MAJOR CONTENT WARNING for this chapter. It's somewhere near the middle. Thankfully this chapter was a lot easier to write than the last one. Also, I changed the scene between Yao and Huaisang in the previous chapter just a leeeeeetle bit. Hope you enjoy.
Bamboo stalks moistened his fingertips as he passed. Two white robes moved soundlessly in the early hours of dawn on a narrow path. Only the faint pattering of falling snow and softly-crunching footsteps broke through the fray. Clouds of fog ballooned from their mouths, rising between the near-oppressive bamboo forest. As his brother looked up, his grip tightened around his hand.
By the time the pathway opened, everything in the space before them was dusted in a light snow: the rocks, trees, the ground, even the ice over the river. Only some portions of running water remained black, striking against white alongside flashes of green and yellow bamboo splaying around the perimeter, lightening from the dim, greyish sky reflecting off the snow. They were entirely alone.
Standing there, a sense of calm fell over Xichen. Soon, they'd be summoned back to the palace for their daily activities – sword practice, meditation, hours of rote study. For now, the tentative wonder on his younger brother's face made Xichen smile.
Crouching to be eye-level with Wangji, Xichen carefully enunciated every word. "If ever you're overwhelmed by what Uncle asks, you can always rest here. Take in the scenery. Breathe deeply and reflect. I'll come find you. Don't ever forget."
Even at that age, Wangji hardly displayed any emotion on his face. He only stared as he nodded, but that was more than enough for Xichen. He squeezed Wangji's shoulder lightly, eyes crinkled.
When Xichen stood back up, their snowy surroundings had changed. Everything was brighter. The trickling water became loud in Xichen's ears. Small birds tittered near the edge of the frozen water, leaving imprints with their feet in the snow. Wooden clunks reverberated in the wintry breeze, the bamboo's outline almost menacing, encompassing the microcosmic world.
Below Xichen's feet, seeds began to take root in the soil. Buds burst above grainy dirt, toward sunlight and blue sky; the snow on the ground melted and the gardens flooded with color. The trees flowered yellow, pink, and white; the blossoms' faces swerved toward the vernal sun, were tickled by bees, the trees' shade frolicked under by dashing rabbits; and then, in a mad dash to drop seeds again, the leaves became gold, red, and orange, then faded into brown and grey, in preparation for snowfall.
The changes were imperceptible day-to-day, shifting slowly as sand sifts through a sieve, and at every change the river echoed in his ears, until it was almost deafening. Xichen stood frozen as he watched it all. Wangji was suddenly a man and no longer beside him, no longer held his hand. He heard screaming and there was blood all around him, painting the ground, no matter the season. There was terror and his gaze fixed on the anger and despair in his clansmen's faces, on the sight of his brother's hands, bloody and shaking, his lowered and impassible gaze. And no matter what Xichen did, he couldn't seem to protect him, nor anyone else, from the passage of time that melted that serene snowy morning. He couldn't run away from the smoke in his lungs and the fire in his hair, the pleading eyes of all those he couldn't save.
Flashes of serenity pierced tumultuous thoughts. Moments that made him feel that perhaps not all was in vain, that he was closer to life: The vague contentment radiating from his brother's face; the students who visited Cloud Recesses, in awe of rivers running through a dark and tapering mountainscape as if plucked from a painting. The warm protection of a stranger's home in Yunmeng, sharing scholarship and life stories. Or the cocky grin of Clan Leader Nie.
These moments stuck out to Xichen not because of their content, but for the general feeling of warmth around them. Stumbling through each day, not knowing whether he would ever find his way back, Xichen accepted whatever came his way with equanimity. He mourned being unable to seize these moments of warmth when they were directly before him as yet another victim of circumstance, but accepted his fate, knowing they would never truly be grasped.
Out of everyone, Clan Leader Nie stuck out in Xichen's mind. Like an anomaly that wasn't supposed to be there, Xichen was continuously drawn back to him.
His senior was never much talkative, though Xichen remembered when the young cultivator had been boisterous in his training and easily impressed. After taking his father's place as clan leader, though, the Nie heir comported himself with a solemn formality and dignified restraint that caused Xichen to question whether he was the same person. More often than not, at general meetings, Nie Mingjue sat back with his arms crossed over his chest, leaned against a wall while others spoke and made decisions without him. He only came forward to assert his own power in court as the final word. The man was hardly interested or involved in the decorum of clan court proceedings, merely wanting to get the job done and leave. Yet, he would approach Xichen later, after the proceedings were over, and Xichen was surprised and intrigued by this.
For some reason, Nie Mingjue was interested in Xichen's ideologies. He inquired over matters in Gusu, on Xichen's thoughts about leadership, on general court matters and the nature of clan traditions. Nie Mingjue listened to him with rapt attention and never belittled what Xichen said, even though Xichen was younger and not yet ascended as clan leader. What Nie Mingjue was looking for, Xichen couldn't say, but he sympathized with his senior.
He admired Nie Mingjue's perseverance to maintain Nie Clan's reputation despite the odds stacked against him, domestic and abroad – defending his home, his ancestors' honor, and upholding Nie Clan's established power as the purveyor of forthright justice in the land at such a young age. Though they rarely spoke of it, Xichen shared a certain kinship with Clan Leader Nie. Both of them were young cultivators of famous clans with a rich history, set to take over leadership – though Nie Mingjue a decade earlier. Together, they had a great responsibility on their shoulders, directing the tides of tradition and change, of stability and spontaneity. But Xichen wasn't one to think too hard about these things. Not even when he found himself and Nie Mingjue alone, on more than one occasion.
Compared to Clan Leader Nie, Xichen just memorized the precepts passed down to him and tried not to think too much about it. He didn't have to decipher right from wrong for all the clans in the land. Though he often wished he could save Wangji from the severity of their hereditary practice, and stop powers like that of Wen from rising and falling in the world, he could not. He could hardly direct the waves of time himself, despite his power, swept up in the tide.
Given his position, Clan Leader Nie struggled to determine right from wrong. It was very subtle, but when he and Xichen sat across from each other, sharing tea and conversation, the man averted his eyes and grit his teeth whenever he spoke about the Nie elders, his tone taut. It didn't take much to deduce what that was about. After losing the former Clan Leader Nie, the elders would be eager to secure the Nie family lineage in case the young master died equally young. The inner turmoil Nie Mingjue must have faced, taking care of his brother and an entire realm all alone, forced to grapple with becoming an adult while barely a man – when Nie Mingjue told Xichen the truth about the demonic cultivation of his legendary saber Baxia – how was he keeping it together, really? Xichen was appalled. With his reputation, mental state, honor for tradition, and own desires on the line, Clan Leader Nie teetered on an ever-shifting scale, unable to breathe for even a second.
Xichen still remembered that day, clearly.
