Blossoms Amidst the Snow

Nie Huaisang was not at the siege of the Burial Mounds.

He didn’t think he would’ve wanted to be there, even if his duties hadn’t prevented him from attending regardless. Nie Huaisang had loved Wei Wuxian, but Nightless City— Nie Huaisang couldn’t get the image out of his head. So many people, slaughtered needlessly. Not the only needless deaths (he remembered Wen Qionglin, shy and sweet and eternally in Wei Wuxian’s shadow; Wen Qing with her proud bearing and well-hidden heart), but the scale—

Nie Huaisang had never wanted to see another battlefield after the Sunshot Campaign ended. Now he was left organizing funerals for another generation of cultivators while his brother led the remaining grief-stricken warriors of Qinghe Nie to Yiling. Nie Huaisang did not envy Da-ge his task, but he did not like his own much better. The only solace was in knowing he could give some kind of comfort to his people.

Nie Huaisang heard about the battle after. Heard that the Yiling Wen were slaughtered (“The old and the young, the crippled and the weak; they all defended their home,” Da-ge said, grief-lines wrought deep into his forehead. “We should all be so strong in our defenses. We should have— A-Mei, they were civilians.”) and that Wei Wuxian had sacrificed himself in a blaze of power that left nothing save a body vanished over a cliff (“Jiang-zongzhu won’t stop searching for him.” Da-ge shook his head as Nie Huaisang gently untangled the braids in his hair. “I hope he finds a way to fill the hole in his heart. I fear he will find no closure beneath the cliffs.”) and his only thought was, Where was Lan Wangji?  

“Injured,” Da-ge said succinctly, when Nie Huaisang asked. “I asked Xichen, and I don’t think it’s anything simple from how sour his face was.”

“Lan Xichen was sour?” Nie Huaisang asked, as horrified by that as anything else.

Da-ge sighed. “None of us were at our best, Huaisang. But we live, and so we must find peace with our actions somehow.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, and began telling his brother about the funerals, about the celebrations of lives and the way people mourned, and his plans for interring the sabers of the fallen. Nie Mingjue listened sharply, and complimented him on his thoughtful choices, and when Nie Huaisang finally fell silent he only asked, “Do you have any plans, now?”

“I hadn’t—” Nie Huaisang bit his lip, looked down. “The Yiling Patriarch was powerful.” It was as close as he could come to admitting that thinking about the future had been too much when his brother had marched against his once-friend.

Da-ge clasped his shoulder, squeezing to show his understanding. “Your friend is injured,” he said, and his cheeks dimpled as he smiled. “Please go visit him. I would like to help put Xichen’s worries to rest—and those you now no doubt have as well.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, vision blurring with tears. Fortunately, he didn’t need any words to curl in closer to his big brother and cry with all the grief he’d been holding back in an attempt to be strong and let his people grieve. And if tears wet his hair and shoulder too, if Nie Mingjue shook with his own feelings and not merely sympathy—well, there was nobody else here to tell.

“Do you have an invitation?” the Gusu Lan disciple guarding the Cloud Recesses’ entrance asked.

Nie Huaisang tilted his head, turning that over in his mind. He had visited before, and had not required an explicit invitation—his standing friendship with Lan Wangji had been enough. “I am here to visit Lan Wangji,” he said again. “I have heard he was injured, and wished to see what aid or entertainment I could bring him. If he is indisposed, perhaps I could talk to Lan Xichen?”

The disciple sighed, and Nie Huaisang saw a flash of something—grief, or perhaps guilt—cross her face. “Please wait here,” she said, drawing a sigil Nie Huaisang was well familiar with. It strengthened and solidified the wards so that none could enter without a resonant jade token. Nie Huaisang smiled, and bowed, and watched the disciple hurry up the path to the Cloud Recesses proper. Her reaction had simply confirmed the suspicions Da-ge had shared with him: Something had happened to Lan Wangji, and it couldn’t just be an ordinary battle wound from Nightless City.

He settled in to wait, sitting on a lovely rock arrangement that just so happened to form an aesthetically pleasing and naturally integrated bench. Patience, he had found, was a virtue he was rarely expected to have, yet had many opportunities to practice. Today, he listened for birds and counted how many he could hear and picked apart his understanding of what they were saying. Mostly social cries identifying where food and friends were, a few calls for mates, and occasionally a break in the noise when a predator was noticed and a voice cried out in alarm.

They had a distinct sound for an approaching human as well. Nie Huaisang rose in concert with those calls, arranging himself to seem like he had been standing peacefully the whole time. He smiled, first as a mask and then more genuinely when he saw that one of the approaching people was Lan Xichen himself. “Xichen-ge!” Nie Huaisang said, bowing. “Da-ge sends his regards and regrets that he could not travel at my side.”

“Huaisang.” Lan Xichen stepped through the gate and lightly touched Nie Huaisang’s hands. “I had wondered which of you would come calling, though I am sorry not to see Mingjue himself.” He glanced briefly back at the gate guard, who had returned to her post. “Nie-gongzi is my guest,” Lan Xichen informed her calmly. “I was uncertain when Qinghe Nie would allow either its leader or heir to visit, so I did not make the proper arrangements.”

“Zongzhu,” the disciple murmured, bowing. “All is resolved.” She sketched another talisman, and Nie Huaisang felt it ripple over his body as the temporary key settled across his clothes.

“Indeed.” Lan Xichen beckoned Nie Huaisang to follow him. They walked up the path in silence for some time, until Lan Xichen broke the forest’s peace by saying, “I could not tell our brother very much about what has happened. There were too many ears.”

Nie Huaisang managed to say, “I understand,” despite how his gut was now filled with star-bright anxiety buzzing around like gnats.

“I am always happy to have A-Sang visit, and I know you are familiar with our home.” Lan Xichen paused, looking up to study the branches of a pine tree. For a moment, Nie Huaisang wondered why they had stopped. Then he realised that the next turn would bring them to the Cloud Recesses proper, where there would be more potential of being overheard. “Please accompany me to the hanshi. If necessary, I will mention that you are here as Da-ge’s emissary to discuss joint allocation of resources as we recover from recent events, but I do not think it will be necessary.”

Nie Huaisang nodded silently, but he didn’t manage to hide the worry on his face.

Lan Xichen glanced at him and gave a small sad smile. “Wangji is not going to die, Huaisang; I simply do not wish to talk about his injuries in public.”

“I understand,” Nie Huaisang said, and barely noticed anything else until they had walked through the quiet of the Cloud Recesses and into the silence of the hanshi. He knew three things: The Cloud Recesses were subdued, drizzling gray cloud-cover instead of bright morning fog; enough people recognised him from the Sunshot Campaign and trade caravans he’d presided over that in normal circumstances he would have stopped to chat with at least one of them; and the path they usually ambled down to enjoy the journey was instead something to be quickly trod to reach their destination.

The hanshi, at least, was exactly as Nie Huaisang remembered it. He rarely had reason to visit Lan Xichen on his own, but when Da-ge accompanied him they always spent some time together in the hanshi before Nie Huaisang went off to find other entertainment. It was quiet, and peaceful, yet still felt more open than the jingshi usually did; Nie Huaisang thought that was a reflection of the Twin Jades’ public personas in their living spaces.

“Tea?” Lan Xichen said as they entered, already heading towards the elegant teapot.

“Please,” Nie Huaisang said, and wished that he had something to busy his hands with as well, but this was Lan Xichen’s space; there was no way to be polite about wanting to help. Instead, he settled himself by the low table and flipped his fan open. It was hard not to keep opening and closing it, the sound and motion both soothing him. He settled for simply fanning himself in precise and economical motions; the abortive beginnings of movements that could become attacks or guards in other circumstances.

Lan Xichen could tell what he was doing, of course, but he was polite enough not to mention it. Instead, he filled the teapot with water, lit the little brazier with a few sketched lines, and let it begin heating. Then he brought teacups over, though they would remain empty for some time as the water heated. Everything was done in silence, without even the scrape of foot against floor to break the near-suffocating tension.

Finally, Lan Xichen sat, and he said, “Wangji is hurt.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, finally stilling the fan as something new might be added to his understanding.

“You have heard of what Wei Wuxian did at Nightless City.” Lan Xichen’s mouth twisted, and while it wasn’t much it expressed his grief as clearly as Da-ge’s tears. “It was… exceptional.”

“Da-ge says it was a slaughter.” Nie Huaisang’s hands felt numb. “Is that—?”

Lan Xichen sighed. “Would it be so simple.” He looked above Nie Huaisang’s head, eyes shuttered and fingers pressed tight against his thighs. “Wangji arrived as the battle ended. From where I was, it seemed like he might have struck Wei Wuxian. There was certainly some relationship between his arrival and Wei Wuxian’s song faltering.”

