throne, Lan Xichen, had said to him years ago. That Clan Leader Nie wouldn't hesitate to prosecute anyone who dared threaten him.
Threatened? I don't feel threatened, he thought, looking at the captain's boarish, bloated face. The cut of his lip as he spat insults at Yao.
It would be easy, so easy to make him shut up.
He had the weapon in his hand, and there was chaos and turmoil everywhere – no one would suspect him. He always offered them smiles and bows. He was always polite even when others incited his offense. When they beat him and raped him without moderation or control.
He wanted to do it so badly. The sword clattered at his back as he shook, and at some point, the captain of the guard noticed the weapon and the conflict there.
"You wouldn't," his face read, comprehending the situation they were now in, the split second of decision in Yao's bleak hesitation.
I would, Yao wanted to scream in his face. Revealing the sword from around his shoulder, he raised it to be level with the man's throat. I would do it again and again and again and again – to everyone who dared cross me, uncaring what anyone thought…!
But he didn't move from that position.
Clan Leader Nie's breath was on his neck, and he dropped the sword. It rumbled to the ground in a grand show. Tears stabbed his eyes as he fell to his knees. His white robes crumpled around him. They were stained with the blood of fallen soldiers. His body shook at the full brunt of his helplessness – of his body and mind, and the steady weight of Nie Mingjue's hands on his skin – on his shoulders and abdomen, holding him close, breathing him in. The safe tenderness of a care he'd felt since Mingjue found him in the forest alone, and rough fingers touched his skin.
And he cursed himself as the man above him drew his sword, for enduring so much and coming so far only to be silenced by a fool he wanted to best through mind games rather than hard evidence and thorny honesty.
As Yao stared at the floor, tears fell between his spread fingers.
This is as far as he would get.
Hopefully, at least Clan Leader Nie would remember him kindly.
. . .
Mingjue saw his vice general lingering like a ghost on the edge of the battlefield, locking his fingers around a sword, and enter the prison with the intent of a hunter.
Mingjue was distracted as he exchanged a few more blows with the meddling Wen Zhuliu, the Wen general known for his abilities as the "Core Crusher" – but he was focused on more important things.
What was Meng Yao doing?
Was he in danger?
Had he seen something, or someone, doing something they shouldn't?
When Mingjue stepped into the building, it was the captain of the guard he saw standing there with his sword raised. Meng Yao was beneath his feet, head bowed.
A flash of metal – his neck hairs stood on end – and Meng Yao's pale and tear-stained face lurched upward – to find Baxia embedded in the man's chest.
The captain of the guard looked at Yao with insurmountable hatred in his downturned eyebrows. Nie Mingjue crossed the path of his sight, hiding Yao from his view. His expression was far angrier.
"How dare you," Mingjue breathed. His voice was lower, and darker than Yao had ever heard it.
Mingjue tore Baxia from the captain's chest, almost relishing the blood that burst from the man's body as it tumbled to the ground in a pathetic heap of hair and armor.
When Mingjue turned around, took in Meng Yao's battered and broken state, his heart softened.
Other members of Nie Clan's guard had rushed to the scene to hold off Wen Zhuliu and Wen Chao. Huaisang and cultivators from Jiang Clan stood in their way as Wen Chao spat obscenities at Mingjue from afar, vowing this wasn't the end of anything, that they would be back to force submission to Wen Clan superiority. Nie Mingjue huffed at him apathetically.
One of the young cultivators, with similar dark robes and a red ribbon in their hair, then double teamed with the Jiang heir in a bickering contest with the Wen brat, so Mingjue sheathed Baxia behind his back. He knelt down to Meng Yao, who shivered as Mingjue took hold of his cold wrists, lifted their hands.
"What happened?"
Yao's eyes shifted everywhere – to the dead body of the captain, the dead soldiers, to Wen Chao and the others making obscene gestures at each other. He'd hoped to kill the man who lay dead behind Clan Leader Nie and be done with this pain – to kill all the men of his past who touched him and bullied him and – and he distrusted Clan Leader Nie would stand by his side, despite all they'd shared.
"I-I…" Tears started flowing down his cheeks. He found himself enwrapped in the warm folds of Nie Mingjue's sleeves. The rest of the world was a distant fog.
By the time Meng Yao came to again, the others had driven the Wens out by now – with the sheer force of verbal exasperation if nothing else. They stood near Meng Yao and the Clan Leader in amazed silence as they embraced.
Nie Mingjue cleared his throat – once – to ask for some privacy.
Face flushed and cheeks raw, Meng Yao was ashamed as the nosy others reluctantly left the scene – especially Wei Wuxian and Huaisang, who had to be dragged out by Jiang Cheng. His lips parted slightly. The concern was blatant on Mingjue's face and in his shortened breaths. In spite of their current situation, Yao remembered being pinned by that dark stare a few days ago, his hands tied above his head, Mingjue's face buried in his crotch. The warm wetness, the embodied possession, the trust and desire that had made him into something he wasn't, and never thought he could be, given all those who had mistreated him before.
Understanding Meng Yao was at a loss for words, Mingjue held his hands. He closed his eyes, and breathed. Just breathed with him, in this space, their foreheads touching. When they cuddled late at night, wondering how much of their fates were defied by them being together at all – it was as if the rest of the world didn't exist, and they knew they were meant for each other all along. Nothing would tear them apart. But this last year – last few months especially – so much had changed in the world and in Qinghe. They'd lost sight of each other.
Considering where they'd been, and where they'd come from, they had to confront the demonic powers that threatened to poison them against each other, lest they plunge into a despair from which they could never return.
When Meng Yao finally pulled away from Mingjue, still crying but more lucid than before, there was an apology in his eyes.
"Before you say anything," Mingjue started, his gruff voice a little hitched from his own emotions brimming to the surface, "I want you to know that I… I love you very much."
Hearing those words for the first time, and how the Clan Leader struggled to say them, it was as though Yao understood human language for the very first time. He attacked Mingjue in a choking embrace, one that Mingjue returned with a firm arm around him, Baxia settling behind them. He buried his face in Meng Yao's robes.
A few teardrops spilled from his eyes, and onto his lover's neck.
SO… A few weeks ago I wrote a little NieYao fic called Within these Walls for Miru, my starshine my pussy snap my waifu annoying sibling bastard bitch face motherfucker idiot who's somehow still my friend after all these years despite drama, hardship, and overall general irritation. To my fucking expectation (because she said I could write whatever the fuck I wanted without specifying ANYTHING other than the pairing), she didn't like it, so I decided to write another one. We've been exchanging art with each other because I am also currently trying to write and plan a novel (link on my profile if you're interested), and she's been drawing fanart of my characters.
I was not expecting this story to blow up into TWELVE-THOUSAND WORDS, yet here we are. I'm surprised there aren't more fanfics for this pairing? Don't get me wrong, 3zun is great, but like, NieYao tho.
I hope you leave a like on the video, subscribe, fav, review, comment, follow – whatever the kids are callin' it these days, and that you have a fantastic life where Mingjue and Yao aren't fighting each other for a hundred years in Confucian/Daoist hell. I have done nothing but write this nonstop for the last FIVE DAYS now, neglecting literally everything else, it's currently 10:30PM at night and I still haven't eaten anything (go away Europeans where that isn't that late for an evening meal). Have a great fucking day, peace out.