How Nie Mingjue relayed to him without hesitation in the simplest of terms the torture Baxia subjected him to on a regular basis. He kept on speaking as if it was normal – as if Nie Mingjue had long accepted the hell his ancestors shunted upon him without his consent – so Xichen gave no reaction either. But, it was then Xichen understood just how desperately the Nie heir was trying to keep it together, ever since they had known each other.
Between their years apart, Xichen prepared to become Lan Clan's next leader. He shared moments like that with Clan Leader Nie afterward, too, which were telling. When Nie Mingjue gave him a heated confession in spite of what he'd been told and how he'd been raised, it didn't surprise Xichen in the slightest. It just made sense. How could he deny him?
But it soon faded from existence.
They each had their own duties, their own lives. They never mentioned it again, but Xichen knew Mingjue hadn't forgotten.
He hoped to share that kind of closeness again.
Years later, Xichen was delighted to hear news of an advisor that Nie Mingjue had acquired, someone he could trust and rely on to take care of matters in Qinghe alongside him. At least he wasn't entirely alone anymore!
Ever since the Wen invasion on Qinghe, though, the news surrounding this advisor turned to sinister and cruel rumors. They were like the things people would sometimes whisper about Wangji's emotionless visage, spread by people who merely didn't understand him. Xichen knew not to heed any of them. By the time Xichen arrived in Qinghe, he was pleased – and stupefied – to see said advisor was none other than the person who had helped him escape from the persecution of Wen Clan years ago, with whom he'd shared a warm hearth and lively discussion.
And, although Xichen disagreed with the rumors, suddenly, they made sense.
. . .
Yao fumed at the satisfaction that crossed Nie Mingjue's face as he clapped Lan Xichen on the shoulder. Apparently humiliating him in bed wasn't enough; the Clan Leader hoped to humiliate Yao in front of Xichen, too. How he'd strong-armed his way into Yao's room when he was already with a guest – Yao's blood chilled in his veins.
Oh, you think you can put me on display like this and expect me not to care? To accept my fate and do nothing?
In another life, Yao would have taken the place of Jin Zixuan as the esteemed son of Clan Leader Jin and made Nie Mingjue pay for this slight. He would've –
Oh?
Why was Nie Mingjue avoiding his eyes…?
"It's been so long!" Xichen exclaimed, shattering the beams of malice and confusion Yao transmitted through the air. "How are things?"
Clan Leader Nie shook his head. "Not good. As you know, there's been an increase in demonic possession spurred on by the backwards Wen conjurors. I've been culling them best as I can, but I can't stop them alone."
Xichen lowered his head in disbelief. "To believe they were so bold as to attack Qinghe…"
"It only makes sense they'd go so far seeing as they attacked Cloud Recesses all those years ago."
Clearly troubled, Xichen made a small noise in assent. He turned to Yao. "A-Yao, is it alright if Brother Mingjue joins us? I'm sure he's exhausted from his trip."
The tender and affectionate tone Xichen used to address both of them caught Yao off-guard, and again, he hesitated to answer, but Clan Leader Nie held up a hand.
"I don't want to interrupt anything. We can catch up later."
Nie Mingjue barely glanced at Yao as he turned and left, a glimmer of sorrow in his countenance.
…What?
Xichen took a half-step toward the door. "Brother Mingjue –!"
Why did he simply leave like that, as if he wasn't welcome?
As if this wasn't his palace and he could do as he pleased…
Was Clan Leader Nie hiding his anger?
Yao stood up as well, but it was too late. Nie Mingjue was already gone.
Xichen tipped his head to Yao in apology. "A-Yao, excuse me. It's been so long since I've seen him." Xichen hurried after him, leaving Yao to hover awkwardly.
What just happened?
Yao's thoughts churned in a ceaseless vortex. Nie Mingjue had seen how he was looking at Lan Xichen… he was sure of it. His not-so-subtle intrusion into Yao's room, aided by Xichen's nescience, held the familiar signs of Clan Leader Nie's balking indignation, his way of showing (or not showing) his sexual desire. The stages they set while sharing venereal passion conveyed Clan Leader Nie's frustration and anger with Yao's defiance of him more than anything.
Clan Leader Nie would always overwhelm him with carnal pleasure until Yao couldn't take it anymore and begged him for release – and only when Yao was beside himself with arousal would Nie Mingjue enter him and take what he was owed.
"Please use me, Clan Leader Nie…! Do whatever you want to me…!"
"I want you to fuck me – fuck me til you come – I want to please you –!"
"Please use me, please cum inside me – I want to be fucked by you –"
"I love it when you fuck me – I want to feel you inside me…! Please cum inside me, please –!"
After returning from the battlefield, the man must be tired and wanted to share in their usual passionate fury.
Shouldn't he be offended at Yao inviting another man into his room?
Even if they weren't doing anything wanton… by sharing laughter and smiles that weren't in the service of politics or clan reputation with Lan Xichen – shouldn't that be a betrayal of Nie Mingjue's dominion over him…?
Yao's legs were moving.
He overheard Clan Leader Nie and Lan Xichen talking quietly in a hallway a few turns down.
"– sure you're all right? I hope Baxia isn't bothering you too much after facing Wen's demonic army."
There was a kind of easy unguardedness about Clan Leader Nie's voice as he spoke to Xichen that Yao had never heard before.
"I'm fine. I'm just tired."
"I'll come by later with my guqin –"
"No really. It's fine."
"Brother Mingjue, I insist."
In the silence that followed, Yao ticked off one-by-one all the ways they'd broken each other's barriers of politeness in the span of five minutes.
"…All right."
Nie Mingjue's deflated tone only affirmed what was beginning to take shape in Yao's mind. Seconds, minutes, or hours could have passed between the final word and the moment Lan Xichen walked out his door, but Yao's mind was reeling too quickly to count.
Footsteps were heading in his direction and he panicked.
Hurrying back to his room, Yao prayed the flick of his grey robes didn't linger around the corner.
Seated at the square table in his room, he calmed himself enough to appear as though he'd been there leisurely sipping his tea the entire time. There was a gentle knock on his door. Yao stood to open it.
Lan Xichen was there. "My apologies, A-Yao. I didn't mean to rush off like that. Will you walk with me?"
Breathless, Yao nodded. "Yes, of course."
As he gathered his robes, the cultivators and other servants watching him faded away as Yao walked alongside Lan Xichen. They were too entranced by the Lan cultivator's grace and regal beauty to bother with him – or perhaps it was Yao who was entranced, and he just didn't notice them.
"I'm sure you already know this," Xichen spoke deliberately, "but Brother Mingjue is bad at speaking his mind. He's been facing a lot of pressure from the elders and his saber lately, but he's hardly the same person as before he appointed you as his vice general."