“You don’t believe he struck Wei Wuxian.”

“I don’t think anyone knows what happened, except perhaps Wangji himself.” Lan Xichen permitted himself the slightest smile. “When the corpses ceased to fight, there was a brief moment—no more than five minutes—when we were too busy checking on the dead. Everyone assumed that Lan Wangji would deal with the Yiling Patriarch; he had only recently joined the battle, and everyone was confident in his prowess. If anyone could ensure the Yiling Patriarch was brought down, it would be him.

“So when we looked up and couldn’t find either of them, you can imagine the chaos.”

Nie Huaisang laughed, slightly hysterical. He could well imagine. Lan Wangji hadn’t taken Wei Wuxian’s retreat to Yiling well. Lan Wangji had always cared for Wei Wuxian more than anyone gave him credit for. Lan Wangji could do many things, and the very few impetuous decisions Nie Huaisang had ever known Lan Wangji to make were all about Wei Wuxian. “How many people thought that the Yiling Patriarch had captured him?”

“That was indeed the primary theory.” Lan Xichen shook his head. “I took as many trusted disciples as I could to search for him.”

It was not the end of the story. It was the beginning. Nie Huaisang breathed in the quiet and watched steam begin to wisp out of the teapot. “Xichen-ge,” he said softly, after he couldn’t bear it any longer. “Did you find him?”

“Shufu found them.”

Nie Huaisang drew in a quick breath, and Lan Xichen finally met his eyes again, a bleakness in his eyes that Nie Huaisang had never before seen. “He had taken Wei Wuxian, as we expected,” Lan Xichen said, voice very precisely controlled. “They were in a cave near Yiling, and from what I’ve pieced together, Lan Wangji was caring for him. Helping him recover.”

“Lan-xiansheng would not take that well,” Nie Huaisang said, trying desperately to match Lan Xichen’s neutral tone.

“He did not.” Lan Xichen picked up the teapot and poured it with hands that only shook a little. “My brother held off thirty-three elders.”

“How did Wei Wuxian escape?” Nie Huaisang asked, because he knew Wei Wuxian had. Otherwise the siege would never have happened. That it was the less heart-wrenching part, one he could think about without wincing, also turned his words in that path, though they bordered on rude.

Lan Xichen placed the teapot back on the brazier and offered Nie Huaisang one of the teacups. “I believe Lan Wangji encountered the elders slightly away from the cave and did not allow them to find the place where Wei Wuxian hid. He concealed it very well.”

Nie Huaisang sipped tea as he tried to understand. Lan Wangji did many things for Wei Wuxian, but this— It pushed the lines in a way that Wei Wuxian would do without thought but which Lan Wangji had never before expressed a desire to do. “The tea is good,” he said, because it was expected and he needed to start his voice again somehow. Then, with polite disbelief, “He was injured fighting his own elders?”

“No,” Lan Xichen said grimly, his own teacup frozen halfway to his mouth. “He was brought home unharmed, or close enough; he would have recovered from those wounds within a week’s meditation. Shufu punished him with thirty-three heavy lashes, one for each elder he faced. That is the injury my brother lies unconscious from.”

It was a good thing Nie Huaisang wasn’t holding anything, because he didn’t think his hands would work after that revelation. “Er-ge,” he started, feeling very small and useless and young and unable to find any more words to continue his sentence.

“It is true, Huaisang.” Lan Xichen gave up even the pretense of drinking tea. “He is deeply injured by our uncle’s own hand, and he lies unconscious in our medical wards. He will be removed to the jingshi’s seclusion, to heal and repent, once the doctors agree he doesn’t need to be monitored.”

Nie Huaisang’s hands curled tightly into his robes. “I am glad that he is being well-cared for. I know that punishment is required. However, is it not enough to give him lashes? Must he be locked away as well?”

“In the eyes of those whose family died at Nightless City?” Lan Xichen shook his head. “This is kind. He is still ours, despite his actions. He will recover.”

Nie Huaisang glanced away, shamed. His voice was still bitter as he said, “I do not think there needed to be a fight.”

“Yet there was, Huaisang, and we cannot change the past.” Lan Xichen sighed. “I cannot condone actions that would break Shufu’s degreed punishments, but you are not expected to know Wangji’s situation, and I cannot monitor every action you take.”

Nie Huaisang stared at Lan Xichen, shocked that he would even imply such actions, but he didn’t dare question this gift.

Lan Xichen kept his eyes on the table and the pale cups of mostly-undrunk tea as he continued. “I do know that my brother is unconscious, or nearly so, and the doctors believe it will be another season until he is conscious long enough to hold a conversation.”

“I understand,” Nie Huaisang said, and he did. “I will suggest that Da-ge visit once we have finished mourning all our dead and the Qinghe Nie Sect is steady enough that we may both journey forth.”

“I would appreciate that,” Lan Xichen murmured, a real smile on his face for the first time since Nie Huaisang had come. “You are of course welcome to stay with us on this visit as long as you wish, but things are more subdued than they have been.”

Nie Huaisang bowed slightly. “I do not wish to burden you, Xichen-ge.”

“It is no burden. Indeed, even if you wish to hurry home, I would ask you to indulge me and stay for an hour—there is a letter I wish to write, if you could bear it to Mingjue.”

“Of course.” Nie Huaisang smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”

After the necessary pleasantries, Nie Huaisang left the hanshi to find Lan Wangji. The medical areas of the Cloud Recesses were only slightly offset from the central living and training areas, yet appeared to be their entire own section due to the carefully cultivated trees sheltering the medical facilities. He’d only visited them a few times himself, but it wasn’t difficult to find them—the ways were winding, to be sure, but no more so than any other path in the Cloud Recesses.

A ward shivered across Nie Huaisang’s skin as he entered the medical complex, but as he bore no infection nor ill-intent, he was allowed through. Only then did Nie Huaisang diverge from the paths and put the skills he’d honed through the Sunshot Campaign to use. He might not be the strongest in a fight, but he had learned how to slip past eyes unseen and unheard. In that, at least, few had been able to match him.

It may not be a traditional skill to be proud of, but Nie Huaisang had seen the difference that running messages past enemy lines could make, or the difference of simply having unexpected advanced warnings. Nie Huaisang had led the spies and look-outs to great effect, and though he shared Da-ge’s concerns about Jin Guangyao’s choices, he had to admit that Jin Guangyao had contributed very effectively to their efforts.

Here, where his invisibility was not a matter of life or death but simply of if he would be able to see his friend, Nie Huaisang did not worry. He simply waited for a moment when doors were left open a second too long, and stole inside with no more disturbance than the wind.

Once inside, it was not difficult to find Lan Wangji: Nie Huaisang simply looked for the most secluded chamber that was clearly in-use. The only challenge was attending to where the doctors were and ensuring that he wasn’t seen by them. He could come up with perfectly reasonable explanations for his presence, but he would rather give Lan Xichen plausible deniability about his actions. After all, if he was not seen, who could say whether or not he was simply wandering the myriad paths of the Cloud Recesses during this time?

When Nie Huaisang came to Lan Wangji’s room, he still hesitated.

He couldn’t hear anyone moving inside, so he was sure he was safe from discovery—if Lan Wangji were injured enough for a doctor to sleep at his bedside, Lan Xichen wouldn’t have suggested Nie Huaisang sneak a visit—but he had never seen Lan Wangji deeply injured before. While they had all taken some wounds during the Sunshot Campaign, there was a difference between a slash across the arm that would heal in a week and thirty-three lashes across the back given in disciplined grief.

It would grow no easier with time, and he did not wish to be caught. Nie Huaisang took a deep breath and entered the private room. It smelled of cleansing herbs, and everything was impeccably organized. Lan Wangji, as Nie Huaisang expected, lay on his chest, propped up so that his head was at a less twisted angle. A sheet covered his body, but Nie Huaisang could still make out the lumps of bandages covering the entirety of his back and disturbing the ordinarily-smooth lines.

Nie Huaisang had seen the near-pristine skin of Lan Wangji’s back before, and felt his own body ache in sympathetic reaction to the trauma Lan Wangji must have experienced. Cultivators healed well, but wounds like these had to be would be certain to leave visible scars—to speak nothing of those which must rest upon Lan Wangji’s heart.

As gently as he could, Nie Huaisang brushed aside Lan Wangji’s hair, fingers hesitating over the heat of his skin and the strange fragility radiating from him. “Lan Zhan,” he murmured, unable to help himself, “what have you done?”

