content warnings
references to: past abuse, homophobia, suicide ideation
suggestive content

Mo Xuanyu wakes up the next morning with a feeling like dragging himself out of a pit of warm mud, the last of his makeup smeared over the pillow and a crick in his neck from the awkward position he fell asleep in. Conscious thought takes a while to come to him, like a computer booting back up. He doesn't have to get up, he realizes, staring up at the ceiling; it's plain, unlike the ornateness of the rooms at Koi Tower. He's safe, he thinks again, sleepily, and the thought comes to him that he can just… lie here. There's nothing stopping him. There's nothing he needs to do, no pretense of normalcy he desperately needs to keep up lest someone come knocking at his door with some pretext to peer straight into his business.

He does, indeed, lie there, for a while longer. His limbs feel like lead, like he's just resurfaced from the Marianas Trench of sleep. Finally he drags himself into a sitting position, sluggish and bleary, and checks the clock.

Oh. Not morning. Afternoon. He's slept for over fourteen hours. Not surprising, given that he can't remember the last time he got more than a few hours of tense and fitful rest. His body finally feels properly rested, a sensation he'd almost forgotten. He doesn't think he had any dreams.

He gets up and stretches for a very long time, then pulls the eyeshadow-smeared pillowcase off the pillow and tosses it into the hamper. The pillowcase is dove grey. Everything in the room is in blessed, blessed Qinghe Nie colors; he never has to look at another gold brocade or Sparks Against Snow ever again. Fuck. Fuck yes!

It doesn't escape him that he isn't safe forever. Nie Huaisang could run out of uses for him and leave him to fend for himself, or even have him quietly disposed of; Jin Guangyao could find a legal excuse to storm into the Unclean Realm and demand the handing over of a guest disciple without kicking up a national incident. But none of those things will happen overnight. For now, he's safe. For now, he can rest. For now, he gets a break.

He reeks of fear-sweat and body odor, and his hair is a thick greasy weight on his head. That's been a constant lately, but he never had the luxury of sparing any attention to it the way he does now. There's soap, shampoo and a folded towel on the dresser; Mo Xuanyu grabs them and a change of clothes from his backpack and heads to the dorm's showers. Thankfully, no one else is there at this time of day, and Mo Xuanyu gets to experience in comfortable solitude the divine feeling of showering for the first time in over a week. The hot water on his skin feels like an unimaginable luxury, the grime and paranoia all sliding down the drain. By the time he dries himself off and pulls on clean underwear—also long overdue—he feels like a human being again.

When he gets back to his room he allows himself to pull open the window—something that back at Koi Tower would feel far too vulnerable, far too attention-grabbing to even consider—and stick his head out, bracing himself on the windowsill and letting the crisp air play over his face, fresh and cool on his still-damp hair. A laugh escapes him, and he lets it go; shouts it into the air above the Unclean Realm. He's free! He's escaped! Fuck you very much to all that, he's done with it!

For now. But "for now" is already an enormous relief.

Mo Xuanyu doesn't do much that day. He wanders, explores the Unclean Realm and relishes his freedom to do so. The severe black, gray and bronze of its architecture, the harsh unadorned thickness of its walls, is a welcome change from the opulence of Koi Tower. Mo Xuanyu was entranced by that opulence once, when he first arrived there at sixteen after his mother finally got the paternity test done; now it sickens him, a squalid and greedy display of overflowing wealth. He has no illusions about the Qinghe Nie sect being anything other than filthy stinking rich as well, but at least they aren't nearly as shameless about it. It's simply a relief not to be surrounded by excess all the time. The place feels hard and tough and clean, like he needs to be.

He burns his Lanling Jin uniform in the emptiness of one of the parking lots, crumpling it up into a ball and then throwing a fire talisman at it. He'd liked to have used demonic cultivation for it, just for that sweet vindication; but the Unclean Realm, contrary to its name, is as completely purified of resentful energy as any major sect center. The end result is the same, anyway; the priceless gold silk curdling to black on the asphalt, flames licking at the Sparks Against Snow as it shrivels. Mo Xuanyu lets out a whoop watching it, clapping his hands and laughing with the excess of celebratory energy. He probably looks crazy, which in fairness he is, but he doesn't care; there's no one around, and he deserves this.