The cavity in Yao's chest deepened. Why was Lan Xichen saying this to him? It was as though he was purposely trying to make Yao feel guilty, knowing how he felt about Lan Xichen but not about Clan Leader Nie… The anxiety in Yao's head pounded out of control. Thorny vines locked around his heart.
"Zewu-jun, what kind of relationship do you have with Clan Leader Nie, if I might ask?"
Xichen smiled mysteriously. "He and I have known each other since we were young. We met at a general clan leader meeting. Most clan leaders' sons meet this way, you understand – we shared our dreams as future clan leaders, and spent a great deal of time together, but it's ancient history now. I remember when he brazenly challenged me to a duel, only to realize the two of us had completely different fighting styles, and thus our blades hardly clashed. But he never really found his groove as a leader, I would say, until the last few years." He didn't have to add "until he met you" for Yao to catch the meaning. Xichen trailed through the dark and musty halls of Qinghe with the same long, gentle gait and purifying presence as always.
Mindful of his own impulse to ask a more direct question, Yao didn't know how much of himself to reveal.
Was Lan Xichen aware of the rumors being spread about him and Nie Mingjue?
Did he already know the extent of those rumors' validity, and would he think differently of Clan Leader Nie should Yao reveal their relationship to him?
Yao remarked cryptically, "It sounds like you and Clan Leader Nie have been friends for a long time. I know the Clan Leader has avoided the matter of childbearing for years when asked by the Nie elders, focused on building Nie Clan's military recruitment and outer defenses… but I can't help but wonder if he hasn't taken an interest in what's expected of him due to some other reason as well – after all this time."
Xichen's response was immediate. "He's never been one to take much interest in women."
Oh, was that so…?
It occurred to Yao that he'd never cared to ask Nie Mingjue about his past relationships before. Yao had supposed – or assumed – that Nie Mingjue wanted to avoid childbearing because he was more interested in the throes of passion and sex, and since sharing that heat with a woman would have led to the obligation of raising a child long ago, that's why he preferred men. But if what Lan Xichen said was true, then…
Why was it still so difficult to share this space with Clan Leader Nie, but not Lan Xichen?
Yao's palms and face grew hot. "And what about you, Zewu-jun?"
"I don't have a preference either way."
The direct indirectness of Xichen's answer caught Yao off-guard. He feared he'd overstepped, given the lack of inflection in Xichen's voice. But when he looked over at him, Lan Xichen was calm as always, walking placidly beside Yao as always, a gentle smile on his lips – as always. He'd answered truthfully.
Yao gaped at him, wanting to say more. He wanted to reach out and take his hand, feel Xichen's slender fingertips against his own. But he didn't dare. The purity of Xichen's light was too blinding, untouchable. Unlike Clan Leader Nie, who was dark and obscured, inescapable, once swept up in his passionate fury.
Yao grimaced.
Over the last few days, he and Xichen had spent many hours together discussing life and philosophy, as they had years ago. And Yao's feelings for the Lan heir were more than intact – no.
His feelings had grown.
Walking alongside Xichen in Qinghe, Yao wondered where Xichen's boundaries were for talking about, well, anything. No matter what he said, the other always met his inquiries with honesty and earnest kindness. Years ago, Yao had hardly hesitated to tell him what had happened in Jinlintai. How his father had scoffed, waving a hand to the servants, a sharp kick sending him down three flights of stone stairs, each step driving a stake through his already battered soul. How golden robes glimmered at him mockingly from high above, too high for him to see in the daylight, his body hot and sticky with blood and shame…
Lan Xichen's unabashed sympathy upon Yao finishing his tale of woe was unwavering. He'd grasped his shoulder. They were words he would never forget:
"I'm sorry Clan Leader Jin can't see your worth. I know who you really are."
Yao lamented the fact that he didn't know whether Lan Xichen was this kind with everyone, or just him. The Lan heir's carefree grace pervaded his every motion, while Clan Leader Nie instilled Yao with excitement and terror, impossible to control, impossible to talk to…
As long as Yao was vice general in Qinghe, he wouldn't risk his position – he'd do whatever Clan Leader Nie asked – but his mind continually drifted back to the embrace he and Nie Mingjue had shared, surrounded by blood and fallen soldiers. To that first moment of budding hope, when Clan Leader Nie defended him in front of the others in the cave, to when fingers brushed against his cheek in the throne room, ever so tender.
He'd been truly safe and cared for then – as though this man, terse and harsh, wasn't like all the others. The moments they'd shared between then and now – alight with heat and anger and passion – ever since he planned to murder the captain of the guard – was it all a fluke?
Why did he stay in Qinghe if Nie Mingjue only kept him around as a concubine?
As his sex doll –?
When Lan Xichen looked over at him, Yao chased the stormy thoughts away. He smiled as Xichen bid him farewell and took the opposite path to his quarters.
Was he going to meet Clan Leader Nie?
…Yao tried not to think too much of it.
The thought that someone else could see Clan Leader Nie as a peer was unthinkable.
More unthinkable to Yao was the thought that Nie Mingjue would let them.
. . .
There was only one week before the Sunshot Campaign. The plan to capture Qishan would be led by Nie Mingjue, and clans across the land vowed to aid in besieging the Wen plague, to stop Wen charlatans from ever stepping foot outside the confines of their wicked walls again. As a result, Qinghe was bustling with major clan leaders who'd all left their homes to aid the cause, having lost family members, lovers, and friends alike to Wen treachery and wished to take revenge – but Mingjue was too occupied with other things.
Baxia's influence swirled over him like a hurricane.
As the driving force of the attack, he didn't know if he would return alive. Would he ever get to resolve things with Meng Yao…?
The Nie elders had granted him a momentary reprieve during the campaign, but Mingjue knew they would nag on him fourfold once he returned – if he returned. Maybe they didn't need to worry after all, though, given the growing distance between him and Meng Yao. Knowing the other had feelings for Xichen.
Mingjue didn't want to admit how much it broke his heart.
He sat over one side of his bed with his head in his hands.
Ever since the Wen invasion, he regretted not being able to reach out to Meng Yao sooner, in the way he needed. If only Baxia's influence on him was less… maybe he could be the lover Meng Yao needed, without the emotional arousal that would lead to his detriment. It was the most vital aspect of his cultivation training, stifling feelings of desperation and romance, for such travails were the downfall of many Nie clan leaders before him, over women and men alike.
What if the distance between him and Meng Yao, caused by that afternoon, was unable to be mended…?
They'd had sex again, but nothing had been resolved in the end.
Nie Mingjue heard a knock at his door, and for a moment his heart pattered hopefully in his chest. But he knew Meng Yao wouldn't knock at this hour if he wanted to speak with him.
"Come in."
Xichen entered with his guqin.