Then, before he could think too hard about getting caught, Nie Huaisang leaned down to press a kiss to Lan Wangji’s temple, infusing it with all the love and spiritual energy he thought he could get away with. It flowed through his lips and breath and into Lan Wangji, and Nie Huaisang felt Lan Wangji twitch against his hand.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to send Nie Huaisang startling backward. He didn’t want to wake Lan Wangji; he wanted Lan Wangji to rest. Whatever notice Lan Wangji might have taken of his presence, let him be a dream for now. Nie Huaisang breathed out, calming his heart to help avoid rousing Lan Wangji’s sleeping suspicions. There would be more time to be together once Lan Wangji’s body was healed, he promised himself.

As he turned to leave, a soft sound came from behind the partition splitting Lan Wangji’s recovery room into unequal halves. Nie Huaisang froze. He’d assumed the smaller section simply contained more medical supplies, or perhaps a bath and other sanitary equipment. But that had distinctly been the sound of someone in restless sleep.

Nie Huaisang carefully peered around the partition. He hadn’t expected anyone else to be in the same room as Lan Wangji to begin with. When he saw the small body lying on a bed, his breath caught. A child? he wondered, staring at the blanket-covered lump. Why would there be a child with Lan Wangji?  

He didn’t stay. If he had heard the child make noise, then either they would wake soon or they would slip into nightmares and a doctor would come soothe them. Nie Huaisang didn’t want to be caught for either reason. Nie Huaisang withdrew, just as silent and shrouded as he’d entered, and returned to the more public areas, mulling over what he’d seen.

When Nie Huaisang stepped back onto the public paths of the Cloud Recesses, he flicked open his fan to help hide his expression from view. Though a somber mien was more common than not these days, he would still prefer to give as few clues as possible to his sorrows—especially since he was a visitor speculating about his hosts’ medical care.

A few years ago, seeing children in medical wards was common; it was an unfortunate side effect of war. Now, they might be there for broken bones or fevers, but there were other rooms in the facilities. Such a child wouldn’t be in the same room as Lan Wangji. Nie Huaisang turned the matter over in his mind as he took every turning away from other people and found his way to the half-wild outskirts of the Cloud Recesses.

Nie Huaisang’s footsteps stuttered to a stop in front of a quiet reflecting pool as the pieces clicked together in his head.

He had known Lan Xichen would hold back some facts about the story—sects had to keep their secrets—but if this child was related to the Wei Wuxian and the Siege of the Burial Mounds somehow, that was… a larger elision than he’d expected.

Nie Huaisang had never found a suitable excuse to visit Yiling himself, and now he regretted that. There were pieces of information he was missing, and there was no way to put them all together until Lan Wangji himself was ready to talk. Nie Huaisang sighed, and tried to turn his thoughts to shining water and soft-blooming flowers, not questions he knew he must wait months to get answers to.

Slowly, he folded himself onto the ground. The Cloud Recesses had been designed as a giant meditation garden to begin with; any quiet out-of-the-way spot such as this could easily be turned officially to that purpose without anyone finding it strange. Nie Huaisang didn’t think he’d ever stopped here during prior visits, and that made it easier, in some regards, to sink into the grass and watch the subtle ripples of wind on the water and clear his mind until there was nothing but the reflection of the sky.

Nie Huaisang wasn’t sure how long he sat there, letting wind and water cleanse his mind until his heart was aching but once more clear. He only realised he’d sat there for quite some time when Lan Xichen lightly touched his shoulder and said, “I was wondering where you’d gone, Huaisang.”

“Apologies, Xichen-ge,” Nie Huaisang said softly, blinking himself back to the world. “I needed to settle myself, and lost track of time.”

“Fortunately, there are not so many Qinghe Nie in the Cloud Recesses that I could lose you.” Lan Xichen’s amusement was clear in his voice. “Were you planning on returning to the Unclean Realm today, or staying the night?”

Nie Huaisang looked up at the sky. The sun was descending, but if he hurried he should be able to make it home before it got too late. “I fear for my heart if I stay,” he said, so quietly he wasn’t sure Lan Xichen would be able to hear him. “I need time to understand what happened.”

Lan Xichen sighed. “I’ll send a message when things have improved enough.”

“I appreciate that, Xichen-ge.” Nie Huaisang stood and bowed slightly. “Did you finish your letter to Da-ge?”

“I did.” The fondness in Lan Xichen’s eyes could melt the coldest heart, Nie Huaisang thought. “Please give him my regards, and my sorrow that we won’t be able to meet soon. There is too much business I must accomplish.”

“I will let him know,” Nie Huaisang promised. As he took the letter, he smiled mischievously, giving in to his desire to be the littlest sibling of their sworn family. “Is there anything else you want me to give Da-ge for you?”

“Impudent,” Lan Xichen laughed, swatting at him just as Da-ge would but with far less force. “Nothing that would be appropriate coming from you, A-Mei.”

“Should I send San-ge a letter?” Nie Huaisang teased, stepping out of Lan Xichen’s range. “It could say ‘Dear San-ge, Er-ge needs you to deliver a message to Da-ge for him. Please put them out of their misery. Love, A-Sang.’ and then you wouldn’t have any worries about appropriateness, would you?”

“Huaisang!” Lan Xichen’s cheeks flushed. “A-Yao is not— Da-ge wouldn’t appreciate him being my messenger either.”

Nie Huaisang hid his laughter behind his fan. “I know, I know.”

Lan Xichen shook his head, but his expression was certainly lighter than it had been upon Nie Huaisang’s arrival. “Go on, Huaisang,” he said softly. “I will give him your love when he is able to hear it.”

Warmth suffused his face, and Nie Huaisang retreated behind his fan once more. “Thank you,” he said, taking simplicity as his refuge. It shouldn’t have been a surprise; if he could tease Lan Xichen about Da-ge, then being teased about his own affections for Lan Wangji was only fair. Yet, Lan Xichen rarely brought up the complicated tangle of emotions he knew Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang felt for each other.

But this was a strange time, and Nie Huaisang was just glad that Lan Wangji would know he was thinking of him. He bowed, and said, “I will take my leave now, Lan-zongzhu.”

Lan Xichen took the switch in formality in stride, offering Nie Huaisang one last smile as he said, “Safe travels, Nie-gongzi. Give my respects to Nie-zongzhu when you return.”

“I will,” Nie Huaisang said, and turned to leave before he could change his mind and beg to stay by Lan Zhan until he woke.

It would help neither of them, he told himself as he passed out the Cloud Recesses’ gate and stepped onto Lichi. It would reveal too much, and take him away from his people. No matter how much he loved Lan Wangji, his duty to the people of Qinghe must come first.

The cool evening air dried Nie Huaisang’s face as he finally allowed himself to weep, trusting long habit to ensure he would get home safely. He could wait, and Lan Wangji would heal, and there would always be a gap in their lives where Wei Wuxian should be. Aggravating as he might have been at times, Wei Wuxian had mostly just been brilliant and kind, and there would be fewer fascinating new ideas without him in the world.

So Nie Huaisang let his tears flow into the open air, where nobody could see or judge the way he mourned not just for himself but for Lan Wangji and his horribly broken heart.

By the time he landed in the Unclean Realm’s courtyard, his status as heir easily allowing him to pass through their guarding wards, there was no sign that anything could have been wrong but reddened eyes easily passed off as wind-burn. Nie Huaisang exchanged cheerful greetings with the disciples he passed, handed Da-ge the letter Lan Xichen had given him, and then retreated to his room.

He would endure, he told himself as he prepared for bed. He was Qinghe Nie, and he was strong in heart and mind, because they were carved from mountain stone.

The words didn’t ring false as he fell asleep, but his last thought before dreams stole him away was still: And what of Lan Zhan? How will he endure?  

“You don’t need to come with me,” Nie Mingjue said, but there was no rebuke in his words.

Nie Huaisang grinned at his brother, Lichi’s weight giving his steps more of a sway than he was used to. “I’m not going to interfere with your ability to catch up with Xichen-ge.”

“That is not what’s up for debate,” Nie Mingjue muttered, but Nie Huaisang caught the slight flush on his ears. More loudly, his brother said, “I’m glad to see you carrying your sword again.”

“It’s far faster to fly,” Nie Huaisang said, rubbing his fingers over the decorative filigree on Lichi’s hilt. “And I can use her.”

Nie Huaisang coming back from the Cloud Recesses’ lecture series with a sword instead of a saber had caused a number of arguments, most of which had been set aside during the Sunshot Campaign but burst back into full bloom in the uneasy peace after Wen Ruohan’s defeat. That Nie Huaisang had finally begun to work on his swordsmanship was an unarguable positive; that he had progressed quickly enough in sword and fan over the summer that he surpassed what hard-earned skill in saber he’d previously gained was a sore spot.

Today, at least, Nie Mingjue simply grunted and let it slide. “I assume you’ve made all necessary arrangements.”

