The battlefield was ghastly, filled with the ashes of possessed men, bustling with hospital doctors and wounded soldiers. As cultivators from clans in all five directions passed through the front gates, Huaisang was glad not to go with them. He waved to Mingjue, Meng Yao, Lan Xichen, and the others as they embarked on the Sunshot Campaign.
The distance from which his brother and Meng Yao rode from each other was perfectly calculated: not too close, but not too far. The acceptable distance for an advisor and his ruler, with Meng Yao just a little ways behind and to the side, ready to take the front should trouble arise. Not drawing attention to his presence in the meantime. The advisor's profile was strange. His attention was focused on Mingjue, but his chin and gaze were level with the horizon, on the path before them rather than the city they were leaving behind – or even the cultivators who had joined their retinue. He no longer appeared as a mere servant accompanying his leader, but a strategic actor on this stage of war.
An unsettled feeling lodged itself in Huaisang's stomach.
The young Nie cultivator had been glad since the moment Mingjue appointed Meng Yao as his vice general – to have someone so close in age who wasn't quite so intimidating and shared his taste in art and culture. He was glad to have a companion to pester and pass time with in the palace, and had been glad when he saw how his brother softened inexplicably whenever Meng Yao was in the room, not quite so hellbent on his rulership tasks – something Huaisang had never been able to achieve, despite his own rebukes and admonishments over the years.
He had even been glad – if apprehensive and confused at first – when he noticed Mingjue and Meng Yao spending more time with each other than necessary. When he glimpsed Meng Yao in the throne room in the late hours of night through a crack in the door. And at another angle, Mingjue listened to him intently, discussing things that hardly had to do with military planning or court procedure, politics or chores. At the head table, Mingjue was alight in a way Huaisang had scarcely seen before.
He was lost in whatever antics Meng Yao had pulled him into, and he looked completely relaxed – completely in love – uncaring if their words held no meaning, if it was only frivolous conversation and they were wasting the time away.
Later, when a soft knock sounded on Mingjue's door, and Meng Yao's voice asked for permission to enter (Huaisang didn't hear him leave until morning); when some ruckus rattled the halls long after the lights were off (and servants were no longer permitted near their quarters); when Huaisang noticed how Meng Yao smiled and blushed and avoided Mingjue's eyes the following day, the vice general pulling his sleeves over his wrists, (where Huaisang swore there were red marks on Meng Yao's skin,) struggling to bring himself back to the present as he spoke to other servants…
Still, Huaisang was never too sure.
They always appeared to be nothing more in public. They never told him anything. Mingjue conducted his business with all the fury and power he normally had as Clan Leader, and Meng Yao never opposed him. He only helped steer him toward more logical goals. They were a leader and his closest advisor.
Mingjue ordered around Meng Yao freely to care for the household and other matters in Qinghe, and Meng Yao obeyed, never overstepping his boundary. Not unless granted permission to do so. Not unless Huaisang snuck up on the advisor with questions in an attempt to get the other's true thoughts about his station. Meng Yao always elided a full answer, expressing gratitude for his position and preoccupation over Huaisang's future, given his avoidance of cultivation training, to the point Huaisang would get off-track, groan in annoyance, and change the subject.
He feared he was simply imagining things – but the way Mingjue became unguarded when he spoke about Meng Yao. His momentary silence as he took a furtive breath, trying to figure out how to capture the small advisor's entire being in just a few words, until finally resigning himself from achieving the impossible… A side of his brother that Huaisang hadn't seen in years reemerged: When they were young boys who wrestled playfully during sword practice, and Mingjue would boast to mentors of a skill he didn't yet have, shy but forthright with emotion. Before the death of Clan Leader Nie and Baxia's torment and the weight of leadership stamped out any of the childlike ego and joy and wonder Huaisang once knew in his older brother…
Huaisang only guessed and assumed what was happening, and their secrecy took its toll. Soon, everyone in Qinghe whispered about what he'd surmised, yet couldn't quite believe, unable to understand. Given the breach in Meng Yao's and Mingjue's secrecy – how loudly they fought in the throne room over the last few weeks, how Meng Yao's position had clearly been affected by Mingjue's distance from him and the death of the captain of the guard – everyone knew what had before just been hints and rumors.
Nearly beyond the sparse line of trees on the horizon, the dust from horses' hooves rose over the desolate rocky landscape in an opaque cloud, and the unsettled feeling made a permanent home inside Huaisang.
After the Sunshot Campaign, there would be no hiding it anymore. When they returned, things would never be as they once were.
As Huaisang watched the cultivators' backs disappear, he couldn't stop the tremble of his lip. He might lose his brother – his mentor and companion and – he might lose Meng Yao, his closest friend.
. . .
Halting abruptly before the tent's entrance, Xichen heard Meng Yao's voice.
"There's no way that will work! They'll notice us before you get anywhere close!"
Startled by his strong and defiant tone, and Mingjue's angered response, Xichen pushed aside haunting images of demented men – those they'd seen on the battlefield, subject to Wen witchcraft: homicidal, mindless, immortal, unfearing, inhuman. As he ducked inside the tent, he found Meng Yao and Mingjue glaring at each other. Their shoulders loosened and they turned away, acting as if they hadn't just been at each other's throats. Their argument shook Xichen to his core. They couldn't risk discord in their ranks now. Their enemy was too dangerous, and too many were suffering.
"What's going on?"
Before Xichen said anything else, Mingjue answered, "Nothing. Any news on the position of Wen's armies?"
Xichen glanced at Meng Yao. Despite looking incensed, he said nothing either.
Powerless, Xichen reminded himself it wasn't his business. He wanted to alleviate their fears as best he could; he wanted them to trust him with what was on their minds as much as they trusted each other. Why did they feel comfortable arguing while he was away, but not while he was around? It took Xichen a moment to process these thoughts and respond to Mingjue's question. I've already interfered enough.
"No, I haven't found any information on the whereabouts of Wen's armies yet. But it doesn't look like the hordes will stop. No matter which direction we go, they have a battalion at the ready."
"If we can't find a way into Qishan soon," Meng Yao said, "at this rate all our forces will be spent before we're within thirty li of the city."
Xichen nodded, but as he turned back to Mingjue, the advisor's eyes bored into him. He struggled not to stammer from self-consciousness when next he spoke.
Meng Yao sensed what had occurred between Xichen and Mingjue before he ran away from Qinghe a week ago – that they had slept together. He could see it in their easygoing conversation and unspoken camaraderie. As the three of them discussed strategies, Xichen was overcome by a desire to apologize – for taking advantage of the situation and hurting Meng Yao in the process – but perhaps Mingjue had spoken to him already, so would it be inappropriate? In a military tent where someone could walk in at any moment, it was probably better not to mention it now.