They hadn't seen each other much lately, but as Xichen sat across from him, Mingjue was content under the influence of Xichen's graceful notes. At least one person didn't resent him or objectify his desires.
It was a long time ago now, but Mingjue still remembered the Lan cultivator's nimble fingers and piquant breath.
It had only been a few times, back when they were still discovering themselves, back when they'd hardly been young men. Mingjue had been too ashamed to admit his attraction for the longest time, so it had been Xichen who finally noticed. As their first experience with another male, they'd both been nervous, but at least they were on equal ground. Xichen always seemed more confident when it came to these things, though. It seemed Xichen had never much been swayed by the harshness of his family's traditions – perhaps because he'd never faced its true wrath – or perhaps because he'd already seen the worst of it. Regardless, after their mutual exploration, Mingjue was grateful the two of them could still speak on normal terms.
The others he'd lain with were nowhere to be found – and for the most part, Mingjue thought that was for the better.
And then there was Meng Yao.
How could he face him knowing the other didn't feel the same way…?
. . .
Amidst Xichen's playing, something changed in Mingjue's face. Xichen's fingers slowly came to a halt on his guqin.
"Brother Mingjue, what's wrong? Normally Baxia doesn't bother you nearly this much."
Opening his eyes, Mingjue inhaled deeply. His fingers tightened on his knees.
Xichen was sure he was debating how much to tell him.
"I…"
Xichen put his mind at ease. "It's Meng Yao, isn't it?"
Mingjue looked at him in alarm.
Xichen ran his fingers over the guqin strings with one hand, a stringy twang vibrating through the air. He endeavored to keep his expression calm as both hands fell to his lap. "I figured you wouldn't trust so much to someone who wasn't close to you."
"What… have you heard?"
"What do you think I've heard, Brother Mingjue?"
Mingjue frowned at Xichen's ambiguity. "Whatever it is, it's probably true."
Xichen jolted at that. "Really? You have been having relations with your advisor?"
Mingjue's pensive silence was his answer.
Unsure what to feel, Xichen looked back down at the guqin strings. "…I never suspected it would be him."
"You… already knew of Meng Yao?"
Xichen nodded. "Yes. He's the one who protected me from the Wen invasion on Gusu while in Yunmeng."
Mingjue's further contemplation squeezed Xichen's heart. He was worried about being left behind, about being unable to seize this moment. The icy casing around his body fractured. Shards of ice melted into water as they hit the ground, warm with sunlight.
He wouldn't miss any more opportunities.
. . .
If Xichen and Meng Yao lived together that long, then no doubt the Lan heir understood what Meng Yao's sexuality was like. Had they…?
It didn't really matter. Mingjue settled for a less intrusive question instead.
"What do you think of him… then?"
Xichen tilted his head to one side. "He's a kind person. I feel pity for him." Mingjue guessed that confirmed it. Xichen wasn't one to hide such things, should it have happened. Perhaps Meng Yao just wasn't his type? Xichen continued, his tone somber. "He wasn't recognized by his father despite his best efforts, and was humiliated in front of everyone. Can you imagine?"
Mingjue thought for a moment. Yes, it was sad. But when he thought of Meng Yao, to him the other was anything but pitiable. Meng Yao was more assertive about speaking his mind in court than Mingjue, something Mingjue admired him greatly for – but more than that, there was something about him, something inexplicable that grabbed Mingjue's attention from the start, told him there was more to the young man than he would ever find out. That this was someone who would change his life, if only he let him. "…That's why I offered him the position of vice general," Mingjue realized aloud.
Xichen glanced at him.
Mingjue shifted in his seat. "Things have been… tense between us lately," he admitted. "He… Not too long ago, Meng Yao told me my captain of the guard was bullying him, but only after the man was already dead." Mingjue bit his lip. Only now, did he accept his powerlessness in the fact. His remorse ripped through him like a blade, knowing Meng Yao suffered alone.
Why didn't he tell him?
. . .
Sensing Mingjue's disquiet, Xichen reached across the table. His sleeves brushed over the strings of his guqin, making faint noises, but Mingjue didn't flinch away. His hand rested on Mingjue's, then crept underneath his sleeve, onto his arm. He leaned forward and stroked the larger man's neck lightly.
Mingjue glanced at him, his lips twerking to one side in shyness.
Just like back then, as Xichen guided him, he was slow. His hands led Mingjue high above into the clouds, where they both gasped and groaned; and like back then, they stroked each other, but with less hesitation this time.
It was nothing like what it was with Meng Yao. And Mingjue was beholden to the man before him, thankful to be able to share this kind of warmth with someone else, even if the love they shared was quite different from the fiery rage he held with the young advisor.
Xichen saw Mingjue losing himself and was honored to provide such comfort for the older man – he knew not the full extent of Nie Mingjue's grievance with Meng Yao, but he was sure they'd be able to work it out eventually.
Xichen was glad to flit between lovers for spontaneous moments like these – even if he wanted more.
It was all he was good for, it seemed.
. . .
Yao tossed and turned in his bed.
He was back home, in the one place that really felt like "home" after all this time, even after all that had happened there.
His mother was singing a lullaby to him in their room as she stroked his head, her fingers loving and careful, her tones stretching and calm. The walls were covered in a crimson velvet, the wooden furnishings holding the distinct smell of body odor. The veil over the four poster bed obscured his view of the door, but he didn't want to leave. Not for a thousand years. He was a teenager now, and could no longer hide the maturity of his body. His mother couldn't protect him from the lecherous appetites of men either, nor could he protect her.
Eventually, the door opened.
An apprentice came in to tell Yao's mother she had a client waiting. Yao was told to leave the room.
Choking back sobs but face blank, Yao hugged and kissed her. The apprentice directed him to a hidden staircase, located somewhere in the back, where no one would see him leave. The child of a prostitute was an eyesore and a bother, after all.
In the stingy hallway before exiting out the backdoor, Yao found a young man waiting there. Yao ran up to him. They embraced.
Hardly anyone used the back staircase. It wasn't long before the other's hands were around his groin, and though anxiety was pounding in the back of his skull as he was pinned against a wall, the other's lips trailing up and down Yao's neck and shoulder, he became aroused.
Yao gasped in surprise as the other lifted his skirts and pushed into him, hardly prepared. It stung immensely, stunning him into silence, but soon the pain subsided, and Yao enjoyed it. He hardly made a sound, too scared to do so.
Once it was over, Yao shook from the ache in his spine and the unsteadiness of his legs. He slid to the ground, his hands dragging down the wall. Though the other tried to console him with light touches and nice words, Yao could only nod.
He hadn't wanted to, really. But he didn't realize until afterward – until the pain of his mother's absence returned and the memory of men who were harsher but just as duplicitous possessed his mind. If this was all he could get, perhaps it was better than nothing though – right?!
Yao stood, away from the other's grasp.