“Nie Zonghui has long been able to manage the Unclean Realm while we’re both away.” Nie Huaisang drew Lichi in a single smooth motion and stepped upon her blade, raising himself up ever so slightly to bring his eyes level with his brother’s. “But yes, I told him we’d both be gone for a few days, but not to worry unless it turned into more than a week without a missive explaining why.”

Nie Mingjue nodded curtly and mounted Baxia with an instinctive grace Nie Huaisang aspired to one day reach. It was harder with swords than sabers; the strength of a saber spirit had its benefits, even though after the weilder’s death they complicated the Qinghe Nie’s lives in a way the other sects weren’t allowed to understand. Harder didn’t mean impossible, however; he’d seen enough of the Gusu Lan to know that they were equally fluid.

So Nie Huaisang had aspirations, but for now he was content to follow along behind Nie Mingjue as they lifted into the air. He knew that his brother could move more quickly if he pushed himself, but Da-ge had chosen to settle at a pace that better suited Nie Huaisang’s comfort.

Up in the sky, it was almost possible to forget how badly burnt the land had been, how many trees grew tall and strong from blood spilt into their roots. In the clouds, Nie Huaisang could forget, if only for a moment, everything they were still rebuilding. The wind of their passage kept words at bay, and the mountains and rivers weaving forests and fields together was the most beautiful painting Nie Huaisang knew.

But such things could not last, and as Nie Mingjue led them to the Cloud Recesses, Nie Huaisang found himself instinctively picking out stands of trees young and green in the midst of swathes of burnt land. It was regrowing, and the Cloud Recesses themselves had been restored, but the ash-scarred trees were still dark reminders of what they had all survived.

Nie Huaisang drew a deep breath, steadying himself as they descended to the outer wards. He didn’t need to be here, but he wanted to see Lan Wangji, and there was no better time to come than when attention would naturally be directed more towards his brother. There was some excuse, of course—Xichen-ge didn’t leave such things to chance—but Nie Huaisang knew that trade agreements or policy discussions or whatever it was that Lan Xichen had used as a reason to invite Da-ge to the Cloud Recesses was simply cover for their own intimacy.

He suspected that the Gusu Lan disciples who bowed and murmured welcomes and led them inside also knew that, but the Gusu Lan did not gossip about such things where outsiders could hear. They barely gossiped where each other could hear, from what Nie Huaisang had been outright told (by both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, so he almost trusted it). Still, there had to be some gossip network, because by the time they reached the Cloud Recesses proper, Lan Xichen was waiting for them.

Lan Xichen was beautiful, and elegant, and had a real smile on his face as he looked down at the young child hiding behind his robes. Nie Huaisang didn’t recognise the child, and when he glanced at Nie Mingjue, his brother’s forehead was furrowed too. Evidently Lan Xichen hadn’t mentioned having care of a child in any of the letters they sent back and forth, either.

“Nie-zongzhu, Nie-gongzi,” Lan Xichen said, clearly for the child’s benefit. He bowed, and the child copied him. “This is Lan Yuan, my brother’s new ward.”

Nie Huaisang bowed, a smile bright on his face. A series of puzzle pieces clicked into place in his mind. He hadn’t asked questions about the child recovering at Lan Wangji’s side when he’d come before, because he’d been too overcome by grief, and now some of those unasked questions had implied answers. Those answers led to new questions, of course, and he pointedly did not ask Lan Xichen any of them—especially in regard to the slight emphasis on Lan Yuan.

Instead, Nie Huaisang addressed the curious child. “It’s wonderful to meet you, A-Yuan; I’m Nie Huaisang, and my Da-ge is Nie Mingjue.” Nie Mingjue himself, of course, had bowed properly in response to A-Yuan. But immediately after, he had moved next to Lan Xichen, and Nie Huaisang heard them whisper to each other as Nie Huaisang blatantly ignored them in favor of A-Yuan. “He looks scary,” Nie Huaisang stage-whispered, glancing up at Da-ge, “but he’s really quite nice.”

A-Yuan nodded solemnly. “Xichen-gege says that about Lan-xiansheng too.”

Nie Huaisang cackled. “I’m sure he tells you a lot of things like that.”

“Please join us for tea,” Lan Xichen said, interrupting Nie Huaisang’s contemplation of what might be fun to ask. “After, I’m sure A-Yuan will be very happy to show you all his favorite places and people.”

“I’m honored,” Nie Huaisang said, and it was mostly sincere; he had an answer to why Lan Yuan was with Lan Xichen, and a very good excuse to see Lan Wangji. Plus, he’d get to tease Da-ge about Xichen-ge during tea. “I’m sure that A-Yuan will be an excellent guide.”

Lan Xichen extended a hand, and A-Yuan gladly took it. As they walked through the Cloud Recesses, A-Yuan loudly whispered—bending, but certainly not breaking, the Cloud Recesses rules—explanations of all the important places they passed. Lan Xichen smiled tolerantly, Nie Huaisang actively encouraged him, and even Da-ge’s face was softly fond. It didn’t matter that they all knew the information already; it mattered that he was young, and excited, and deserved to be listened to.

In the hanshi, A-Yuan ran ahead of them at Lan Xichen’s gentle urging, and carefully pulled out a tea set. It was simpler and sturdier than Nie Huaisang recalled seeing previously, and Lan Xichen’s subtle nod confirmed he’d acquired it purely for A-Yuan’s benefit. They all arranged themselves around the low table as A-Yuan placed every item except the teapot: That, he handed to Lan Xichen with as much ceremony as a child being given a sword.

Lan Xichen took it equally gravely, and went to fill it with water. While he was gone, Nie Mingjue elbowed Nie Huaisang gently and muttered, “You were never that formal.”

“I was very formal,” Nie Huaisang said, since they hadn’t yet been served and so no formal Lan rules about silence were yet in effect. He winked at wide-eyed A-Yuan and explained: “I spent all my time learning calligraphy and painting and studying the stars.”

“What he’s not saying is that every time I pulled him away from his books to practice the saber, he threw giant tantrums.” Nie Mingjue laughed, and Nie Huaisang smiled ruefully. “You’ve improved greatly since then!”

Nie Huaisang leaned on the table. “Da-ge, did my temper improve or my sword skills?”

Before Nie Mingjue could respond, Lan Xichen returned to set the teapot on its little braiser, a true smile on his face. “Mingjue, are you filling A-Yuan’s head with impolite ideas?”

“I’m telling him childhood stories, Xichen.” Nie Mingjue could look terrifyingly sweet when he wanted to, and Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. “What could be more appropriate for a child?”

“Please be clear about which elements of your childhood stories are typical childhood acts, and which are specific to Qinghe Nie.” Lan Xichen settled to the ground and patted A-Yuan’s hair. “Ever since Lan Wangji brought him home, we’ve been helping him heal and adjust to our family’s expectations.”

Nie Mingjue nodded. “Where did Wangji find you, A-Yuan?” he rumbled, eyes fixed on Lan Xichen in a way that Nie Huaisang read as Why did we not hear that Lan Wangji adopted a child?  

“I don’t remember,” A-Yuan said, more cheerfully than Nie Huaisang thought was reasonable. He leaned into Lan Xichen’s side. “But Wangji-er-gege and Xichen-ge are taking care of me, and the doctors were very nice too.”

“Lan Wangji strained himself to search a battlefield for survivors when heavily injured,” Lan Xichen said, much more mildly than the situation warranted. His face, which the Nie could see but A-Yuan could not, was far tenser, and Nie Huaisang had to carefully modulate his own facial expression to something closer to polite concern than Why didn’t I learn this earlier?  

Lan Xichen saw his face, and murmured, “We did not wish to disclose anything until all people involved could speak their piece about where they wished to be.” He squeezed A-Yuan’s shoulders fondly. “But things are settled now.”

The crease between Nie Mingjue’s eyes said that he didn’t think everything was settled, but Lan Xichen’s own expression stayed flat and placid as he nodded across to the teapot, now nicely steaming. “For now, Da-ge, tea.”

“Of course,” Nie Mingjue said, in a tone that promised retribution of some sort when they had the privacy to talk without worrying about a child overhearing them. Nie Huaisang suspected half the conversation would be “Why didn’t you tell me I had a nephew!” and the other half would be “Fuck me, fuck you, let’s fucking do it,” or something along those lines; he preferred not to know exactly what Da-ge and Xichen-ge got up to when they were alone, but there were certain aspects it was impossible for him to avoid overhearing.

They had tea, silent save for softly murmured praise. Any potential tensions were set aside, and even A-Yuan sat fairly still. The tea itself was good, of course; a classic Gusu Lan blend of subtle flavours that lingered on the tongue. As soon as the last cup was set down, Nie Huaisang bowed to Lan Xichen and said, “You are a fine host, and I do not wish to disparage your hospitality, but you had mentioned that perhaps Lan Yuan could give me a tour?”