Besides, this was something that should be left between Meng Yao and Mingjue – right? It's not like he was a part of this union…
Mingjue's voice brought Xichen back to reality, but he was unable to bear looking at either of them. Meng Yao was avoiding him, though Xichen kept stealing glances to make sure. They were focused on the charter map on the table before them in the large grey tent, none of what he was thinking about at all.
If not with his words, then Xichen wanted to apologize with his smile – but soon they were dismissed. Neither paid any heed to his attempts.
Divided in his thoughts, in the end, Xichen did nothing. He didn't have the courage.
Ignored, Xichen despaired.
. . .
Xichen and Meng Yao walked no more than ten feet outside from the tent's entrance before Xichen turned to the other, heart pounding in his chest. Xichen still didn't have the courage to ask what was truly on his mind, but he at least would not do nothing. "A-Yao, what was it you and Mingjue were arguing about before I entered?"
Yao glanced flusteredly at the hand that had been placed on his upper arm. Xichen quickly retracted it, worrying he'd overstepped. Meng Yao smiled at him. "Zewu-jun, don't worry about it. Everyone is stressed about the matter of infiltrating Scorching Sun Palace."
Xichen expected Yao to elaborate, but he didn't. He was unaccustomed to seeing Yao this way: in a dark military outfit, with shortened sleeves and Nie armguards decorated with the faces of demons and fire. He preferred the other's scholarly grace and court demeanor. There was even a sword at his side.
Xichen shivered. The thought of Yao being forced to fight set his chest aflutter. He must have impelled Yao to accompany Mingjue on the mission to incapacitate Wen Ruohan, having interfered in their relationship as he had. "I want you to know you can come to me with anything. All right?"
Even as he was saying it, Xichen knew he was putting Meng Yao in an awkward position. Why would he ask for help from the very person who'd slept with his lover? After a slight hesitation though, Meng Yao smiled and nodded. The recognition relieved him. When Yao made to bow, Xichen's hands immediately flew to Yao's wrists to stop the motion. Now more than ever Xichen was appalled by such an act, after what he'd done.
Quickly, he retracted his hands again at the inscrutability that crossed Yao's face.
Apologizing for something he couldn't take back would probably be worse than saying nothing at all… right? Before Xichen knew it, Meng Yao had turned away and strode off into the maze of tents – multicolored with various clan insignias – leaving Xichen bereft and alone, having missed his chance.
Someone else approached, glancing at Meng Yao as he passed.
"Wangji, any news?"
The younger Lan shook his head. "Brother, is everything all right?"
Only at that moment Xichen realized his face must have been troubled. He made an effort to calm himself to soothe his brother's worries. "Clan Leader Nie has been trying to find an opening in Wen Clan's defenses for us to attack for the past few weeks now, but it's proving difficult. We're all on-edge."
Wangji nodded, but his curiosity hadn't been satisfied. "Clan Leader Nie… I heard he was injured before the campaign started, on account of a domestic affair."
Xichen concealed his consternation at the remark. How Meng Yao had fussed over Mingjue while he was unconscious, how frightened and immobile the young advisor had been when Xichen found him lying in yellow grass in the forest, Mingjue covered in wounds and blood…
"Yes, well…"
Xichen knew not what to say to his brother. It wasn't Wangji's business, but that attitude was exactly what got him in his strange predicament in the first place. "Love is blind, I guess."
Wangji raised an eyebrow in question, almost imperceptibly, when a yell erupted behind Xichen. He turned to see the tent's flap swishing from the rushed footsteps of a man having entered. Xichen dashed back inside himself, devastated by a fear of what he would see. Thankfully, the soldier who'd rushed inside had caught Mingjue just in time before he fell to the ground, and Mingjue was only half collapsed as he groaned with a hand to his forehead. Xichen threw himself at his side to help lift the man.
"Someone fetch Meng Yao!" Xichen ordered to no one in particular, though it was Wangji who stood there, stunned by Xichen's reaction. Wangji lingered for just a moment before he disappeared back out the main entrance of the tent in the direction he'd seen the young advisor go.
. . .
Once Meng Yao and Xichen left the tent to relay the strategy of their discussion to the soldiers, Mingjue's body drained of energy. He hadn't failed to notice it: the way Meng Yao glowered at him and Xichen, covert and brooding. The other hadn't said so, but he knew Mingjue and Xichen slept together over a week ago. The other was canny about such things – even if there was no concrete evidence. He could often read other people from airs. That was his court prowess, after all, and Mingjue had witnessed the accuracy of his deductions firsthand many times.
Should he say something?
But what…?
It wasn't like it mattered anymore.
He and Meng Yao hadn't touched each other since they kissed in his bedroom. After Mingjue fended off the beast in the mountainside forest, after Meng Yao ran away…
It had been a kiss of tenderness and respect, but also distance and resignation.
It was only a matter of time before Meng Yao left him for Xichen…
And why shouldn't he?
Xichen was perfect in every way – more receptive, more cultivationally refined. More graceful.
Mingjue shook his head, alone in the tent. Save for the allaying, hedonistic voices that accompanied him in this space, egging him on to take Xichen for himself before Meng Yao could, he was disconnected from all he knew.
Perhaps bringing Meng Yao along to face Wen Ruohan wasn't such a good idea after all – but, after what happened when Meng Yao fled the palace, Mingjue wouldn't exert his rank over the other too much… Even if Meng Yao no longer felt the same about him – even if he never had to begin with – Mingjue still wanted him around.
The voices in his head grew louder. The first time Meng Yao approached Mingjue in his bedroom, Mingjue had been entranced by the decisive air of seductive confidence exuding from the young vice general. No one had ever treated Mingjue that way before. They'd always expected him to take the lead, not the other way around.
Mingjue was unable to understand how he stumbled into many of the relationships of his past. It was always a series of suggestive looks and Mingjue sloppily attempting to act bold enough without being too obvious and overbearing – and only when he was ninety-nine percent sure that that's what the other person wanted, since it was too dangerous and improper to act first as Clan Leader Nie, did Mingjue finally make a move. And even then, that one odd unit of uncertainty was enough to make him hesitant and afraid. But if he didn't act, nothing may happen at all, and he was curious to see where it would go. More than that, though, he didn't want to admit he was lonely.
He hated it. Other than Xichen, who palliated his worry over who should act first given their mutual and concomitant interest long ago, no one else had made him feel comfortable and desirous enough to make the first move. Given his leadership and intimidating demeanor, how his body and mind were carved to wield Baxia and nothing more – maybe that's all he was useful for.
Death and curses.
Politics and war.
It was always forced when he acted first, and he was never sure when he was overstepping his boundaries. Whether others placed themselves in his view because they saw him as nothing more than a beast and a pervert, or perhaps he was just imagining things. There were many others he didn't pursue because they believed his interest in their sex was assured.