One of the many he'd shared passion with, forcibly or not, too embarrassed and confused to say what was wrong, too young to know whether something was wrong. He only knew that the heat they shared felt necessary, that he had to cave to the desires of men if he wanted to be loved by another man. The one before him wasn't much bigger than he, yet Yao was still afraid of what he could do to him if he didn't comply – like the many others who cornered him in the streets, unawares.
Abruptly, Yao stepped back as the other stepped forward in this dark and dingy stairwell. His arms flew to his chest protectively.
No, he wouldn't let him touch him again.
He would protect himself, even if no one else would.
He dashed out of the backdoor of the brothel, away from the other's shouts after him. Only when he was many streets away did he collapse in an alleyway and cry.
He didn't care how much mud he got on his clothes. He didn't care who saw him, as long as they didn't think of using him themselves.
He was allowed to have this moment, at least.
But not when he returned home.
In front of his mother, he would conduct himself with the same gravitas as always.
He wouldn't let the other women catch on.
He didn't want his mother to worry.
The alley bent and reshaped from the watery film of his tears. The walls became dark, inky, wavering. Black shapes emerged. Rotund and oozing like tar, white eyes glinted at him, rising up from the shadows. Yao stood up.
This wasn't how this memory was supposed to go.
Normally, he noticed others gawking at him from the street, quickly wiped his face, brushed off his robes, and hurried back to find his mother still with a client. The other women jeered at him as he reentered the brothel through the front door in such a gross and sorry state, where their customers could see him, and sent him to a back room, out of sight, where he would sit for hours, occupying himself with some scroll, praying the young man from before would never come find him again.
Now, Yao trembled as he took a few steps back in the wobbly alleyway. His heel caught on something on the ground and he fell down, onto his rear. He spun around. Nie Mingjue was standing there, his face hidden by light streaming from the street. People no longer passed by him. There was no one else at all. Baxia was drawn at Clan Leader Nie's side.
Whispers descended on Yao as he turned back to the shadowy alley behind him. Demonic appendages now extended, like coiling fingers, reaching out to grasp his ankles. Yao kicked them away, but only more emerged from the disturbance. Despite his thrashing, they succeeded in locking around him, and he was pulled backwards.
On his stomach, he reached out to Nie Mingjue's shadowy figure, standing over him.
"Please, help me! Help me!"
He couldn't recognize his own voice, laced with childlike despair. Dirt and pebbles scraped his legs and chest as he was pulled away. Nie Mingjue stood imposingly, like a statue, radiating resentful energy, not lifting a finger.
Yao screamed.
Glancing behind him, he saw the hellish glow of shadows and fire and more hands, some attached to vaguely-recognizable faces: wanton demons whose expressions were forever etched in his mind. Those he wanted to eliminate.
The captain of the guard was there in the front, his face oozing with blood and darkness, like the day he was killed. He reached out to grab Yao around the throat as the hands pulled him closer, silencing his cries.
Yao awoke in his bed, shivering with terror and drenched in cold sweat. Fear coursed through him from head-to-toe.
For a moment, he was still there, in the streets of Yunping. The faces on the walls sneered at him, taunting his distress at such an old memory.
Yao sat up, bringing his hands to his head. He willed the images to go away, hearing their whispers, the ones who devoured him, used him over and over – even the ones who were nicer to him.
They all turned out to be the same in the end.
Yao stared through his fingers and the figures dancing before his eyes, the threads of tangled hair framing his vision.
Nie Mingjue's effigy watched him as he was dragged.
Yes.
They were all the same in the end.
Every.
Last.
One of them.
"You're right. I don't think those things are worth killing someone over when there are other ways to bring a man to justice."
How many times had he been made a fool before Nie Mingjue?
"I'm sorry not everyone can justify the murders they carry out with dogmatic morality honed by Nie clan leaders for centuries."
"Be careful, Meng Yao."
How many times more?
"What's that?"
"Please, I want you inside me, Clan Leader Nie. Please fuck me."
Yao leapt from his bed as if shocked with electricity.
He haphazardly took out robes meant for travel and wrapped the layers over his shoulders. Not bothering to tie his hair, he dashed down the halls with a lantern in hand, to the palace courtyard, away from the whispers in his bed and the eyes on the walls and the faces that kept laughing at him, who only wanted him to hurt.
He didn't bother taking any provisions as he opened the secret exit out of Qinghe, a pathway through the side of the mountain, should there ever be an invasion from which they couldn't escape. In a labyrinthine tunnelway, he slipped on slick stones more than once, nearly shattering his lantern, but got up and kept going, despite the bruises that appeared on his hands and knees.
He needed to getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetout –
He needed to breathe some air.
He needed to – to – to –
When Yao found himself on the other side of the tunnel, the voices calmed down.
He was in a mountainside forest.
He was utterly alone.
Yao exhaled in relief, running from the tunnel extending infinitely behind him, back to his prison of metal and stone. The stony door hung open on ancient hinges, radiating resentful energy, as if he fled from poisonous gas.
After getting a considerable distance away, Yao collapsed against a tree, dropped the lantern, buried his head in his hands and sobbed.
He really was a nobody after all. Someone whose pain would never be recorded in any tome or history book, just another commoner who thought he deserved more in the ways of nobility and revenge, when in actuality, no god or ancestor was smiling down on him. They weren't even looking.
He didn't know how long he sat there, wiping his nose on his sleeves. A twig snapped in the forest, soon drowning out any of his thoughts.
Heart racing, Yao searched his surroundings for any sign of movement and saw nothing. After a moment, however, he felt the glowing presence of a predator watching its prey.
Yao stood up, and slowly lifted his lantern into the darkness.
He heard an infant's cry.
The secret door back to the palace lay only a hundred paces away, but he wasn't ready to go back there just yet, knowing the voices and faces would return. His every instinct told him to run away, but Yao couldn't stop his manic curiosity, urging him recklessly into the dark.
Was that really a baby's cry?
That's probably how I sounded when I was a child, he thought. When his mother fought thick and thin to keep him, staking her own life on it. If she could no longer bring in clientele due to her pregnancy, she would have been kicked out to die on the streets, of course. And no one wanted to hire a former prostitute.
A voice inside told him to turn away, that what he was hearing was the hypnotic effect of some devil of trickery – but the lull of his memories was so intoxicating. He didn't listen.
If he died, he wouldn't have to think about any of the men who used him again. Or the fact that Xichen was too far to be grasped. Nor Nie Mingjue's statue-like visage.
He wouldn't be forced to remember his mother, his father, his loss.
He could finally be at peace.
On the barren mountainside forest, Yao's lantern unveiled a narrow, bony face.
His eyes trained upward as he heard a low, threatening whine.
. . .
When Nie Mingjue stirred at someone tapping rapidly on his door, he was groggy and half-asleep, ill-tempered from having been roused. "What?!"