A-Yuan brightened and turned wide eyes on Lan Xichen. “Can I, Xichen-ge?”

Lan Xichen smiled and stroked A-Yuan’s hair. “Please keep Huaisang-gege out of trouble,” he said, very seriously. “He’s quite good at finding it, when left to his own devices.”

Nie Huaisang almost automatically retorted with, Please, I’m nothing compared to Wei-xiong, but shut his mouth in time to swallow the words and sadness back down into the empty pit that Wei Wuxian’s death had left. He could mostly forget about it, but when he was around Lan Wangji’s family and home, it was still easy to slip into old habits with deep ruts.

A-Yuan nodded, just as serious as Lan Xichen, and said, “I will!”

“Go on,” Lan Xichen said, eyes sparkling with amusement as A-Yuan stood. “Mingjue and I have some business to attend to.”

Nie Huaisang gently shouldered his brother and fluttered his eyelashes the moment he made eye contact. Da-ge groaned and said, “Off with you! Set a good example for the child!”

Laughing, Nie Huaisang stood and bowed—very properly—before taking A-Yuan’s offered hand and exiting into the Cloud Recesses’ calm. “Xichen-ge said you’d show me your favorite places and people,” he said, a smile spreading across his place. “Where do you want to start?”

A-Yuan looked up at him with a big smile and said, “Wangji-er-gege’s rabbits!”

“Are you taking care of them for him?” Nie Huaisang asked as A-Yuan led him towards the back of the Cloud Recesses. It wasn’t formally a place visitors should go, but Nie Huaisang had been close enough with Lan Wangji for long enough that he doubted even Lan-xiansheng, stickler that he was, would complain about Nie Huaisang going there escorted by A-Yuan.

“I have help,” A-Yuan said very seriously. “Xichen-ge showed me how to pet them, and Qingming-ayi brings the food. She says that by the end of the year, I’ll be able to carry the food to them myself!”

“Mm, you’re a strong boy,” Nie Huaisang agreed, and A-Yuan squeezed his hand tightly. Nie Huaisang pretended to yelp in pain, and A-Yuan laughed at him, clearly knowing it was just a joke. “Has Lan-xiansheng gotten you doing handstands yet? Or is A-Yuan too good at following rules?”

That got A-Yuan started talking about the other children in the Cloud Recesses, and Nie Huaisang happily listened to A-Yuan’s description of his friends: Lan Xue, who talked more than the rest of them combined during classes and was always being given little disciplines to remind him not to; Lan Ru, who was quiet and thoughtful and told the best jokes during their play breaks; Lan Xiao, who knew all the secret ways into the kitchens and could beg snacks from the cooks; and Lan Hua, who knew how to get the feral cats to come close enough to pet.

With each description—long and rambling, despite how Nie Huaisang knew it couldn’t have been more than six months that A-Yuan had known them—Nie Huaisang’s heart eased. Lan Wangji’s childhood had not been easy, and Nie Huaisang had privately wondered if his isolation had been an unfortunate side effect of being the Sect Leader’s son, a deliberate choice on Lan Wangji’s part, or simply Lan Wangji’s personality not working well with his age-mates’.

A-Yuan wasn’t going to grow up isolated in the way that Lan Wangji had. The way he was talking, he had a gift for making friends, and Nie Huaisang was glad for him.

The bubbling recitation came to an end as they crested a hill and looked down upon the clearing that contained no official pets. The thriving community of domesticated rabbits had nothing to do with the Cloud Recesses, officially, despite their presence being an open secret. A-Yuan released Nie Huaisang’s hand and ran down the hill at full speed. Nie Huaisang followed at a more sedate pace; A-Yuan seemed like he’d done this often, and though the rabbits scattered at his approach, he wasn’t in any danger of hurting either them or himself.

By the time Nie Huaisang joined A-Yuan, the little boy had seated himself quietly enough that some of the bravest rabbits had gathered around him, sniffing hopefully at his robes. Nie Huaisang grinned and picked one up, careful to do it right. A-Yuan watched him, and then nodded approval at his technique before telling him what the rabbit’s name was.

It took most of an hour for A-Yuan to tell him about all the rabbits and what they liked best, and Nie Huaisang thought he could have continued longer if given an opportunity. But A-Yuan’s stomach gurgled, and so instead A-Yuan led Nie Huaisang to one of Lan Xiao’s secret routes to the kitchen (Nie Huaisang recognised it; he and Wei Wuxian had learned about it within a week of arriving at the Cloud Recesses and shamelessly used it to steal midnight snacks more nights than not) to eat steamed buns.

After that, A-Yuan showed Nie Huaisang his favorite trees, the building he took lessons in, and pointed out the houses his friends lived in. Only then, as the sun was dipping down towards the horizon, did Nie Huaisang ask, “Do you think I could see Wangji-er-gege?”

A-Yuan brightened. “Yes! Wangji-er-gege is the best!” But then he hesitated, and—much more quietly—said, “Sometimes he doesn’t want to do anything, though. Not even talk.”

Nie Huaisang bit his lip, but tried not to show his concern in either face or voice. “I know he likes to meditate, and that looks like not doing or saying anything.”

A-Yuan tilted his head thoughtfully for a moment, and then shook his head. “He doesn’t meditate in bed.”

“That is true,” Nie Huaisang had to agree. “But if he doesn’t want to talk today, then I won’t bother him. I just want to tell him that I miss him; we’ve been friends for a long time.”

“Friends should see each other,” A-Yuan agreed.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, and then A-Yuan tugged on Nie Huaisang’s sleeve and said, “Huaisang-gege, can I tell you a secret?”

Nie Huaisang nodded and crouched down so their heads were on a level. “I would be honored.”

A-Yuan braced himself on Nie Huaisang’s shoulder with one little hand and whispered straight into his ear, “Xichen-ge thinks I should call Lan-xiansheng shufu, just like he and Wangji-er-gege do. But Lan-xiansheng gets upset when I do that, so I don’t.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Nie Huaisang said, suppressing his smile. “Would you like to know a secret?”

A-Yuan nodded so vigorously his hair—barely long enough to be tied back at all; it must have been burnt short before Lan Wangji took him in—almost came loose.

Nie Huaisang drew his ear close, and said, “I love Lan Wangji.” It wasn’t a particularly well-kept secret; he was pretty sure most of their age-mates knew, and obviously their older brothers did. Lan-xiansheng knew too, and despaired about it. To make sure A-Yuan understood, he added, “Not like brothers love each other; like—” and he regretted that he couldn’t think of any other way to frame this “—how parents love each other.”

A-Yuan patted him on the cheek. “That’s good,” he said. “Wangji-er-gege needs more people to love him.”

“He has you now too,” Nie Huaisang said, and stood. “I’m sure you’re going to give him as much love as he can stand.”

A-Yuan grinned up at him, gap-toothed and adorable. “Yes!” And then he started telling Nie Huaisang about how he was helping Lan Wangji make tea and thinking about trying to plant a garden because his friends thought it would be fun to be able to pick their own food.

By the time they reached the jingshi, A-Yuan had remembered how to be quiet again, and they approached the familiar building with all the respect the Cloud Recesses expected at all times. Nie Huaisang brushed his fingers against the plum tree that shaded the entrance, and let A-Yuan move ahead, sliding open the door with a loud, “Er-gege! I’m home! I brought a friend!”

“Who?” Lan Wangji asked, and it was definitely his voice, faint as it was.

Nie Huaisang paused on the threshold for a moment to steady himself, then stepped inside. “It’s good to see you again, A-Zhan,” he said quietly, turning unerringly towards Lan Wangji’s bed.

Behind the screen, he saw a silhouette shift. “Nie Tao,” Lan Wangji said, after a long moment. “I— is this allowed?”

“He’s your friend,” A-Yuan said, as if that explained everything. He sat at a little table with a guqin Nie Huaisang knew had to be a youth’s learning instrument; it might have even been Lan Wangji’s childhood instrument. “Wangji-er-gege, can I practice?”

“You may.” Lan Wangji hesitated. “Come here, Huaisang?”

“Of course,” Nie Huaisang said, as A-Yuan busied himself with carefully planting his fingers on the practice guqin’s strings and plucking them one at a time. He rounded the screen slowly, trying to remember Lan Wangji as he’d been through the years, not lying bandaged on a bed as Nie Huaisang had most recently seen him. So when he saw Lan Wangji, hair down and wearing loose sleeping robes, but no visible bandages or injuries, he smiled out of relief.

“Sit,” Lan Wangji said, shifting over on the bed enough to make his meaning clear.

Nie Huaisang did, one leg curled under himself and the other hanging off the edge so he could face Lan Wangji. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Lan Wangji leaned forward, almost falling towards Nie Huaisang. Instinctively, he reached out to catch him, remembering at the last moment not to press on Lan Wangji’s back. “I’m here,” he murmured, voice soft next to Lan Wangji’s ear. “I’ve got you.”