The Qinghe Nie sect uniform looks better on him. Not something he's used to, perhaps, and not something he thinks he could make a home out of. But he's always been more suited to dark muted colors. It feels, like everything else, like a fresh start, a welcome break.

The next several days pass in relative blandness; Mo Xuanyu really doesn't know what to do with the calm. Often he'll startle, his heart pounding, certain that there's something vital he's forgotten, that a danger he's ignoring is about to loom up behind him, that he can't really be safe, surely it's a mistake, surely he's about to—!

It always takes him a while to calm himself, to stop his limbs from shaking. Unfortunately, he recognizes the feeling. His first arrival at Koi Tower, away from his family and in the middle of a supportive and welcoming environment, had been plagued with these moments, as his subconscious was slow to catch on that there was no longer any more danger. It… never really went away, actually; once in a while he'll still be frozen by a bolt of directionless and intense fear, a reaction ingrained into him by his upbringing even when there's no cause. It's simply back with a vengeance after recent events.

Thanks a fucking lot, Mrs. Mo. Rot in hell, and your family with you.

The worst part is the sense of repetitiveness that sets in. He wasn't safe at home, then he thought he was safe at Koi Tower, then he wasn't. Now he's temporarily safe in the Unclean Realm, but he knows that won't last either. The short life ahead of him—and Mo Xuanyu knows it's likely to be short, he's too damaged and too wanted by some of the most powerful people in the world for it to be anything else—seems like it will forever be plagued by danger. There will be temporary refuge, perhaps, but each one will eventually turn into its own threat, and in the end, he'll never truly stop running until he's dead.

Anyway! He's not thinking about that right now! He gets over the panic attacks when they happen, clenches his fists white-knuckled tight through them and then keeps on moving once they pass. Eyes on the present, not the future, and in the present he's doing just fine, thank you, and not thinking about what the future will bring! It won't do him any good! He enjoys his newfound freedom by exploring the Unclean Realm and the city around it, relishing the unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar places. He doesn't need to go to class, so he often finds himself trying to find something to do, something to keep his mind occupied to stave off worries about the future; he ends up in the library, trawling through whatever he can find on demonic cultivation. Most books stress how it will destroy the mind and body and is evil and unorthodox and blah de blah de blah. Mo Xuanyu has to snort at this. The Nie sect leader, he knows, has dabbled in demonic cultivation himself; where is the real material being kept…?

Nie Huaisang hasn't sent for him since he arrived. Mo Xuanyu has to admit, the itch is setting in; he's getting a little restless, a little bored.

On the fifth day he decides, fuck it. He's been keeping close to the Unclean Realm in case Nie Huaisang ever needs him, in case there are undercover Lanling Jin cultivators searching for him in Qinghe—illegal, but so is framing someone for sexual harassment and leaking their—anyway! Super extra not thinking about that part! The point is that the cabin fever is building to a pitch, and Mo Xuanyu needs something to take him out of his skin, to make him forget entirely for a moment the situation he's in, the life he's living.

He's going to go clubbing.

Mo Xuanyu is aware it isn't the social activity it is for him that it is for most other people, not with his paranoid and socially incapable self, but he likes the dancing, the loud music, the lights and the sweat and the getting so drunk all his worries come unmoored and float away. And sometimes people flirt with him, which is nice and validating even if they're clearly out of their minds to do so. It's something he hasn't had the chance to do in a while, not since before everything started spiraling back at Koi Tower.

Qinghe only has one gay club within reasonable distance, and even then it's a bit of a stretch. Mo Xuanyu picks his wardrobe carefully, if only because the few clothes he shoved into his backpack back at Koi Tower and the several new ones he's bought since then were certainly not selected with a party appearance in mind. He finds a decently tight pair of jeans and T-shirt, and then finally lets himself go wild with his makeup, which of course he brought with him for camera evasion purposes. Glitter eyeshadow, sharp-winged eyeliner, a bit of shiny highlighter on his cheekbones; it's nice to be able to approach it once more with an artist's flair, rather than a practical panic-focused mindset. It's nice to be able to transform himself again, the way he wants to be transformed.