"Ah, Big Bro!"
Mingjue almost tuned out whatever Huaisang was blabbering on about until he caught the urgency in his brother's voice.
"Wait, wait, wait. Slow down. What happened to Meng Yao?"
"He just left without saying anything!" Huaisang cried. "I don't know where he went, but I can't find him anywhere, and neither can any of the servants! Someone said they saw him rushing through the halls with a lantern, but no one can find him anywhere!"
Mingjue froze.
Before him, Huaisang, the doorframe, and the hallway behind zoomed out, becoming minuscule and untraceable.
He'd made another mistake.
"Please find him, Big Bro! Meng Yao would never leave without telling anyone, not unless something was really wrong! Ever since I got back from indoctrination camp, he's seemed kinda absent, so please –!"
Huaisang didn't finish his sentence. With how his eyes fell to the ground, for the first time, Mingjue understood the depth of the bond the two of them had grown – something he'd always been aware of, but scarcely acknowledged, too caught up in his leadership duties and his and Meng Yao's passionate throes.
Meng Yao's playful deviousness didn't just alleviate the burden of demonic cultivation on Mingjue, but helped his younger brother feel less alone.
Mingjue straightened his back, taking in his brother's worried and anxious form.
"I'm sorry," Mingjue said, startling Huaisang. Whatever was happening between him and Meng Yao had affected Huaisang too.
"E-eh, what are you talking about, Big Bro…?"
"It's my fault. I'll find him. I'll talk to him."
"Ah, why would you say it's your fault…?"
Mingjue waved him off, not wanting to say more. There was no time. He closed the door, went back inside and grabbed his robes. Xichen was no longer in his room; he'd drifted back to his own sometime in the afternoon, elusive as always. That was fine with Mingjue.
In battle-ready, loose-fitting grey robes, he opened the door again.
"Wake Lan Xichen and tell him to look after Qinghe until I return."
"E-eh –?"
"Do it!" Mingjue yelled behind him as he rushed to the throne room. Baxia sat in its holder, quivering with demonic rage. Mingjue approached the saber beside the throne and unsheathed it unhesitatingly, bombarded by a torrent of resentful energy. Voices berated him for allowing Meng Yao to run off like this, for being such a failure of a leader in needing to rely on Xichen, such a failure of a lover that he couldn't even –
Mingjue shook off the demon's torment.
There was something more important right now.
No one had seen Meng Yao exit the front gate – doing so would have required tens of men to lift it – so Mingjue rushed to the only other exit. Sure enough, it appeared someone had messed with the ancient passageway earlier; the cobwebs and stones, previously untouched for decades, were no longer set so perfectly in place.
Sheathing Baxia behind him, Mingjue ducked into the darkness and felt his way through the narrow path. Time to time, Baxia sniggered at him, clinging to the slick walls, whenever worry overcame his senses – but Mingjue wrested the pit of voices into submission every time.
No, there was no time.
There was no time.
What if Meng Yao was in danger?
What if he was too late?
. . .
Yao was terrified of the creature before him – but at the same time there was nothing more terrifying to him than human men.
Gnashing its teeth, the beast twitched its head from side to side mechanically, like a bird; its face was exposed flesh and bone. It cooed like an infant every now and then, offsetting its horrifying appearance, and yellow eyes pierced the dark, sizing Yao up as taloned hands grasped large tree branches above him, somehow holding its weight. Large shoulders cloaked in ratted feathers shifted from side to side before the creature hopped onto the ground, making the earth rumble below Yao. He stumbled back.
Though the beast bent its head down to be face-level with him, its lumbering, arched form was half the height of the trees on the sloped ground, many feet taller. As the creature sniffed the air, the malodor of iron and rotting flesh hit Yao's nostrils. There was fresh blood and carnage speckled on its exposed, bony face, a presage of recent, past kills.
As the creature's feathers beat rhythmically in the moonlight – allowing Yao to see more of the monster's form. It possessed fur, too, its body dark brown and spotted. Horns protruded from its exposed skull in a chaotic tumble.
Yao nearly dropped his lantern, gawking at the monster. Was it real or just a hallucination?
Perhaps this thing that sounded harmless, like a baby, was just the zenith of his visions in the palace, and he was actually going mad.
When the thing stretched its head and neck high, its infernal, xanthous gaze ready to strike down on Yao's mortal form, his heart jumped into his throat.
Finally, he regained the feeling in his legs and his survival instincts.
He dropped the lantern, as it would only weigh him down, and clamored toward the opening in the mountainside. It was now farther away than when he first heard the monster's cry. He didn't get very far when he heard a screech and a claw caught him around the leg. He inhaled dirt and yellow grass as the creature's other sharp claw took him around the throat. He was petrified as he stared into those rapacious yellow eyes, devoid of any human feeling. The creature sat on haunches as it raised its head, preparing for the first – and last – blow.
Yao squeezed his eyes shut.
. . .
The creature became distracted.
Yao opened his eyes and suddenly it screamed, flinging him onto the ground over twenty feet away. Yao was in a daze as the hulking creature battled with a man, their figures blinking back-and-forth in the light of the lantern and the dodging, white moonlight. The man waved his sword and yelled, but jagged, bony teeth sank into his shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain, and by his voice Yao realized the man was Nie Mingjue.
Yao lurched up from his dazed position – he wanted to help – but found he was too exhausted to lift his head, let alone his entire body.
He was useless.
Why was he here, defending him…?
Again?
Yao's fingers dug helplessly into the dirt below him, endeavoring to lift himself, to reach out to Nie Mingjue, whose swings were slowing down, his body bleeding. Yao lifted his torso slightly before falling again. The beast was slowing down too – its blood poured onto the ground from large gashes in its thick hide, its neck craning and feet circling as it lunged for Clan Leader Nie again and again – but Yao knew he couldn't keep up with it forever. Baxia was only slicing the beast, unable to pierce its heart deep within.
No, please, Yao thought as he tried again to stand, surprising himself. Please, I can't – you can't –!
Thankfully, he didn't get to finish that thought.
The white robes of Lan Xichen arrived on the scene, and together he and Clan Leader Nie corralled the beast farther into the forest. Realizing it was outnumbered and overpowered, the creature let out a deafening shriek before it lumbered away, the click of its teeth and snap of its wings carrying it into the darkness.
Xichen was the first to look back at Yao. He rushed to his side, and Yao couldn't stop himself. He clung to Xichen like a child, who hugged him tightly.
When they pulled away, Nie Mingjue was standing there, covered in blood.
Baxia was at his side.
Though he was darkened by the lantern light at his back, the main emotion on his face was exhaustion. He breathed heavily – but there was something else. Relief too.
The man fell to his knees, Baxia supporting his upper weight, and Xichen called out to ask if he was all right.