“He’s gone,” was all Lan Wangji said in response.

Nie Huaisang tightened his grip anyway, and he didn’t think either of them could tell if the huff of pain was from Nie Huaisang’s hands or Lan Wangji’s own broken heart. It wouldn’t change Nie Huaisang’s actions either way, so it didn’t matter. He held Lan Wangji, his own long-restrained tears falling into Lan Wangji’s hair as Lan Wangji’s quiet sobs soaked into his shoulder.

Mindlessly, Nie Huaisang ran his fingers through Lan Wangji’s hair, teasing out tangles with his fingers just for something to do, something physical to ground his heart. He did this for Da-ge sometimes, after the worst battles. Da-ge did the same for him. Lan Wangji had never asked, nor offered, but it was the only comfort Nie Huaisang knew how to offer in the face of a grief he barely understood within his own heart.

Gradually, Lan Wangji’s hair smoothed. Just as slowly, Lan Wangji’s tears halted. Sometime while Nie Huaisang wasn’t listening, A-Yuan had stopped practicing guqin, but Nie Huaisang didn’t know where he had gone. Nie Huaisang took a breath. Through a throat still thick with sorrow, he said, “You have a good child.”

“He was Wei Ying’s.” Lan Wangji sighed heavily, still not sitting up. His hands wrapped loosely around Nie Huaisang’s waist, but they didn’t move. “I met him when I visited. He doesn’t remember; a fever when I rescued him.”

Nie Huaisang thought about that, ran the implications through his mind, and said, “Is that why your injuries were so grievous?”

Lan Wangji shook his head. “I protected him.”

“Xichen-ge told me.” Nie Huaisang kissed the crown of Lan Wangji’s head, then left his face there, in the soft warmth.

“I should have been there.”

“From what Da-ge said, I’m not sure it would have mattered.” Nie Huaisang closed his eyes, tightened his arms even though this time he was sure Lan Wangji’s little noise was from pain. He didn’t pull away, though. “A-Zhan, I think that if you had been there all that would have happened would be you dying with him.”

Silence, a shrug.

“Do not,” Nie Huaisang said fiercely, pulling Lan Wangji up by the shoulders so that he could stare into Lan Wangji’s eyes. They were so dull, right now, not shining like the stars but instead the gray of deep fog. “I cannot grieve you both.”

“I won’t leave A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji snapped, fire in his eyes again for a moment. “I want him to grow up better than I could.”

Nie Huaisang bowed his head, more tears escaping. “Good,” he said; and then again, “Good.”

“A-Tao,” Lan Wangji said, finally reaching up to touch his face. “I am here, I am alive. I will miss him with every breath I take, but I do not intend to join him while his work is unfinished.”

Nie Huaisang laughed a little, catching Lan Wangji’s hand with his. “I’m glad.”

“I don’t know how often you can visit,” Lan Wangji said, lacing their fingers tightly together. “But I appreciate your company. There are— Xiongzhang, Shufu, and A-Yuan can only do so much.”

“I know.” Nie Huaisang sighed, rubbing his thumb slowly over Lan Wangji’s fingers. Now that he was looking more closely, he could see how brittle Lan Wangji was; he had lost muscle from the long recuperation, and his emotions were far closer to the surface than usual. “I will do my best, A-Zhan.”

Lan Wangji smiled at him, just a little, and Nie Huaisang’s chest relaxed. “As will I,” he said, voice soft as snowmelt. “And, A-Tao—” he looked away, oddly hesitant. “I’m sure Xiongzhang will come calling soon, but before you go…” His voice faltered, and then he glanced up, eyes meeting Nie Huaisang’s even as his body was still turned away. “There is an ointment for my back, to ease the scars. The doctors usually help me with it, but I suspect Xiongzhang has held them off today. If you are willing, since you are here—”

“Yes, of course.” Nie Huaisang squeezed Lan Wangji’s hand. “Where is this ointment? And does your hair need to be up, or is having it over your shoulders enough out of the way?”

“If you would put my hair up, I would appreciate it.” Lan Wangji shifted until his back was to Nie Huaisang, the full flowing length of his hair easily within reach. “I— I was not allowed to do so myself, during the initial recovery, and on days when everything is too much…”

“I understand,” Nie Huaisang said quietly. He gathered Lan Wangji’s hair in his hands, and wished he had the time to braid it as artfully as he knew how. At the same time, he was glad not to need to worry that his braiding would reveal something it shouldn’t; the Qinghe Nie braided relationships into their hair, and Nie Huaisang wasn’t sure if he’d be able to resist marking Lan Wangji’s heartbreak for those who could read the subtle patterns to see.

Instead, Nie Huaisang pulled Lan Wangji’s hair up into a simple bun. He didn’t bother with anything more complex than a length of cloth to wrap it with, and only a single straight pin to hold it in place; from how Lan Wangji talked, anything more complex would make it harder to remove later. Still, he did it neatly, with the proper braids along the nape of Lan Wangji’s neck; those were for stability, both literally of the hair and symbolically of the heart, and Nie Huaisang thought Lan Wangji needed that.

[art by Lola (ao3/tumblr)]

Neither of them spoke while Nie Huaisang’s hands were in Lan Wangji’s hair. Lan Wangji’s muscles loosened, though, and Nie Huaisang wondered how often he allowed himself this simple comfort. He doubted it was often, and he tried not to let his anger at the Gusu Lan doctors show in his touch. He understood why Lan Xichen needed to stay at a certain distance. A-Yuan was too young to be confident with another’s hair just yet. Lan-xiansheng— Nie Huaisang was sure that their uncle had done such tasks when they were children, but he was just as sure that Lan Wangji’s uncle had no idea what to do with his nephew right now.

Nie Huaisang let his hands slide to Lan Wangji’s shoulders, still covered with a thin night-robe, once he finished with the bun. “The ointment?” he asked softly, and then reached over to the low bedside table for it at Lan Wangji’s description. It smelled strong, but not distasteful, which was a relief; the medicines and ointments used in Qinghe Nie often prioritized effectiveness to the point of being unpleasant in smell or taste.

“Your robe?” Nie Huaisang made himself say. No matter how many injuries he’d seen, he didn’t think there was any way to prepare for what Lan Wangji’s once-pristine back would look like.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji loosened it and allowed the cloth to slide down around his hips, still covering his lap but putting the whole of his back on full display.

Nie Huaisang knew every curve and plane, had seen Lan Wangji grow into his body and build its strength into perfection, and seeing it marred by the diagonal strokes of the discipline whip hurt. The scars trailed along Lan Wangji’s shoulders, crossed his spine, stretched all the way to his hips, and even wrapped around his ribs a little to curl underneath his small breasts. Nie Huaisang had known that Lan Wangji’s movement was curtailed, but he still hadn’t expected so much.

He must have made some kind of noise, because Lan Wangji said, “It looks worse than it is.”

“I will believe you,” Nie Huaisang said, and dipped his fingers into the ointment. “Please tell me if this hurts more than you can bear.”

Lan Wangji made no sound beyond an amused huff of affirmation, and Nie Huaisang began massaging the ointment into his scars.

The movements were simple and automatic, and Lan Wangji pressed deeper into his hands when Nie Huaisang was being too gentle. Still, he could feel Lan Wangji’s bones more prominently than he was used to, and the scars were tender beneath his fingers. They were too rough and too smooth all at once, and he wondered what it felt like to Lan Wangji. Good, he hoped, but he knew that healing wounds usually had but two modes of sensation: Nothing in particular, and pain.

By the time he had finished, Lan Wangji’s back was glossy, and the scars at his shoulders already seemed less angry than they’d begun. Nie Huaisang re-sealed the ointment, set it aside, and found a rag to cleanse his hands with. “How long do they think it will take for you to heal?” he asked, voice shaking as his hands could not.

“A year, in all.” Lan Wangji turned as he tugged his robe back over his shoulders, and Nie Huaisang saw more of his chest than he really wanted to right now when his feelings were so raw in every direction. “For the physical effects.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, and closed his eyes in a useless attempt to hold back a few fresh tears. “I wish I could do more.”

“You are doing so much already.” Lan Wangji clasped Nie Huaisang’s wrist. “Go on, A-Tao. I don’t— Please give me plausible deniability about your visit, for the sake of my seclusion.”

Nie Huaisang stood, intending to take his leave. But as he looked at Lan Wangji’s face, he gave into impulse and kissed Lan Wangji right along his hairline, carefully above his Gusu Lan ribbon. “Heal well, A-Zhan,” he said softly as he straightened. “I will take my leave now.”