He'd fumbled through the niceties of courtship with women and nothing was serious enough to endure with other men, so he often wondered if he'd merely drift into concubinage or marriage with a woman one day out of insouciance. Though it wasn't as if he could count on such a thing to satiate his desire, knowing his true interests. Neither arrangements were a contract for sex alone.
And then there was Meng Yao.
Mingjue never expected him to take the lead. To not only attempt to entice Mingjue once he knew how he felt, but to kiss him first – to actively encourage his sensuous desires – make him so lovesick and greedy that Mingjue couldn't get enough. Meng Yao's reactions to his touch – his moans, his tremulous body, his excitement and fury – Mingjue dallied in whatever sexual games Meng Yao had in mind, eager to hear more of his grawlix tones, to reveal more of himself when the other was usually so good at making everyone think he was exactly what they wanted him to be. To satisfy him with the pleasure only Mingjue could impose.
No one had made him feel that way before, made him want to give so much, to take control.
He still recalled how the other goaded him whenever Mingjue was unsure of himself; whenever he feared he'd gone too far.
The first time they'd had sex was not the only time.
It had been Meng Yao who said he was interested in being restrained during sex, a request that took Mingjue by surprise at first.
How the other blushed when he spoke of it, gaze downcast, fidgety, as he sat naked on Mingjue's bed.
"Clan Leader Nie, will you… will you tie me up this time? Please?"
Mingjue couldn't resist his devious innocence, his imploring look, his mellifluous voice and curvaceous eyes filled with lust. The soft bite of his lip, the slight tremor in his arms and legs – as he held out the twine he'd stolen from the stables.
Mingjue had no idea what to do. He kissed Meng Yao slowly as he tried to do what was asked of him, listening intently to Meng Yao's every gasp. He made sure the bonds were not too tight, careful when he held Meng Yao this way or that. And finally, after much coaxing, Mingjue crouched over Meng Yao on the bed. Meng Yao was terrified in his excitement. One hand held Meng Yao's wrists over his head, the other drifting to his crotch, and when Mingjue's teeth latched onto Meng Yao's neck, the other shrieked, high-pitched and delirious.
Mingjue's heart bloomed.
Meng Yao was surprised by his own reactions: whining, squirming, desperate. He begged Mingjue for release, his small body lurching beneath him, and Mingjue was delighted to oblige.
His expression unraveled as Mingjue's hands gripped his lithe body, relishing the sight of the helpless, flushed young advisor, unable to do anything but surrender himself to the desire that had cloaked the bedroom in a warm fog. His voice was no longer airy and meek, but completely deprived of his usual self-control.
The times after that, too, Mingjue found himself reluctant and surprised – when Meng Yao asked to be crushed against the bed as he thrusted into him; when he revealed a homemade device of straps and a wooden gag from behind his back; or brought Mingjue's hand to his throat while already gasping beneath him.
Mingjue met his requests with worriment and curiosity – he was eager to know what Meng Yao had in mind, to please him in the way he wanted. As to why the other made such requests, he didn't know.
Mingjue didn't mind. On the contrary, the eroticism embellished the mosaic of tones, sensations, and reactions he already experienced with Meng Yao. And his body melted into new and steamy contortions as he allowed Mingjue to do almost anything to him, entranced, as Mingjue gained the confidence and desire to take the lead, overwhelming him with his hands, his heat, his mouth and desire. Mingjue especially loved when he was able to make Meng Yao frantic enough to beg, pouty and impatient, losing control of his voice, having lost control of his body. When Mingjue was already pressed into him, and told him to keep quiet so anyone down the halls would not hear – and all Meng Yao could do was bury his head into Mingjue's chest, bite his arm, press his face into the bedsheets or pillows to stop himself from screaming out loud while Mingjue's member massaged his warm, wet insides.
With how lost in their heat Meng Yao was beneath him, Mingjue couldn't help but grin and lose himself too. His lust overflowed as Meng Yao looked up at him –
"You're mine, aren't you?"
– completely unwound, wincing in painful pleasure.
And fear?
Still, Meng Yao made no indication for Mingjue to stop.
Mingjue delighted in the fearful look in his eyes, as though he was afraid of the sensations Mingjue could cause. Questioning how it was possible to feel this way – to feel so much pleasure that he could lose himself entirely and want to be possessed.
Surely, Meng Yao would tell him, if he wanted it to stop.
More than once, they finished and Mingjue let go of Meng Yao to find the other trembling uncontrollably. He hyperventilated into pillows, his fingers grasping at nothing, and Mingjue froze, unsure what to do.
Eventually – Mingjue lightly touched his back, stroked his face, turned him around and kissed him gently as he held him close – hoping to bring him back to the present, to care for him in the way he needed after their intensity – but he never knew if he was doing the right thing.
Eventually, the other would return his kisses, and no longer shy away from his caresses, but spiritually, he felt remote. As if seeing and feeling the world through a protective veil.
Sometimes, it took a very long time for Meng Yao to return.
And as he returned, so would his polite mask.
There was nothing behind his light brown irises except the intelligent and skilled advisor, the capricious courtesan daring all those who had heard them down the hall, "Yes, I seduced your clan leader. And what of it?"
Mingjue wished to ask Meng Yao what was wrong – why he reacted in such a way – to shake him until the one who shared his bed and whom he loved so dearly returned – but Meng Yao wasn't much talkative on the matter. He avoided answering any question that even hardly grazed the issue.
What should he do?
He wanted to know, but if Meng Yao didn't offer the information freely, Mingjue shouldn't force him… He didn't want to invade Meng Yao's privacy and dredge up something awful, something he'd rather forget. He didn't want to scare him away. The fact Meng Yao trusted him this much was already miracle enough.
Meng Yao would tell him if something was wrong.
Even when Mingjue was as careful with Meng Yao as he could be, kissing the other gently, their fingers entwined, gentle with his thrusts, gazing into his eyes – Meng Yao was prone to sudden outbursts of silent shaking.
In the tent on the battlefield, Mingjue shuddered. He glanced at the exit gap, where Meng Yao and Xichen had disappeared not ten minutes before.
He already knew how people spoke about Meng Yao. Truly, he did.
But he'd hoped that by promoting him to his second-in-command, watching over him in Qinghe was enough to deter anyone who thought or spoke ill of him.
Clearly, he was wrong.
"Ever since I arrived in Qinghe, he insulted me, beat me, humiliated me… He always took credit for the things you ordered him to do, but I actually ended up doing."
He couldn't protect him after all.
"I wanted to kill him."
Mingjue was still too weak to fight it alone: the threats at Qinghe's borders, Baxia's will that dissolved his own. The elders who disrespected him. Wen Ruohan and all manner of ferocious beasts.
Mingjue heaved in clipped breaths, his chest aching.