Finally, he twists his hair up under a hat—men with long hair, in this day and age, tend to be cultivators, and he has no desire to give himself away to any extent—and catches a DiDi to the bar, spending the ride in silence despite the driver's few attempts to make conversation.

Slipping through the doors is like being met with an ocean of sound and humid warmth. Mo Xuanyu sticks close to the wall and lets the welcoming thumping of bass and babble of voices wash over him as he scans the room, taking stock of exits and escape routes and most importantly the people in it. It's always a relief to be around other gay people, he'll admit; to know that for a while, that makes at least one less way he's in danger. There are a few long hairstyles scattered throughout the room, although that's not entirely conclusive; being a cultivator is an elite and sought-after status, after all, and fashion trends will always rush to emulate status. There's a muscular tomboy lesbian in one corner with the Qinghe Nie emblem tattooed on her bicep, and a few others wearing Qinghe Nie merch, but even if they're cultivators rather than just fans he's likely not in any danger from them. Unless Jin Guangyao bought someone out for an inside job, but for his own peace of mind he'll discount that likelihood—they could have just nabbed him back at the Unclean Realm, if so.

He's… probably safe here. Probably. He shouldn't get too drunk, and he should be ready to run if need be.

With that in mind, Mo Xuanyu nonetheless proceeds to the bar to get appropriately drunk. Just enough for the world to go slippery and pleasant around him, so that he can dance without self-consciousness. He's sucking the cherry in his drink off the stem to hear the popping sound it makes when a voice beside him says, "Nice technique."

Mo Xuanyu pauses, cherry halfway into his mouth. He wasn't trying to make it look sexy, but a catch is a catch, he supposes. Turning, he makes eye contact with the person who spoke: young, short hair, fairly attractive, a tight shirt over visible but tastefully subdued musculature. The short hair is promising, but he could just be undercover, and the muscles don't bode well for Mo Xuanyu's chances if it comes to a fight. A weak cultivator can still lose to a highly trained civilian. No, stop, he's not thinking about that, he's here to have fun—unless that fun lands him back at Koi Tower. Mo Xuanyu anticlimactically bites the cherry off the stem and says, mouth full, "Thanks."

"Your name?" The guy leans his elbows easily on the bar next to him. Mo Xuanyu has to admit, he admires the skill to slide so easily into conversation like that.

"Fang Chenglu," says Mo Xuanyu, with the ease of someone who's used to fake names. Even before things went south, he was always paranoid, always protective of his reputation. The sects may have had an anti-discrimination policy, and he may even have been naive enough to believe it at the time, but the sense of shame ingrained in him by his upbringing, the danger of being discovered and judged, was a constant.

"Wang Ke," says the other guy. "I like your makeup."

"Thanks."

Wang Ke gives him an appreciative once-over, deliberately obvious, and Mo Xuanyu starts to feel the first curlings of heat from the pit of his stomach. His body always reacts shamefully easily to the attention of others, as if starved. "Care for a dance?"

Mo Xuanyu, embarrassingly enough, still isn't really sure how dancing with other people is supposed to work. He's seen enough of it to suppose it consists of standing near each other and doing whatever, or standing pressed up against each other and doing whatever depending on what the mood is, but he's irrationally worried about messing it up somehow. But he's here to relax and have fun and take what opportunities he can to be normal and so the answer is obvious. "Sure," he says, and downs the rest of his drink, putting the glass down on the bar with a clinking noise.

Wang Ke smiles, smooth and easy, and heads out onto the dance floor. Mo Xuanyu follows, and they settle on an open spot not too close to the speakers, which is good because the music is loud enough really anywhere on the dance floor and Mo Xuanyu doesn't need to be disoriented by loud sounds right now. Wang Ke starts dancing, bouncing his body to the music, and Mo Xuanyu follows suit, trying not to feel ridiculous. He's done this enough on his own, it shouldn't change anything that there's now a handsome, potentially dangerous man in front of him.