He turned before he could see Lan Wangji’s expression, closing the jingshi’s door behind him and looking up at the sky. It was the deep blue of dusk, and that meant he was certainly going to skirt the edges of being late for dinner.

Still, he waited on the jingshi’s porch for longer than he should have, until his heart was steady and his eyes were clear, before returning to the hanshi. There were many things he could face, but Da-ge and Xichen-ge being unfailing kind to him because his emotions were too easily read upon his face was not one of them, right now.

When he returned, Da-ge was in the middle of helping A-Yuan practice braiding on long lengths of grass, and Xichen-ge was sorting paperwork at his desk. They all looked up at him with smiles, and—for that brief slice of time—Nie Huaisang felt at peace.

The Gusu Lan disciples at the gate waved Nie Huaisang through without even bothering to ask why he was there. He smiled at them, because that was polite, and was very glad that he didn’t need to explain himself. He didn’t think he would do a very good job of it right now; travelling to the Cloud Recesses had cooled his temper somewhat but it hadn’t done anything for the snarling pit that seemed to have temporarily replaced his heart.

Nie Huaisang had cultivated a habit of visiting the Cloud Recesses at least once a month. He’d promised Lan Wangji he’d come by as often as he could, and this was how it paid off: Nie Huaisang could come here to escape his brother’s uneasy and unexplainable rage, and everyone would assume he was simply here to visit Lan Xichen for some reason or another. It wasn’t a hardship to use Lan Xichen as a veil for his true purposes; he liked Xichen-ge, for his humor and kindness and willingness to share his insights about political and personal issues alike.

It was just that Nie Huaisang came here for Lan Wangji, in the end, and while he was sure that was an open secret among the inner circle of Gusu Lan, he liked the pretense that people mostly didn’t know.

Nie Huaisang calmed himself enough to remember the stealth techniques he’d learned, and to call upon them to wreathe himself in shadow. Then he slipped from the main paths, circled around to the jingshi from the back hills. Right now, even more than usual, he didn’t want to encounter anyone; he just wanted to find a modicum of peace in the silence Lan Wangji wrapped himself in, even more so now than before everything had fallen apart.

As he approached the jingshi, faint strands of music floated across the grounds. The melody wandered, occasionally slowing or halting before being picked up again, in a way that Lan Wangji would not allow himself were he teaching A-Yuan or practicing the musical arts of Gusu Lan. Nie Huaisang paused, his heart aching; he hadn’t heard Lan Wangji improvise or play simply for the sake of music since Jin Zixuan’s death.

Lan Wangji still played music, of course; he hadn’t hung his guqin up. He practiced Gusu Lan’s magical melodies diligently, and he taught A-Yuan the basics of guqin. Nie Huaisang had been present for some of those lessons, as Lan Wangji patiently placed his fingers over A-Yuan’s and helped him play the simplest tunes. It was very sweet, and A-Yuan was adorable, but it was nothing like this.

Nie Huaisang wondered, sometimes, if Lan Wangji still played for himself when he was alone. He was in seclusion; it wouldn’t be hard to find times when nobody could overhear him. Nie Huaisang hoped that was the case. For Lan Wangji to give up composing and playing for the joy of music would break his heart even more than it had already been broken.

Today was the first time since the Siege of the Burial Mounds that Nie Huaisang had arrived without warning, because he was fed up and needed to be somewhere else for at least a day to give both himself and Da-ge time to calm down.

Thinking about that soured Nie Huaisang’s thoughts, and his feet started moving again, careless of the music floating through the air. Two steps later, the music faltered. After five steps, it stopped completely.

Nie Huaisang didn’t try to be polite, instead letting himself in with a simple, “It’s me.”

“Huaisang?” Lan Wangji frowned at him, his hands laid flat on his guqin’s strings. “Why are you here?”

“Da-ge’s mad.” Nie Huaisang dropped to the ground next to Lan Wangji, staring up at the ceiling. “If I stayed there, I was going to get into a fight. I didn’t want that. So I’m here.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji acknowledged his words, but nothing else.

Nie Huaisang stewed in his own silence, half-aware of Lan Wangji putting his guqin safely out of A-Yuan’s reach, and was about to say something when Lan Wangji finally spoke: “Spar with me.”

Nie Huaisang sat up and stared at Lan Wangji. “Is that allowed?”

A faint smile at the edge of Lan Wangji’s mouth. “You regularly sneak into my home, and yet you ask if a sparring match is allowed?”

“You haven’t asked before,” Nie Huaisang protested. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, true; before the Sunshot Campaign, they’d sparred frequently. During, they hadn’t had much time, and had been doing different kinds of work. When they’d been in the same place, they’d desired a break from the brutality and violence more than to work on honing their skills. Between the war’s end and Nightless City, they had sometimes practiced together, but it hadn’t been common. “The doctors cleared your injuries?”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji tugged Nie Huaisang to his feet, more physical than Nie Huaisang had seen him be since everything happened. He’d mostly been keeping his space, or curling into Nie Huaisang for comfort, not pulling him to action. “A few months ago.”

Nie Huaisang followed Lan Wangji out to the clearing behind the jingshi where they’d had so many past matches. “Why now, then?” He’d visited multiple times in the last few months.

“You want a fight.” Lan Wangji’s eyes gleamed, fire-bright. “Also, because
Xiongzhang holds back, and I tire of his concern.”

“You used to hold back for me,” Nie Huaisang pointed out, even as he drew Lichi and settled into a balanced guard. The frustration he’d leashed in his chest snuck out, settling into his muscles with vibrating heat. Nie Huaisang breathed into it, waiting for Lan Wangji to prove himself ready.

“That was before,” Lan Wangji said, drawing Bichen. “Now, I am recovering and want to see exactly how much I have healed.”

Bichen gleamed in the sunshine, and Nie Huaisang watched the glare settle upon its edge. Lan Wangji wasn’t lying about having recovered; Bichen was steady and calm as the endless sky. Lan Wangji saluted, then lunged forward in a move Nie Huaisang knew well.

Seeing his fluid motion, Nie Huaisang stopped worrying that the scars on Lan Wangji’s back would slow him down. He leapt into the air and spun over Bichen’s glare, heart singing in anticipation. All the built-up energy he’d been holding back burst forth, and Nie Huaisang bared his teeth at Lan Wangji, finally dropping all pretenses that he hadn’t wanted a fight.

Lan Wangji met his eyes, and Nie Huaisang had just enough time to see the almost painful intensity in his face before Bichen’s glare swept at him and he lost himself in the countless guards and attacks that had been trained deep into his soul.

They knew each other’s bodies and moves as well as any two members of different sects could. Nie Huaisang began a thrust and changed to a slice because Lan Wangji had automatically adjusted his guard so that if Nie Huaisang had thrust it would have left him exposed. The slice flowed into a parry, and then Nie Huaisang lowered himself into a leg-sweep that he knew wouldn’t connect almost as soon as he initiated it.

Lan Wangji almost seemed to float in the air as he dodged Nie Huaisang’s kick. This time, the attack was pure sword glare: Qi danced around Nie Huaisang as he coated himself with his own energy and soared forward. Lan Wangji allowed himself to be driven back, and Nie Huaisang took the chance to claim the offensive, unleashing a flurry of blows.

Normally he loved this kind of balanced fight, but right now Nie Huaisang wanted to win. He knew he wasn’t fierce enough or strong enough to beat Lan Wangji with pure frustration, much as he might wish for that classically-Nie power. Instead, Nie Huaisang focused his anger down into a ruthlessly analytic blade, searching for Lan Wangji’s weakness.

Even though Lan Wangji said he was recovering well, scars never healed perfectly, and so Nie Huaisang looked for an opening created by wounds Lan Wangji hadn’t yet had time to adjust to. Patience, he told himself, because predators won by ambush as surely as by overwhelming offense. Nie Huaisang stepped back, allowed Lan Wangji to attack him, and studied the way he held his shoulders, the curve of his chest.

There was something—not a whip scar, he thought, but something—tightening the arc of his body, constraining the expansion of his body into his strikes.

Nie Huaisang took this in, thought about how Lan Wangji didn’t want him to hold back, and stepped inside Lan Wangji’s guard.

It wasn’t as easy as that; he didn’t think he would be able to do this to anyone else, not without as much time spent studying them as he’d had for Lan Wangji. Certainly not reliably enough for true combat instead of a sparring match, even one where they gave their all. Nie Huaisang spun his energy through Lichi, calling a blinding glare to give Lan Wangji the briefest pause. Then, with the palm of his hand, he struck the flat of Bichen’s blade, giving himself space to work with.

In the single instant there was an opening, Lichi thrust towards Lan Wangji’s unprotected breastbone.

The sheer satisfaction of knowing that his attack would hit, that if this were mortal combat he could strike a killing blow, swept through Nie Huaisang like honey.