Nie Mingjue tried to answer, when blood gurgled in his throat. He spat a lump of red liquid onto the forest floor.
Stunned, Yao found the strength to crawl toward him.
Blood dripping from his mouth, Nie Mingjue looked up at him, a little skeptical. Mostly disbelieving.
Questioning, fear, and sorrow flashed across the man's face, and Yao wondered what he looked like to Nie Mingjue now, covered in dirt, having fled the palace in a manic state.
His fingers itched to reach out to him, to say something, anything, but he didn't know what. What could he say that would be truthful in this moment? After everything he'd been through…?
The older man sputtered, "I'm glad that you're all right." Then his grip slackened. He slipped and fell onto Yao, making him bend under his weight. Yao took him under the shoulders. It took all of his strength just to be able to hold him up like this, being so much bigger than him, being so small and weak himself. Though the other was covered in blood, Yao whiffed Nie Mingjue's familiar scent, the husk of heavy rainfall and lava-drenched earth. Immediately, he felt calm.
He hugged Nie Mingjue, tears in his eyes, though he wasn't entirely sure why.
After a while, Xichen appeared beside him and helped him lift him up. They limped back toward the entrance into the palace, and together, they carried him inside.
. . .
Wei Wuxian's unruliness was getting out of hand. Their attitude had always been unconventional, but it concerned Xichen that Wangji knew nothing about it; weren't the two of them close? If they were using some kind of demonic tool, then surely Wangji would…
No…
Xichen knew very well: Neither of them could stop those they loved from practicing dangerous tricks, even if they wanted to. They could only wait for the perfect opportunity to step in and help. Though it's not like Nie Mingjue chose the path of demonic cultivation, hardly a boy when the responsibility was thrust onto him by his father's death…
Yao's reticence toward Nie Mingjue's behavior was incomprehensible. Even after they returned to the palace and Clan Leader Nie was situated in a bed, tended to by the royal healers, as Yao stayed at his side, Xichen noticed his conflicted expression.
Ever since they met in Yunping, Yao had always been a bit of a question mark to him, but now even doubly so. The hesitant curiosity with which Yao spoke to him, head tilted, as if too afraid to look at him directly. Yet Xichen never imagined Yao's personality would come about in how he asked his tactful bold questions. He wanted to know the details of Lan way of life, to hear more about the world outside of Yunmeng, and Xichen's philosophies on people and the Dao…
To believe Yao had come so far as to follow his advice to go to Qinghe, rising to the rank of second-in-command, and as Clan Leader Nie's lover…
Back then, Xichen had found it cute, the way Yao busied himself with his chores in his house and decorum in Xichen's presence – if a little awkward. Sometimes, Xichen wished he could approach others without worrying about overstepping an unspoken boundary. Is that how Yao and Clan Leader Nie had…?
Whenever he passed Nie Mingjue's room in the coming days, as the man was unconscious, Xichen hesitated, seeing how Yao lingered at his side. Even if Yao's worry didn't show on his face, Xichen saw it clearly in his movements, which were small and withdrawn.
"I'm sure he'll be fine," Xichen said, jolting Yao out of a stupor at Nie Mingjue's bedside.
Yao said nothing, so Xichen placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
The other smiled. So did Xichen.
"The campaign is so soon," Yao said finally. His voice was flat, but Xichen heard the implicit question in it: "Will he be able to fight?"
"You should get some rest."
Yao sighed. He wanted to reach up and hug the great cultivator beside him, like he had after Xichen and Nie Mingjue chased away the beast in the mountainside forest, but he still couldn't. After all this time.
Xichen opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself.
Huaisang entered. "Meng Yao, how's Big Bro?"
"Ah, he still hasn't awoken, but the healers said he should regain consciousness soon."
"That's a relief…"
Xichen left to allow the two youngsters to fuss over Nie Mingjue, but Yao watched Xichen's back recede longingly as he left.
Xichen didn't notice.
. . .
Xichen should disapprove of Nie Mingjue's relationship with Meng Yao. A shred of jealousy arose instead, like a drop of oil rising to the surface of a languid, crystalline pool. A relationship of Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao's caliber, given the amount of people who knew about it and the rumors being spread about them all across the land, would never be tolerated in Lan Clan. Unwritten law or not, any clan leader who dared abuse their power in such a way would be publicly reprimanded and punished gravely.
Even so, that didn't stop blooms of oil from unsettling the peaceful waters of Xichen's mind.
To experience what it felt like to be caught in a game of love so thrilling that nothing else mattered, just once…
Perhaps I tampered with it too much already, he thought, knowing how he had shared warm intimacy with Nie Mingjue hours before Meng Yao went missing…
He wouldn't ruin what they had with his own desires, even if he fancied them both, even if he was more comfortable and content with them than with anyone else – more so than with his own brother.
Besides, would Yao even feel the same way?
He probably liked more manlier men than he, judging by his taste in Clan Leader Nie.
Oh well. Most important was ensuring Lan's people were protected and Wangji was safe – though the younger Lan cultivator was getting too old to be schooled anymore. He could pursue his own path, make his own choices… and when that happened, who would Xichen have then?
Unlike Nie Mingjue, Xichen fully intended to provide Lan Clan an heir eventually, but only once the time was right. Other Lan cultivators would respect that, since they respected and trusted him in general clan-related matters. Still, he preferred not to flit between lovers forever, nor settle for someone who was only subpar or average, even if that's what was expected of him. If there was a chance he could make a change in someone else's world – or just his own – Xichen would.
Until then, he would do what he could to provide whatever help he could to those around him – even if it felt all for naught.
. . .
Their screams accompanied him in his sleep – men, women, and children who reached out to him in anguish, their faces blackened, their eyes rolled back, bloody and shrieking as they crawled to him on hands and knees. After using Baxia to fend off the mountain beast, the toll for its power was tenfold, kicking back on all his insecurities like a maelstrom of thoughts.
He heard his father's cries and saw his disappointment, heard those he wasn't able to save; screaming women, bawling children, bleeding men; and he saw Meng Yao's devious grin as he watched him suffer, joyous at the sight.
Mingjue thrashed, suffocating as arms closed around his body, pulling him under the same cosmic rivers he paddled through as a boy. Except, this time, they were filled with the bodies of those he'd killed.
"Clan Leader Nie!"
It took Mingjue more than a few moments to realize the voice came from reality and not his dreams. Slowly, his room came into focus. The arms around him weren't arms at all, but blankets and bandages. He looked around, feeling crazy, trying to spot the agents of his torment in real life near the walls. A woman sat at his bedside.
Mingjue blinked, wondering if his eyes just weren't focusing, and the woman was actually Meng Yao – they were about the same height, had the same hair and complexion – but no. This woman wasn't quite as graceful as he, and her face was different. She was the royal healer.