Now wasn't the time to get swept up in his grief and shame at how useless he was when it came to protecting those he loved.
No, he had to focus on infiltrating Qishan, not fall victim to Baxia's perpetual torment –
Damn it all.
One hand on the table charter map, the other to his head, his surroundings became fuzzy.
What did Meng Yao think of him, after all these years?
After all they'd shared, and everyone and everything that had come between them – why had the other insisted on coming with him to Qishan when Mingjue had failed him so miserably, when there was nothing Mingjue could do to change the past and protect him from all those who had caused him harm?
It was unlikely the elders would let Meng Yao stay in Qinghe now, given what everyone knew.
Never mind that now, his inner voice snapped – but it was too late.
The voices descended on him and pushed their hands down his throat, deep and suffocating.
If he couldn't defeat Wen Ruohan, he'd lose everything he loved.
No, I shouldn't worry about that now –
The wails closed in until they were deafening, cutting out all awareness of the outside.
Maybe I can't do anything for him after all, or for anyone else –
Would Meng Yao go to Jin Clan if Mingjue perished, to the father who had cast him out without so much as a glance?
Despite his weakness, Mingjue wanted to try.
Unsteady on his feet, his grip slipped as someone appeared at the tent's entrance, shutting out the light.
. . .
Yao was tending to some other soldier's wounds when he was told Clan Leader Nie collapsed. He hardly paid the younger Lan any mind and the encampment was a blur as he rushed to Clan Leader Nie's tent. Again, he found himself at his bedside.
The older man huffed, waving aside anyone who approached him with a rag or herbal medicine, assuring their fussy hands he was fine and just needed some time to rest. The only person he didn't wave off was Xichen, whose guilty look-away when Yao entered caused Yao's stomach to twist with revulsion.
When Xichen finally composed himself, he stood and exclaimed, "A-Yao, he just collapsed!"
"I'm fine," Nie Mingjue grunted from the bed, his hand to his forehead. Yao knew what that meant. So did Xichen.
"I'll go get my guqin –"
"No. I'll handle this." Yao's voice was firm.
Xichen cocked his head in worry, mouth agape, but he wouldn't impose any longer. Yao hated it; Xichen acted as if Yao was so fragile he would shatter at the mere concept of he and Nie Mingjue sleeping together.
As if!
Xichen left without saying a word, along with the others – nurses and healers and the few soldiers who'd carried Nie Mingjue there – and the older man sighed as he put his hand down.
"Baxia is bothering you this much, is it, Clan Leader?"
Mingjue blinked at him in bleary confusion, almost astounded that the demonic saber's name could pass Meng Yao's lips. Yao smirked humorlessly.
"When were you going to tell me you and Xichen slept together?"
Clan Leader Nie sighed. He hung his head back on the bedframe. "I promise you there's nothing between us. I just –"
"Just what? Were you hoping I wouldn't find out?"
"No. I wanted to tell you at the right time."
"Oh, sure," Yao said, going closer, his footsteps soft. "And when was that 'right time' going to be?" He prowled like a cat toward his prey, toward Nie Mingjue.
"After you ran away from Qinghe, I didn't want to tell you exactly so something like this wouldn't happen before the Sunshot Campaign. Xichen and I have seen each other on and off over the years, but nothing has ever come of it. So you have nothing to worry about."
Yao stood above Nie Mingjue at his bedside now. "Sure, 'nothing ever came of it.' I see the way you two act around each other. The way you look at each other. You can't hide it from me!"
. . .
Mingjue pursed his lips at Meng Yao's triumph in his own deductive powers, chest and nostrils flared. "Why do you care?" he snapped. "You're in love with Xichen. You plan to leave me for him once it's convenient for you, so why do you give a shit what I do?!"
"Because now Zewu-jun thinks he's encroached on something between us! And he keeps treating me like I'm some helpless caged pet who can't bear to face the truth! Nie Mingjue, don't you ever think about anyone other than yourself before you act?!"
Mingjue wanted to tell Meng Yao it was Xichen who acted first, that it was only with Meng Yao he was comfortable enough to take the lead in bed, but the pain in his chest clogged his throat from audible speech. How Meng Yao referred to them, as "something between us," it caught him off-guard. It nearly made his skull explode with anger and tears. The other spoke about their relationship as if it was something ambiguous. Indefinite. Detached.
Cold.
Transactional.
"Why do you stick around me, then, if that's what you truly think?! Don't you –?!" Mingjue stopped himself. He was about to say something desperate and stupid.
Meng Yao was clearly still waiting for him to finish, but Mingjue gritted his teeth.
He wouldn't. He wouldn't give Meng Yao what he wanted: the kind of emotional outburst he'd use to bend Mingjue to his will later, into whatever design he wanted in the moment.
Their pause rankled for attention, but Mingjue wouldn't lose this fight. He was used to outwaiting vociferous morons whose drama stirred the tides of political court.
To his great surprise, Meng Yao broke the tension first, his voice full of feeling.
"Clan Leader, I ran away because I couldn't stand the thought of staying your obedient advisor anymore! Back in Qinghe, everyone thinks I'm just your doll to dress up and order around. That I'm so helpless I can't do anything for myself unless you're around to protect me. That I only got this position because I seduced you and you took a liking to me, and the only reason I maintain power is because we're sleeping together. Is it true?! You seem so eager to let me go to Zewu-jun, as if he and I have anything between us – a mere advisor and bastard son with the renowned leader of Lan Clan, one of the greatest cultivation clans in all history! There's not a chance between us – it's impossible, unlike you and him! You've completely mistaken how anything works! I don't have as much power as you seem to believe. Bestowing me with a fancy title isn't enough to stop what everyone says and thinks about me! As I've often hoped it would! Is what everyone thinks about me true?! Am I just your puppet to tout in public to make yourself feel better about your own privileged standing?! To please you when necessary?!"
"Meng Yao –"
"Don't touch me!"
Meng Yao's knee was on his chest. His hands were around his throat. Though his fingers were small, his grip was strong, and Mingjue was speechless as tears swam like distant forest lights in Meng Yao's eyes.
"Why did you save me?! Back then in the cave, against the captain of the guard, or even just a week ago?! Why did you save me only to use me like this?!"
Mingjue could have easily made Meng Yao release his hands and pushed him off, but he was too stunned to move. Were these thoughts Yao had been struggling with all this time? Ever since he became vice general in Qinghe? Why had he never said anything before?
Yao let go of Mingjue's neck and shoved him against the bedframe, fervently wiping his tears as Mingjue coughed. Baxia's influence whirled overhead at his erratic behavior, like a cyclone rustling the cloth at the top of the tent, but Mingjue's attention was on the deranged figure wobbling in front of him, incessantly wiping his eyes with both thumbs.
"Meng Yao –"
"No! Shut up! Shut up!"