It doesn't take long for them to start dancing closer to each other. Wang Ke's hands settle on his waist, and the strength and easy possessiveness in the contact gets both the arousal and adrenaline ticking. This kind of strong touch means Mo Xuanyu might get laid tonight for the first time in ages; it might mean he'll have to make a run for it soon. "You seem self-conscious," says Wang Ke, with what feels like practiced soothingness. "There's no call to be. You're good at this."

"Mm," offers Mo Xuanyu, matching his rhythm. His hands land on Wang Ke's wrists at his waist and he prays that the motion looks natural as he feels for his pulse—finds it—feels more than listens for the echoing thrum of a golden core, that faint resonance behind each beat.

There is none. Wang Ke's pulse ticks flat and unadorned against the pad of Mo Xuanyu's thumb, the simple rhythm of a civilian.

A sizable portion of the tension eases out of Mo Xuanyu's shoulders. Wang Ke might still pose a threat—those with no cultivational background are still sometimes picked up by the sects if they display useful talents in other areas, and one does not have to be aligned with the Jin sect to be dangerous in general—but the probability is considerably lessened with this proof. His heart eased a fraction, Mo Xuanyu considers that he needs to do something with the hands resting on Wang Ke's wrists, elbows awkwardly bent behind him; he slides them up his arms to give an appreciative squeeze to his biceps, hoping the gesture seems like regular normal flirtation.

Wang Ke gives a low chuckle that doesn't do much to help Mo Xuanyu's state of confused, wary arousal. "Mm," he agrees, and brings one hand up from Mo Xuanyu's waist to squeeze at Mo Xuanyu's own arm, at the less visible but cord-hard muscle there. "You're no slouch yourself."

The attractive man complimenting his body factor wars with the opposing unknown agent assessing the extent of his physical capabilities one in Mo Xuanyu's mind; he quashes the latter reaction as best as he can. "I try," is his pathetic rejoinder, and Wang Ke laughs as if he's told a very funny joke. Mo Xuanyu has the distinct impression of being on the receiving end of a one-size-fits-all routine, as if Wang Ke is going through the same steps he does with everyone he picks up at bars, but that's fine. Mo Xuanyu isn't looking to have the deep layers of his soul seen into; he's looking to get some action.

"Hey," says Wang Ke, and moves his mouth close to Mo Xuanyu's ear. "You want to know what I can't stop thinking about?"

"Mm?" breathes Mo Xuanyu, spine prickling from the proximity. The adrenaline is also kicking up, but that kind of makes it hotter, sort of. He still should be ready to run if he has to.

"You sucking the cherry off that stem," murmurs Wang Ke, and there's no helping the arousal that rips through Mo Xuanyu like a lit gunpowder trail, making his knees go wobbly. He's so easy, it's pathetic. One broad thumb is burning a brand into his waist. "Think you could show me that again, in private?"

Fuck, fuck, how long has it been since Mo Xuanyu last had the warmth of another person on his tongue? He's already gasping as Wang Ke's mouth trails over his cheek and lands solidly on his own, wet and hot and fucking indescribable. It's embarrassing, it's really truly shameful, how starved he is, how desperately his body reacts to this contact, but he kicks away the embarrassment and kisses back hungrily. It's been so long. Part of him is blaring an alarm against the closeness of the contact, the danger of being trapped, but that part doesn't know shit—finally he gets to be touched, finally he's going to get to forget everything other than the fireworks in his body, finally he's going to get to feel human again for a while—

The phone in his back pocket buzzes, the suddenness of the sensation like an electric shock through his clothes.

Mo Xuanyu starts violently enough to dislodge Wang Ke's mouth from his. Definitely not a regular sane person reaction to surprise, something he hopes will go unnoticed. He hopes to god it's a telemarketer, maybe he can just assume it's a telemarketer and ignore it and continue with the business of getting laid—

—except that the only real, non-bot person that has his number could also dispose of him at any time if he starts showing signs of decreased usefulness.

Like not answering the phone.