Mingjue exhaled, stilling his raging heart.
"You're finally awake. Clan Leader Nie, you're still healing, so you shouldn't make any sudden movements. You can stand when you're ready, but go slowly. The beast left punctures on your arms and chest, and cracked a few of your bones in your arms and two of your ribs, but it was your cultivation that caused the most overall physical damage. Now that your energy is mostly replenished, you should be able to move around without issues within the next week."
Not wanting to speak, Nie Mingjue nodded to her in thanks. He didn't want to admit his annoyance at seeing her instead of a certain someone else she resembled quite closely.
Bowing to him, the healer gathered her things and left his room.
Thinking back on the scuffle with the creature in the mountain, Mingjue was about to sink into a pit of self-pity at his dereliction, seeing as no one had waited at his bedside for him to wake while he was out, when the door opened.
"Clan Leader Nie."
Meng Yao was dressed in a hanfu with many layers, and bowed to him as he entered. Mingjue was sitting up with his back against the bedframe. Rather than donning a long-sleeved hanfu like usual, Meng Yao wore something similar to the travel clothing Mingjue had found him in on the mountainside: dark, but with flecks of white and lighter greys around the hems. The change in wardrobe was striking, but Mingjue was more concerned with Meng Yao's expression, which was cool and tentative.
Mingjue was dressed in a light grey robe, which loosely covered the bandages on his chest, over his lacerated arms and shoulders.
When Meng Yao came forward, there was a difference in his step too – keen, icily soft, rather than vibrant and alluring. Mingjue didn't know what to do or say as Meng Yao sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him, clearly waiting for something. He sensed the tension between them.
"Nothing to say?" Meng Yao teased. When he tilted his head forward in humor, the braids in his hair eased Mingjue's anxiety somewhat.
Mingjue figured he'd already said enough. He was glad to see the other was all right. That's what mattered most. But he remembered the last time they slept together, heated insults and competing lust clattering the bed – and Mingjue wondered how much of it was real, or if it was just an elaborate play Meng Yao acted out for some twisted sense of subordinate duty.
"You're in love with Xichen."
Meng Yao's expression became apologetic, but he said nothing.
"When I get back from Qishan, you can decide what you want to do."
"Clan Leader Nie," Meng Yao said loudly, aloof. "It's come to my attention that you're planning to go to Qishan and besiege Scorching Sun Palace. As your vice general, I insist upon coming with you."
"Absolutely not," Mingjue denied, shaking his head. "It'll be too dangerous."
For a moment, Meng Yao remained silent. Then he leaned forward on the bed, planting one of his hands beside Mingjue's knee, which lay under the sheets. Mingjue twitched, surprised by the air around them. Meng Yao spoke softly, with a chafing tone. "I'm not sure you're in the position to argue with me, given your current state."
Mingjue almost wanted to snap back, "And whose fault is that?" but he didn't blame Meng Yao for it – no, not really. If anything, he blamed himself.
"Why do you want to come with me?"
Meng Yao's hair slipped into the space between his arm and the bed as he leaned forward. "I'm tired of being left to take care of matters in the palace while you defend our borders. When I became vice general, I imagined more military excursions. That was how we first met, after all."
"You always had more aptitude for housekeeping, though."
"True. But no more."
Mingjue couldn't fathom Meng Yao's assertiveness on this matter. The other wasn't normally so demanding when it came to his tasks, carrying out whatever Mingjue asked without hesitation or complaint. It grated on Mingjue's patience that he was doing so now, not knowing his intentions, not knowing whether the two of them were even still an item. Knowing his feelings for Xichen.
"Fine."
Meng Yao leaned back on the bed, a flicker of amazement on his face. He quickly hid it though; the cool mask slid back on easily.
Mingjue closed his eyes and folded his hands on his lap. "Why did you run away, anyway?"
This question made Meng Yao lower his gaze, but only slightly. "I regret that you had to come find me," Meng Yao muttered. "I'm sorry, Clan Leader."
Again, Mingjue wanted to touch him, to hold him close, let him cry out whatever emotions he was holding back. But still, he couldn't. After everything, Mingjue could do it no longer. "No, I'm sorry."
Yao watched him again with a nonplussed expression, flabbergasted by his response. "I am… grateful to you, but we…" Meng Yao trailed off. He wouldn't shatter this moment, but he was cautious, not knowing what else to do.
And as Mingjue sat there, he smiled like an idiot, and couldn't understand why. "I'm glad you'll be coming with me," he said truthfully, feeling the ache in his bones, in his loosening mind. He definitely wouldn't be able to face Wen Ruohan and siege Qishan in his current state alone.
Yao opened his mouth. He wanted to assure the man in front of him that he wouldn't leave him no matter what – that he would always keep a watchful eye on Qinghe, even if he was far away – but he didn't want to make false promises. Yao couldn't say for sure.
"Aren't you too?" he finally squeaked instead.
"Am I what?"
"In love with Xichen."
Mingjue thought. "I was, once. We're still close, but we haven't seen each other much since becoming clan leaders."
Yao saw the twinkle in his eye, though. He couldn't hide it – and Yao couldn't stop himself. He leaned forward and kissed the older man on the lips.
It turned sloppy and wet, but not from their lips making contact – he was crying.
Nie Mingjue's eyes were misty, and he tried to clasp Meng Yao's neck and pull him close again, but the other swiftly broke off contact and pushed away his hand.
Mingjue blinked in confusion and hurt, but on Meng Yao's face wasn't trepidation or fear. A gentle smile played across his lips, in spite of Mingjue's tears.
"Please don't leave me again," Mingjue gasped aloud. His gruff voice was even more gargly than usual.
Yao surprised himself with his reluctance, still not wanting to lie.
"I'll try."
I've been trying to think what the difference is between my versions of Yao and Nie Mingjue versus canon. I guess Yao is more aware of how his experiences affect him, and more willing to forfeit his life in favor of upholding an image of himself? In canon, I feel his main motivation is self-preservation, except when it comes to toying with Nie Mingjue. As for Nie Mingjue, I think he's also more aware of his demonic cultivation. Leave it to me to make canon characters more introspective haha.
Sorry there hasn't been much of Xichen yet, but I'm still figuring him out (as he's figuring himself out). As I said, writing this chapter was a lot easier than the previous, and quite fun – researching what mythical beast could attack Yao was a blast! The monster is based on a gudiao (蛊雕), by the way, if you want to look it up.
Right now, I can see this fic having at least one more chapter, and at most two more. I hope y'all have been enjoying it so far because I've been having a great (if painful) time imagining what these idiots would get up to if they actually tried to work things out. I've also been learning a lot in the process in terms of worldbuilding and revealing backstory~
I hope you'll leave your thoughts below! It would make me very happy. uwu