Meng Yao was on top of him again, this time with both legs on either side of him. His expression wavered between rage and despair as he grabbed Mingjue's wrists, pushed them away from him again, against the bedframe. Mingjue didn't resist. He was too gutted by Meng Yao's words to do so.
At Mingjue's astonishment and heartbreak, an idea formed in Meng Yao's head. He took up the bandages left by the healers at his bedside and began wrapping them around Mingjue's wrists, tying him to the wooden frame. Even in this, Mingjue remained motionless. He let Meng Yao do it, too crushed by the tears spilling down his cheeks, his panicked and spasmic gasps.
Once the ties were secured, the chaotic presence bent over his chest. Again, Meng Yao's hands were at his throat, but he didn't squeeze this time. Only kept them there, as extra assurance.
Meng Yao's tears stopped pouring so plentifully down his cheeks, and he finally regained some of his usual serenity. Meanwhile, Mingjue's lung capacity was out of control – both due to the other's weight, and the animosity vibrating in the air.
"Clan Leader Nie, you're so used to being in control, the most powerful man in the room. Now look at you. How will you fare against Wen Ruohan like this?"
Ignoring his comments, Mingjue could no longer stop his sadness from bursting forth from his mouth. "I didn't want to use you! I only wanted –!"
Meng Yao waited for him to finish, but he couldn't. He couldn't risk breaking down while in such a vulnerable position. He wanted to break free of his bonds and hug Meng Yao close to him, to assure him that none of his fears were true – but when he pulled against them, the bonds stuck fast. They cut into his wrists painfully. The other had tied them well – he was the one who taught Mingjue how to do it, after all.
After watching Mingjue struggle for a moment, Yao snorted sardonically.
"Look at this, Clan Leader Nie, who's so used to being in control, is finally held at my mercy. He can't even form words."
Mingjue hissed through his teeth, but he found the other was right. He couldn't utter another word, lest his stoicism break. He –
Meng Yao pulled a small knife from his belt. In one instant, Mingjue caught up with what was happening. Panic spread throughout his chest and entire body as Meng Yao raised the knife to his face, then ogled his throat.
"…Strange." Meng Yao's voice was different, his face oddly blank. As if someone else were using him as a conduit. "I'm not used to seeing you like this, Clan Leader."
The air grew thicker in the seconds that followed, stretching into long and hot ticks of boiling flesh. Mingjue started to imagine if anyone walked in on them like this. He wanted to be set free, but wouldn't give in to the small advisor's satisfaction of him calling out in helplessness – especially when the knife disappeared beneath Mingjue's line of vision.
Mingjue's sweat was so thick, his breathing so rapid, he wondered if Meng Yao had already pricked his skin and spilled his blood. But when Meng Yao spoke again, he smiled airily as he placed the blade on the bedside table. Then his hands hovered back over Mingjue's throat.
"I want you to fuck me like this."
Mingjue almost stopped breathing from the quiet intent in the other's voice. Given their position and the power Meng Yao had over him, when Meng Yao swayed on him, slow, and melodic, Mingjue's body awakened.
Despite the position they were in, and all that had been said, he couldn't deny it was incredibly sexy, the way Yao was looking at him now, commanding and eager. His legs were spread on either side of him, his ass grinding on his crotch.
His cock was hard between the other's cheeks, so Meng Yao slowly undid the man's belt. He pushed Mingjue's hanfu open, revealed his toned chest – rising and falling with shaky, unstable breaths – and Mingjue was totally captivated by his lulling movements and careful caresses as his face flickered with conflicting emotions. Meng Yao palmed Mingjue's erection while watching his face, waiting for it to break, and Mingjue tried to keep calm.
His ribs ached vaguely from Meng Yao's weight, still healing from a week ago, but his cheeks grew hot from the possessive heat anchoring him to this spot. The skin on his wrists was raw from the tightness of the bonds, despite his desire to move.
When Meng Yao went down on him, Mingjue squirmed. He couldn't keep it in any longer. He released a gaspy moan, feeling the other's hot lips and small mouth on him, his saliva coating his penis. He wanted to reach down and grab his hair, to direct his mouth onto him, but he couldn't. The fact that he couldn't, that he had no control over the situation, only caused him to groan louder. He squirmed even more, cutting his wrists even more, unable to do anything else.
Was this how Meng Yao felt, whenever Mingjue had control?
It was so embarrassing, so debilitating –
And yet, Yao's command over him only made Mingjue desire him more.
Finally, Meng Yao let go. Blushing satisfaction lit his face as he panted, saliva stringing down his chin and onto Mingjue's aching cock.
Mingjue wanted to resent Yao, but he couldn't when the other was making him feel this good. Meng Yao brought his hair to one side of his face, then leaned down to whisper.
"Now, I want you to fuck me."
. . .
Boyish disappointment crossed the Clan Leader's face as Yao removed only his armguards and the first, heaviest layer of his hanfu before settling on top of him, denying him the pleasure of seeing his skin flush and shudder. Yao clutched the man's shoulders and groaned as he sank down onto his cock. Again and again, he pumped himself onto him, loosening up, and Yao kicked his head back, his surroundings hazy as he focused on Mingjue's face. The older man's browline darkened, his breaths coming out quick and shallow as Yao increased his pace. Scowling and pouty at the other having complete control, he didn't want to give in to Yao's effortless work to pleasure him.
They'd had sex in this position many times before, but never had Yao seen Nie Mingjue's expression so defiant yet deferential, beholden to his authority, with a touch of longing and despair. Normally, the Clan Leader held Yao's hips or shoulders as he thrusted into him, clinging to the smallest reactions as the young vice general cried out from the enormity stretching him open, overwhelmed by the pleasure wracking his body as he was bounced up and down.
Now, with Yao's hips rolling onto him, Yao observed Nie Mingjue's face hungrily. How he blushed and pulled against the bonds around his wrists, helpless to do anything except lose himself, as Yao often had.
It was a different kind of pleasure Yao felt now, seeing him this way, and a part of him wanted to cut him free, to let Nie Mingjue hold him and take him as he usually did, to let him reassume control – knowing how he craved it, how he loved it, how good it made him feel. But the Clan Leader's face flickered.
Yao was confused by the one he saw there instead.
Hairier and more ancient. With harsher lips and severer eyes –
Then rounder. More distant. Cold.
He didn't understand what was happening.
Some of the faces looked familiar.
Some felt transmitted to him from another time.
He couldn't tell.
He relished the sight of these men beneath him, of their hands bound and faces twisted with the helpless pleasure Yao so often felt.
He leaned closer to sneer in their faces – only realizing at the last moment with shaking cruelty the one he saw there instead.
No, it couldn't be –
Again, Yao placed his hands around his throat, claws digging in. He stared unblinkingly as the face below him bloated and shrank from lack of air.