Mo Xuanyu takes a fraction of a second to clench his teeth so hard he feels like his jaw might crack, then pulls away from Wang Ke fully and fishes his vibrating phone out of his pocket. Sure enough, the contact name is the bamboo emoji he set it as. Damn you to hell Nie Huaisang and your shit timing you motherfucker. "Sorry," he says apologetically, friendly, normal, "I have to take this, you know how it is." A slight rueful eyeroll to indicate he's just as displeased about being interrupted as his partner is. He hopes to god he's doing this right. "I'll be back in a second, okay?"

"No problem," says Wang Ke, easy and good-natured like he's been this whole time, and Mo Xuanyu wastes no time in darting through the crowd on the dance floor like a minnow in disturbed water. Skidding into the hallway where the bathrooms are, he allows himself a strangled growl-scream in frustration at his phone, which is definitely very sane and normal of him, and then takes a breath and picks up the call.

"Sect Leader Nie," he says.

"Xuanyu," Nie Huaisang greets him, sounding like he's stretching, and Mo Xuanyu grits his teeth at the informality. "I need you at my office."

Now?! Fucking NOW?! He had entire days where Mo Xuanyu was doing jack shit! Gripping the phone hard enough his fingers might bruise, Mo Xuanyu forces his tone to remain polite as he says, "Does it need to be now, Sect Leader? I'm in the middle of something."

The thumping of the bass is muffled where he is, but still loud in a way that leaches through walls, through bones; he's sure Nie Huaisang can hear it through the phone. Too bad. Maybe he'll say it's a matter of life or death that can't be interrupted, just to be extra passive aggressive about it.

"As soon as possible," says Nie Huaisang. "I've managed to clear up some things and the time window we have to work in is very short. Take your time wrapping up if you need to, but I want to see you tonight."

"Understood," says Mo Xuanyu.

"See you," says Nie Huaisang, friendly, and then hangs up. Mo Xuanyu does not throw the phone onto the ground with all his might, but it's a close thing.

So. What now? It's dark in the hallway and there's a neon sign pointing the way to the bathrooms that glints in sharp colors off the screen of his phone, the bass still thudding muffled through the room like a party in another world. Wang Ke is still out there on the dance floor, presumably waiting for him, and outside beyond the glass of the door right by him, the Lanling Jin sect is looming somewhere far off in the night, a fortress of gold.

He could go back. He can't—he can't stay over. He doesn't really think he'd ever have been able to stay over; to spend the night at someone else's house (it would have to be someone else's, he's not giving away that he lives in the Unclean Realm), in unfamiliar territory, on someone else's home turf, where he doesn't know the exits. But he could go back to the dance floor, pull Wang Ke into another kiss and then pull him from there into the bathroom, or the alley outside…

—like the filthy pervert you are, the voices of his family shout silently at him, always knew you'd end up—

…or maybe not.

In any case no one's going to hold him afterward, if it's somewhere like that. No one's going to pull blankets over him and tuck him in. Fuck. Fuck. That's what he really wants, isn't it? To feel held, warm, safe. Oh, that's really pathetic, he thinks, even as his chest cracks open, yawning with jagged edges, that's really—

Nope! Not doing that! With the straining effort of deep breaths he forces the chasm shut, then heads out the back door. Into the alleyway. Two blocks down the street, passing by bright lit store signs in the dark; no, two isn't enough, try for three. It's both to make it harder for anyone tracking his ride to guess where he's been, and to make sure Wang Ke doesn't come looking for him. Three blocks of walking, then he calls a DiDi and stands around waiting for it to arrive, arms tight around his torso against the evening chill. He's wearing short sleeves and he didn't bring a jacket.

The ride back to the Unclean Realm is long and silent. Mo Xuanyu contemplates the fare with disquiet; money is precious to a fugitive, and he just blew a bunch of it on what ultimately turned out to be nothing. Can't be helped; public transport makes him too nervous, being a wanted man. Packed like a sardine in with dozens of people who could easily just nab him. The car pulls up to the gates of the Unclean Realm and spits him out, and Mo Xuanyu undertakes the trek back to his room in the dark.

Nie Huaisang said as soon as possible, but he has to make himself look presentable first, i.e. not look like he just walked out of a nightclub into the office of one of the most powerful people in the world. Even though he technically did. Mo Xuanyu wipes off his face, scrubs off the makeup in the mirror, glitter wiping off on the pads. The lipstick is smudged from kissing; the makeup remover is cold on his mouth.