It's all your fault. It's all your fault.
He wanted to roar and bite and claw, to gouge out his eyes and replace them back in his skull a million times just so he could do it a million times more.
He wanted to feel the legs underneath him kick out in helpless rage and finally fall flat. Lifeless. Limp.
Cold.
He kept squeezing until that face grew purple – and it was Nie Mingjue he saw below him instead.
Paling, Yao let him go.
He wanted to apologize but no words came out. Nie Mingjue's hips kept gyrating upward, so Yao kept moving along with him. And after another moment, he was filled with Nie Mingjue's seed, scalding hot and vicious.
It felt gratifying, the catharsis of being possessed – of being reduced to a limp and shaky mess, except entirely on his own terms this time.
Yao let out a gasp and collapsed on Nie Mingjue's chest. He wanted to be held, so with what little strength was left in his arms, he took hold of the knife on the bedside table and, with a few jerks back and forth, used it to cut Nie Mingjue free from the bandages around his wrists.
Immediately, Mingjue clutched Yao's neck and chin harshly, glaring at him. Yao's heart pounded in his chest. He still held onto the blade, twitching in the air, but soon, the fear in Yao's face caused Nie Mingjue to soften. His arm circled around Yao's lower back, squeezing him close, and Yao warmed, knowing Mingjue still cared for him. He dropped the knife on the floor.
Reaching up to clasp the man's hairy face, Yao kissed his chin. Mingjue sighed. Inches from each other, the man's eyes were wet.
Only after a while had passed did he say, "I never… wanted you to feel that way. That you were only…"
He couldn't finish, but that was fine. He didn't hate Yao completely, despite all that had just occurred, all that had been done and said.
Yao smiled brokenly.
"Apology accepted."
. . .
Cast out of their vicinity again, Xichen paced in his tent. He was worried about the two of them, and considered barging into Mingjue's tent, demanding to be addressed, that they sort this out – even if it meant he would be the primary target of vengeful emotions. He wanted them to berate him for interfering just so he didn't have to think about it anymore.
No doubt he'd caused the tension he sensed between the two of them while they were strategizing and after Mingjue fainted.
He should apologize. He should make it right. If only –
It wasn't his business.
He was the outsider, the one who'd caused problems with his presence, the one who was to be left behind if anything went awry. They had no commitment to him, though he felt committed to them. He wanted –
No, it was just a dream.
He could do nothing.
Xichen brought a hand to his head to stay his grief.
It was so stupid, to be wrapped up in this, in the very drama he'd caused.
He'd wanted to know what it felt like to be the center of someone's affections, but not like this. Not while ruining others'.
If only he could join them…
I mustn't dawdle in my self-pity any longer.
Xichen took himself by the shoulders.
He shouldn't worry Wangji or get distracted during the Sunshot Campaign.
There were more pressing matters to attend to, like how they were going to confront and defeat Wen Ruohan, surrounded by tutelaries in his castle keep.
. . .
Some hours later, once dusk had fallen over the crooked, gloomy tents – the environment brown and green with rocks and trees – after surveying the troops and a few hours of meditation, Xichen was in his tent again. Wherever Mingjue and Yao had gone, he cast them out of mind. It was no time to be distracted.
Awaiting an evening meal brought to him by one of the subordinate soldiers, Xichen had begun to question whether the meal was coming at all. He exited his tent to find the cook, and instead saw three figures walking toward him in the fading deep blue light – one much taller than the other two.
Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao led a subordinate carrying a tray of steaming rice, veggies, and pork made up for three. Dumbstruck, Xichen stood completely still, fretful as the two stopped in front of him, and the subordinate entered his tent to set down the tray of food. Meng Yao stood with hands folded and head bowed in the presence of Nie Mingjue this time, both wearing more ceremonial and comfortable clothing than when he'd last seen them. Xichen looked to Nie Mingjue to inquire what this was about.
"Meng Yao wanted to share a meal," the man said, "so we can discuss what to do going forward."
Stupidly, Xichen waited for an explanation. The subordinate who brought the food had bowed and taken his leave by now, walked off into the sea of tents. Sweat pooling at the base of Xichen's neck.
"I wanted to too," Mingjue clarified, since Xichen was standing with his lips ajar, closing periodically like a fish out of water.
Finally, Yao said, "I already know about you two. I don't hold any ill-will toward you, Zewu-jun. There shouldn't be any animosity between us."
Greatly relieved to hear Meng Yao mirror his thoughts – and noting the touch of remorse in the other's voice as he spoke – Xichen stepped aside with an open arm, not saying a word. He invited them into his tent to share the meal.
Yao's heart swelled. When he moved to bow, Xichen's hands again grabbed his wrists, and Yao blushed at the adoration in Xichen's narrow, gentle face.
Mingjue glanced sideways at them. Yao worried for a moment the man might disapprove and regretted conceding to his request to talk things over with Xichen. When he turned to him, however, Nie Mingjue had his eyes on the ground. He didn't look sad, or resentful. Just a little spurned: like he was deadwood on a boat made for two rather than three.
"I'll take my leave."
Xichen reached after him, but it was Yao who grabbed his arm.
"No, you won't. We need to discuss our strategy."
Meng Yao's chiding tone, which rooted Nie Mingjue to the spot, almost made Xichen chuckle aloud from how grudgingly enfeebled the older man looked. He'd never heard someone speak like that to Clan Leader Nie before.
Gradually, Mingjue turned around again, and together they entered the tent.
"Zewu-jun, I hope you don't mind Clan Leader Nie and I eating meat in front of you? Since you're vegetarian."
"I don't mind."
As they discussed, a subtle smile graced Xichen's lips every now and then. He reveled in their company, content just watching their faces, in them regarding him as their peer, their equal.
. . .
After all strategizing talk had been exhausted, Mingjue cleared his throat loudly and dismissed himself again, at which point neither Yao nor Xichen argued. It had been the plan all along, Yao and Mingjue knew.
Left alone in the tent with Xichen, Yao looked down at his lap nervously. He slowly sipped his tea, pretending to be occupied. So many instances while staying in the other's home, Xichen didn't know whether what he sensed was there was true. He definitely wouldn't act on it out of respect for the other's space and privacy in case he was wrong.
Back then, Meng Yao had had nothing more than a few sheets for a bed, some books, and a table with which to share in his small cubicle space. Yet, he still gave to Xichen what he could freely, knowing he was a fugitive – that he might bring trouble into his life while on the run from Gusu, hidden from the flames of Wen imperial valor. The young scholar had worn the plain brown robes of a commoner, had cooked his own food, done his own laundry. Upon hearing whom he was related to, Xichen's chest had ached ardently, wishing to do this small man justice, if no one else would. He was one of the few who deserved it.
When Meng Yao had spoken of his mother, aspectabund but quiet, he'd been reverent. Lost to a simpler time, though it was a time clouded by immense passion, grief, and madness.
Xichen could understand the loss of a mother. It was a pain like no other, as if your very origin was erased.
Without her, you became a shadow, a phantom. Unwhole.
Before him now, and in Qinghe, Meng Yao wore the robes of a nobleman – Clan Leader Nie's highest and most prized advisor – but also that of a decorated lover. The braids and metal pieces in his hair signified just how deeply he'd lodged himself into Nie Mingjue's heart. Yao must know: just how deeply he'd affected the Nie family.
Although she had been cast aside during life, in Heaven, Meng Shi must be more than proud.
"A-Yao, thank you."
"Ah – Zewu-jun, what are you thanking me for? It's all Clan Leader Nie's and my fault you've been worried these last few days."
"Even so," Xichen pressed, finally gaining the courage to speak. "Thank you for coming here. For reassuring me with your presence."
Yao was shocked by the other's admission of worry, and was ready to explain it away, to say this dinner was actually Nie Mingjue's command, not his own idea. But he saw something in Lan Xichen's face then. A kind of awe that caused him to lower his gaze. Yao was undeserving of such recognition.
Xichen said, "I'm sorry for not telling you sooner, about Brother Mingjue and I."
The sweet tang of his voice, it made Yao want to combust. Just a few hours ago, he hadn't been able to comprehend the humility on Mingjue's face after he'd said such harsh, accusing words to him – after he'd tied him to the bed and fucked him – after nearly choking him to death. For so long, he'd feared what Nie Mingjue might say to his lingering affections for Lan Xichen, what he might do if he ever told Nie Mingjue what he was thinking or feeling in Nie Clan. To be recognized by both of them in the same day… it was simply too much.
"Never mind that now," Yao said. His voice had lost some of the bubbliness of his usual propriety. He was tired, yet no longer afraid. "I'm glad Chifeng-zun and Zewu-jun have such a cordial relationship with each other. I just…" Yao bit his lip.
Xichen stared at him.
"I just wish…" …you loved me too.
Meng Yao was small before him, no longer Nie Clan's advisor or even Nie Mingjue's lover. Xichen finally understood. He wasn't hurting or taking advantage of anyone as he clasped Yao's hand in his lap. Sitting side-by-side, he craned his neck sideways and kissed him on the lips.
Yao rejoiced. He closed his eyes and lifted his face, receiving the kiss like a sacrament. It lasted no more than a second – and Xichen's mouth tasted as sweet and lovely as he'd always imagined. Light, and clear like the mists of Gusu, like the snow and the rain.
His mind screamed at the unexpected outcome of this meeting. What did this mean for him and Nie Mingjue? What did it mean for his position in Qinghe? Their strategy to defeat Wen Ruohan and save the land from Wen's treachery – for all the men of his past who had taken from him whatever they wanted, and used his body for all sorts of gross misdeeds?
In this one moment, the answer to those questions didn't matter.
As Xichen pulled away, his graceful fingers clutching Yao's wrists, his gaze was drawn to the ground. Yao watched his every move, ready to do whatever he asked. When Xichen finally smiled at him – in the way he had while all three of them ate together (a content, almost goofy smile) – Yao's face lit up too.
Maybe, one day, things could finally be okay.
"Good night, A-Yao."
Startled that he was being dismissed, head spinning with all that had occurred that day, Yao said, "Good night."
It took a great deal of effort to tear his hands from Xichen's grasp, to refrain from bowing as he stood, and Xichen once again held and squeezed his hands, ready to stop him. Yao turned to leave. The moonlight over the encampment settled like a new lens with which to view the world, his chest laden and heavy with an empty, gentle grief.
. . .
His mother called out to him in the spiral of his dreams. Her hands stretched out, face dirty and contorted, garments and hair blowing. It'd been years since he'd seen her in this much detail, even in his dreams, and he gaped at her image, shouting at him, as if playing on loop. Her words got tangled in the abyssal vortex whipping around them, but he made out just enough.
"Don't go that way! Don't leave me! This was never your battle to fight! You don't have to –!"
Yao tried to answer her, to ask her what she feared – but her figure grew farther away as she receded slowly, and all that was left was the tumultuous darkness. The brown, sandy wisps of time pelted his face and clothes.
He couldn't understand it. High above, he saw Qishan mountain: Dark stones populating buildings glowing red with fire and blood-crimson uniforms, dilapidated men turned mindless soldiers and the dark aura of a shadowy mass. And below, there was a secret passageway, sunken into the mountain into a tunnel that led into the palace. It snaked this way and that through the naturally made walls, a pathway to ambush the Yin ruler beneath fiery phoenixes of indoctrination and death. Not unlike the tunnel Yao had used to escape from Qinghe weeks ago.
Yao glimpsed the leader on his throne: hands on his knees, a supernatural stirring in his hair, his wrinkled, jowled face closed and tranquil. He was meditating, calling out to something, as it called back to him.
Wen Ruohan's eyes bled with darkness as they opened. Yao shuddered and jerked awake in his bed.
The next morning, he wasted no time telling the others what he'd seen.
"Are you certain?"
Yao hesitated before answering Lan Xichen's question. He wasn't certain of anything. The god's eye view he'd witnessed of Scorching Sun Palace, creeping ever closer, was otherworldly. It wasn't the first time it had happened.
Even so, now so close to Qishan, with no other options to enter the palace and destroy Wen Ruohan, they couldn't risk not taking this chance. "Yes. I'm sure."
"Then we cannot wait," Nie Mingjue agreed. "I'll prepare a squadron of my most skilled soldiers…"
As he spoke, Yao's head buzzed with whispers and thoughts.
He had to get into that throne room. No matter the cost.
"I'm coming too," Yao demanded.
Clan Leader Nie raised his eyebrows at him. "Oh? I don't think so."
"You won't know the pathway without me. I'll lead you inside. Then you defeat Wen Ruohan."
He made a point, so Nie Mingjue didn't argue with him. After that had happened last week, and the days and months of uncertainty before that, there was nothing Mingjue could do or say to dissuade him. "Right. What about you, Xichen?"
The Lan cultivator said, "There's no other choice. I'll come with you, of course."
"All right. But you shouldn't use the mountain path. Stay a ways back, and take a different route into the throne room. We shouldn't reveal all our tricks at the same time."
Xichen nodded.
Yao couldn't believe how easy it was convincing them. Soon, they would pack up their base and be on their way – and when the time came to execute their plan, he'd be ready.
His body tingled from the prescience of his cabal.
. . .