When he gets to the main building, to Nie Huaisang's study, he has a Qinghe Nie collectible jacket on over his party-adequate tight shirt. Silk letterman style in olive and cream, reduced cost with a disciple pass. This way it's not so cold anymore. "Come in," calls Nie Huaisang when he knocks, and when Mo Xuanyu opens the door he's hastily putting away the components of what looks like a model bird skeleton assembly kit.

Mo Xuanyu wonders if a judgmental stare would be considered sufficient grounds for off-the-record execution, and then realizes he's already giving one.

"Sit down, sit down," says Nie Huaisang, shutting the drawer, and then opens a panel on his desk and presses a series of seal-engraved buttons. Mo Xuanyu feels the privacy wards go up around the room, layers and layers of them, his ears popping as though they're being plunged underwater. "Sorry for the short notice!"

"It was no problem," says Mo Xuanyu, because he has to, but he says it flatly.

"I'll see if I can make time for you to go back there if you want," says Nie Huaisang, shutting the panel again. "The new one down the block from that famous historical restaurant, right?"

There's a lot to unpack there—the implication that he'll be let out like a dog on a leash, the fact that Nie Huaisang definitely knows he's gay now even if he probably already did before—but all that takes a backseat to the way Mo Xuanyu's pulse jumps into his throat. "You've been tracking my phone."

"Correct," says Nie Huaisang, looking unperturbed. "You're sharp."

No, he just has paranoid anxiety.

"Good drinks there," says Nie Huaisang, digging a last plastic bird vertebra out of where it's wedged into a seam on the desk. "But if you want my recommendation there's another one further into town that has better ambiance and people. A bit more of a trek, but worth it. So!" The vertebra is retrieved and tossed into the drawer. "I've been doing some serious digging and arrangements based on the information you gave me and now I think things are just about ready, but we'll have to act fast."

Mo Xuanyu blinks, train of thought forcibly rerouted from hold on did Sect Leader Nie just admit to—"How fast?"

"You'll have several days to prepare, and then we'll head out."

"Prepare how? For what—"

"I'll get to that, I'll get to it! Jeez. First, a disclaimer." Nie Huaisang folds his hands together on the desk. "I need you to know that what I am asking you to do is blatantly illegal rather than just an intra-sect dispute. You would no longer be wanted by the higher-ups of the Lanling Jin sect, but by the entire cultivation world. I will no longer legally be able to protect you. You may go into hiding in the Unclean Realm if you wish, but if the Jins come looking for you you will not be getting any help from me."

"Okay," says Mo Xuanyu, stupidly, because he knows he has to take a moment to let it sink in. Wanted by the entire cultivation world… that's big. The whole world would be his enemy—a fox leaping in front of a wave of hounds, always flashing just ahead of snapping jaws, always running, never a moment's rest.

Then again, it already feels like the whole world is his enemy. He wouldn't really be preceding any different from normal.

"All right," he says again, now that the weight of it is starting to settle on his skin like snow. He turns his next words over on his tongue, because they're dangerously impudent, and delivers them like the heavy fall of dice. "What if I refuse to put myself in danger like that?"

He's keenly, thoroughly aware of the fact that Nie Huaisang can have him killed at any time, and the way Nie Huaisang's gaze rests on him for a moment like static prickling on his skin indicates that Nie Huaisang is very aware of it as well. For a moment, the knowledge hangs unspoken in the air between them. Then Nie Huaisang shrugs, waving his hand fan—Mo Xuanyu hadn't even noticed it enter his hand. "Well, I wouldn't be able to house you at the Unclean Realm anymore, of course. We'd no longer have a deal. You'd have to fend for yourself."

Mo Xuanyu considers this. It rings true, despite the moment that just passed through the room; Nie Huaisang doesn't seem like he'll act on the deadly power he holds just yet. So, this is what it comes down to. Whether becoming an enemy of the whole world or rejecting their deal, one way or another, he'll lose Nie Huaisang's protection.