The tunnel was palsied and chaotic, sinister and demonic, heaving like the bowels of an ancient beast ready to explode. Meng Yao walked behind Nie Mingjue, gradually sussing out the path, a few Nie soldiers not far behind. Emerging into a grand hall, the trill of a flute echoed outside. The emaciated presence of suffering seeped into their bones. It was a weapon that had the power to corrupt armies and fell civilizations, if the wielder so desired. Permeating the battlefield and the dark palace walls, one-by-one, the throne room hall oozed black with volcanic walls and red, crossed phoenixes dancing in fire.
It was a demonic weapon that called to them, but unlike Nie Mingjue's saber, compact and powerful, sealed in a form that would channel its energy into whatever means necessary and infecting only those with a soul link to its power with its poisoned thoughts, this presence was far more rancorous, far more decrepit and threatening like the men twisted by Wen witchcraft outside, able to possess anyone who dared step too close, able to destroy minds in seconds rather than months or years should they be of ill heart.
Meng Yao stood behind Nie Mingjue in the throne room. Boxed in by walls of dark, smooth basalt, the wicked man upon his throne was laughing, taunting their iniquity.
The secret pathway into the palace was a trap, he said. He meant for them to find that weakness so he could personally defeat Clan Leader Nie, to lay his guts and body bare for the world to see as prizes, as examples to anyone who dared cross his tyrannical power.
Nie Mingjue would not yield, though.
He gripped Baxia with both hands and charged toward Wen Ruohan with fire in his heart, ready to defend his life, his homeland, and his retinue with everything he could muster.
Meng Yao watched in detached anxiety while the Clan Leader was harmed by an invisible pulse that hit his chest. Nie Mingjue shouted as he crumpled to the ground. Baxia clattered beside him.
The demonic weapon, his saber, whispered its usual sinister thoughts. Taunting Mingjue for his weakness, for his lack of power as a ruler, for not being there for the one he loved most when he needed him, all these years.
Still, now wasn't the time to fall victim to such thoughts. Having Meng Yao with him now, Mingjue was emboldened. He was protecting everything he loved. He would succeed no matter what to protect –
Mingjue had seen the darkness that twisted Yao's features while he was on top of him. He'd seen the intent that gripped his heart, steeled his soul, eager to enact the bloodlust embedded in his being. Mingjue had seen it when the other told Mingjue he wanted to kill the captain of the guard.
From that moment, Mingjue couldn't deny it anymore, the slight obscurity in the other's normally placid face, his mask, reflecting like an endless black mirror – always true, always fake, always infinite. It allowed you to see whatever you wanted to see.
"Meng Yao, why do you react that way sometimes?"
Minutes after they came and Mingjue had apologized, after the last time they had sex, Meng Yao still hesitated. An inquiring look overtook Meng Yao's faintly blushing face at Mingjue's trembling lips.
"You keep hiding things from me. I don't want you to… It's not that I never wanted to know, I just… never knew how to ask."
Meng Yao was surprised at that. He couldn't decide whether to trust him, even now, after all this time.
Here was this man, Wen Ruohan. He sat upon his throne and cared not who opposed him. He cared not how others suffered in the service of his demonic vision.
To him, everything was worthy of destruction if he deigned it. Everyone would bend under the severe grip of his power.
Yao couldn't understand why, but perhaps he didn't need to.
Still, Mingjue's mind played his last memory.
"I understand if you feel safer with Xichen. He's…" …less temperamental? Mingjue had asked himself. Less preoccupied with a spiritual tool that demands his entire soul? He was ashamed, thinking about it.
Yao's refutation of his words echoed in Mingjue's mind as shoes appeared in his line of sight, blocking Baxia from his view.
"Nie Mingjue, I would never leave you. Not by choice. I…"
Meng Yao hardly ever used his real, full name, and Mingjue had nearly cried hearing those words. He'd kissed Yao on the forehead as the other trembled under the weight of that revelation.
Glancing up now, incapacitated before Clan Leader Wen, Meng Yao's back was toward him.
"Here you've been spouting morality at me, when you went against your own principle just to protect me…"
"What do you mean?"
"In killing the captain of the guard."
Yao's gaze fixed upon Clan Leader Wen, who looked over him favorably.
"I see. So you're the one I summoned here?"
To Mingjue's horror, Meng Yao bowed to him, joining hands. "Yes."
"I only did it because he was about to kill you."
"Yes. You protected me…"
Meng Yao turned back toward Mingjue as Wen Ruohan bellowed laughter at the expression on Mingjue's face.
"You mean, because I was protecting someone I love, it was a kill unmotivated by dogma?"
"Yes. You've often chastised me for doing the same. For protecting myself."
Mingjue struggled to stand as Wen Ruohan heaved himself from his throne.
"Not for protecting yourself," Mingjue corrected. "I was just afraid you'd lost your way."
Then Mingjue had hugged the smaller man close to him, seeing him speechless, smothering him with his strength.
With Nie Mingjue's strong arms around him, it was then Yao had suggested they come clean to Xichen, and agreed their mutual interest wouldn't harm whatever they had.
Xichen entered the throne room from the opposite side hall, his sword raised – but Yao's arm was already falling, his breath loud and guttural.
The jittery sounds of a demonic flute trilled again in the background.
It all happened too fast.
Baxia's crimson tip clattered against the ground as quickly as it rose.
Wen Ruohan's blood splattered the red carpet, across the stones on the ground, and across Nie Mingjue's face.
He should commend Meng Yao for his swiftness, for his resourcefulness in taking advantage of the situation while Wen Ruohan's guard was down. Instead, only horror remained.
Xichen battled other nearby Wen soldiers when he looked over. Meng Yao was delighted at the man bleeding beneath them, twitching on the floor. Tears were in his eyes, but Meng Yao gripped Baxia like it was an extension of his life, an extension of his will. Xichen forgot the skirmishes on the outskirts of the throne room. He too became terrified of the vignette he saw there.
Before Yao was a bloody mess of a man – whose salvation, honor, vengeance, glory, death, love, and respect had left him, left him bare. Sorrow and anger and madness swirled around him, but all he could do was laugh as the man's blood coated his shoes, his entrails spilling across the floor. Tears fell across his face, over his smiling cheeks, not believing he'd caused the sight before him now, that he'd caused it.
There was no longer an escape from the malevolent powers of this world. It was kill or be killed – he had no other choice.
And as Meng Yao laughed, Mingjue's heart sank deeply in his chest.
He couldn't protect him from Baxia after all.
This is the fastest I've written a story since, no joke, middle school. Like three times faster than anything else I've written in a VERY long time. I've been having a blast, and I hope there are others enjoying it too!
I haven't written this much erotica before, and as I've been pursuing a lot of my own retcons and headcanons here, I'm really glad with how it's been turning out. Ahh, finally, Xichen getting some fucking reciprocation like he deserves. Meanwhile, there's also some long-needed NieYao relief, but then. Oop. o3o"
I hope you liked this chapter and will leave your thoughts if you can. Until next time~