Well, it was bound to happen eventually. Nowhere is a refuge for long.

"But," continues Nie Huaisang, "I will be honest, you are probably the best-suited person I have for the job. It's a real stroke of luck that you landed here, to be honest. So I will have to ask you not to refuse."

Which is either a veiled threat or an indication that Nie Huaisang has a much bigger incentive for him that he's about to reveal. Mo Xuanyu eyes the bait and takes it. "How am I the best suited?"

Nie Huaisang gives a finally you asked! little grin. "You're valuable because you have a good grasp of demonic cultivation," he says, ticking off on his fingers, "because you have insider knowledge on the Lanling Jin sect including its corruption, because you're smart and resilient." Mo Xuanyu isn't going to correct him on that last one. Nie Huaisang leans back in his chair, triumphantly crossing his arms as though about to deliver the coup de grace. "And! You have personal reason to want to see Jin Guangyao exposed."

The air in the room slows, dust motes spinning in place. "This is what this is about."

Nie Huaisang nods, not breaking eye contact, a little smile on his lips like he's just won an argument. Like he already knows he has Mo Xuanyu just where he wants him. "That is indeed the end goal."

And there it is. There's the coup de grace. There's no way Mo Xuanyu would refuse after that. He's always known this—that he's the type of person who will cling to life out of spite and nothing more, or die if it meant that someone who wronged him would get their comeuppance. If this concerns Jin Guangyao, he already knows what his answer will be—Nie Huaisang could ask him to throw himself into the lion's mouth and he'll do it, if only it means that dimpled shitstain gets what's coming to him.

"All right," he says shortly. No need to elaborate; they both know what's going through his mind. "I'm in. You mentioned heading out, what am I going to need to do?"

"You're going to need to put in some studying first," says Nie Huaisang, idly fanning himself. "Demonic cultivation techniques that will probably be useful, as well as blueprints and maps you'll need to have memorized. You'll probably have to cram, I'm sorry, since we're working on such a tight timeframe. But you're sharp, there should be enough time."

"Studying for… what exactly?" presses Mo Xuanyu. "What's the mission I'm going on?"

Nie Huaisang stops fanning himself and frowns at him a little. "You don't need to know until it's time. Giving people more information than they need is a security risk, you know."

Irritation snaps in Mo Xuanyu's gut, that of an animal being made to chase its own tail for someone else's amusement. "If you don't tell me," he says, voice steady considering how dangerously bold he's being, "I'll snoop around and find out on my own."

He's bluffing, of course. As he told Nie Huaisang earlier, he's not a trained spy, and he'd bet good money that Nie Huaisang hasn't even written his goals down anywhere so as not to take that risk; snooping is not likely to yield anything even in Nie Huaisang would allow it to happen. But the demand to be taken seriously, the threat of being difficult, seems to register with Nie Huaisang; he blinks and puts his fan down. "All right. But you know, once we're really underway, I'll have to kill you if there's a possibility you might end up being an information leak. Telling you now just means that period starts earlier."

"That's fine." He's not planning to tell anyone of his own volition, and if the Lanling Jin sect (or anyone else, really) captures and interrogates him, then he'll have a lot more to worry about than Nie Huaisang's ire.

"Well then!" says Nie Huaisang, and grins. "Actually, I think you'll like this one. You seem to be a fan, what with all the—" He flicks a hand over Mo Xuanyu's general physique.

"All the?" says Mo Xuanyu, suspicious and totally lost. A fan?

"You know!" says Nie Huaisang airily. "So! Can I get a drumroll—I'm very proud of this part of things, actually, it's going to be extremely cool if we can pull it off—"

Mo Xuanyu does not give him a drumroll. He doesn't know what he's expecting, but it must certainly be something to do with Jin Guangyao, given the entire incentive Nie Huaisang just provided; maybe interrogating one of the sect's enemies for further dirt on him, or laying the groundwork for any allegations to be taken seriously and not dismissed by the Lanling Jin sect's massive PR machine. It's these kind of possibilities he's working with, and it's why his mind briefly stops working when Nie Huaisang leans forward, eyes sparkling, and says,

"We're going to bring back the Yiling Patriarch."