Then he pulled his strike, reversing Lichi so that only the hard pommel hit instead of the sharp blade’s tip, and he had pulled his strength to merely bruise, not break bones. This was not war. Lan Wangji wasn’t even the person Nie Huaisang was angry at.

He struck Lan Wangji, and Lan Wangji stumbled back, Bichen almost dropping from his hand as he sank to the ground, face white and breath coming heavy and hard.

Nie Huaisang knew he’d hit harder than he usually did, but he still hadn’t expected this. He sheathed Lichi and knelt next to Lan Wangji, supporting him. “You did say not to hold back,” he said, adrenaline crashing against nerves and coming out in sarcasm. “Are you alright?”

Lan Wangji laughed, but it came out a croak. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, and Nie Huaisang didn’t know if they were from pain or sorrow or true amusement. “A-Tao, do not blame yourself. The doctors—” he shifted, winced, bit back a word Nie Huaisang thought might have been a curse “—left me ample medicines to soothe anything you have done.”

“That’s not an answer,” Nie Huaisang bit out, but helped Lan Wangji to his feet.

“You did not hit too hard.” Lan Wangji slid his arm over Nie Huaisang’s, so that Nie Huaisang could support him. “I had— forgotten how keen your eyes were.”

Nie Huaisang shook his head, the last remnants of the taut rage that had driven him to the Cloud Recesses falling in tattered pieces around him. He could tell that there was no physical need for Lan Wangji to lean on him, but he couldn’t deny the psychological desire for contact that Lan Wangji had been so free in displaying ever since Nightless City.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t touched before then. As youths, they had carefully circled each other until—he held back his laugh—another sparring match, one which had been pure hand-to-hand combat. Then, in the freedom of combat, the suspicions both had carried were confirmed. They might both act as men, but that didn’t mean they had been born that way. From that point on, they’d both relaxed their guards around each other, and that allowed more physical intimacy than with any others.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, as they re-entered the jingshi, “you’re out of practice.”

“I know.” Lan Wangji’s fingers tightened on Nie Huaisang’s shoulder for a single bruising moment. “I’m assured that I healed very well, but even the best healing doesn’t make up for so much time spent unable to practice as I wished.”

Nie Huaisang sighed. “Where is the medicine you should use?”

“Third shelf, the gentian-capped bottle.” Lan Wangji sat smoothly; he could certainly have retrieved the medicine on his own, but Nie Huaisang didn’t mind getting it for him.

There were a number of bottles, all in the same style, on the shelf. Nie Huaisang bit his lip and didn’t say anything about how precisely they’d been arranged. It was like Lan Wangji was daring someone to mention them, since they’d been stored more discreetly near his bed the other times he’d visited. Instead, he picked it up and handed it to Lan Wangji.

“A-Tao,” Lan Wangji murmured, his fingers gently keeping Nie Huaisang’s hand on the bottle as well, “would you?”

Nie Huaisang crouched down. “Show me the injury?” he asked, which wasn’t exactly agreement.

Silently, Lan Wangji released the medicine and undid the bindings on his robes enough to draw them back from his chest. He wasn’t wearing any binding garment today; Nie Huaisang wasn’t surprised by that, since he doubted Lan Wangji had expected to be interrupted. That just meant it was easier for Lan Wangji to reveal the healing burn nestled between the slight curves of his breasts.

Out of everything he ever could have guessed—overexerting himself, a sparring match gone wrong, an unexpected side effect of long-term healing—a circular brand emblazoned with a horribly familiar sun had never been on his mind.

“Lan Zhan,” Nie Huaisang said, shaken and desperately trying to keep his voice and hands steady. “How did that happen?”

Lan Wangji’s face was like stone. “I was inebriated.”

Nie Huaisang, very deliberately, set down the medicine and moved back to settle on the floor. “Why?” he asked, even though he was almost certain he knew the answer. He clutched the jade ornament hanging from his belt, thumb rubbing across the familiar characters carved into it.

“I was sad.” Lan Wangji picked up the medicine and uncapped it, the motions obviously familiar to him. He didn’t meet Nie Huaisang’s eyes as he spread ointment over the burn, and some tension ebbed from his face as it soaked in. “It was an impulse.”

Nie Huaisang gave up and buried his face in his hands. “Fuck,” he said. “A-Zhan—”

“Xiongzhang has given me a lecture already,” Lan Wangji said dryly. “I do not believe I’m in any danger of doing something similar again. This reminder is very clear upon my body.”

In the space of a moment, Nie Huaisang first wanted to know what it was a reminder of, and then decided that he really didn’t. “Can you tell me something happy?” he asked, as Lan Wangji capped the ointment and rearranged his robes. “I liked sparring. I liked not needing to think about how Da-ge is slowly spiralling into qi deviation and no matter how much time Xichen-ge and Jin Guangyao spend playing Clarity it doesn’t help.”

Lan Wangji slid forward so that his knees touched Nie Huaisang’s. “A-Tao,” he murmured, slightly sticky hands grasping Nie Huaisang’s own. “I am sorry.”

Nie Huaisang shook his head, reaching up to cup Lan Wangji’s cheek. “You are not at fault for all the sorrows of the world.”

“I still do not wish to burden you beyond what you can bear.” Lan Wangji sighed, pressing his face into Nie Huaisang’s hand. “You wish to hear about good things?”

“Mn.”

“A-Yuan has learned how to play another song on the guqin, and spent all weekend playing it for me and singing his own lyrics to the tune.” Lan Wangji smiled. “They weren’t very good lyrics, but they were heartfelt, and that matters more. This spring’s litters of bunnies have grown into confident adults, and—though I sorrow to see them go—I am glad so many grew healthy and strong. I watched a heron spend half an hour stalking its prey, and it passed five feet away from me as it hunted.” He paused, and then laughed a little and added, “Xiongzhang got a letter from your Da-ge three days ago and blushed so strongly that the juniors are all speculating about who his secret lover is.”

Nie Huaisang snorted. “Is it really still a secret?” He let his hand fall from Lan Wangji’s face, instead resting it on his knee. “I thought everyone figured that out years ago.”

“Gusu Lan honors privacy more than Qinghe Nie does.” Lan Wangji shrugged. “Shufu has accepted it, so the other elders all politely don’t mention it, but the only reason he isn’t being harried about marriage is that they respect his bond with his sworn brothers enough to know something about what’s going on.”

“We honor privacy,” Nie Huaisang protested. “We just aren’t as secretive about relationships as you are!”

Lan Wangji looked down at their intertwined hands and shook his head gently. “Aren’t you?”

“Respecting a partner’s wishes isn’t necessarily being secretive,” Nie Huaisang grumbled, even as he felt his face heat. “Also, what about our friendship is hidden?”

“Would you sit with me like this in the public eye?”

“Would you want me to?” Nie Huaisang asked, heart racing as he threw himself forward into the challenge. It was a ridiculous thing to argue about, but he was still upset about Lan Wangji’s self-inflicted injury. “You were the one concerned about propriety!”

Lan Wangji flinched, hands tightening convulsively. “A-Tao.”

He knew he shouldn’t keep talking. He did anyway. “Before, you’d shift away from being so affectionate where—” Nie Huaisang bit back the name. “Where people could see,” he hissed out instead. And, even though they both knew the answer, Nie Huaisang added: “What’s changed, Lan Zhan?”

“There’s nobody to see,” Lan Wangji snapped. “Forgive me for having time to think about my feelings and change them!”

Nie Huaisang’s words dried up, because Lan Wangji actively displaying his anger instead of bottling it into frost was so rare. “Have your feelings changed?” he asked instead, when he’d processed the meaning behind Lan Wangji’s words enough to answer them.

“I—” Lan Wangji swallowed and looked down at their hands, still locked together. “I have never lied about my affection for you, A-Tao.”

Of course he hadn’t. Nie Huaisang didn’t think anyone who knew Lan Wangji would ever believe he’d lie about his feelings. He might say nothing at all, or perhaps say something misleading, but he would never lie. Which also meant—

“That isn’t an answer,” Nie Huaisang pointed out.

“I wish I could keep you here.” Lan Wangji let out a long breath. “I wish I could wrap you up tightly and make it so that nobody could take you from me. I wish we were not born into lives so visible and tangled.”

“What about—”

“I will always love Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, interrupting Nie Huaisang and finally returning his gaze. “That doesn’t mean I cannot love you.”

Nie Huaisang started to say I know that, but Lan Wangji kept talking, and his next words blew into Nie Huaisang’s heart like a storm: “You are my friend, yes, but that is not the whole of how I desire you. A-Tao, I want you.”

It didn’t feel like there was any air in the room as Nie Huaisang stared speechlessly into Lan Wangji’s eyes. Over the last year, they had grown clearer and clearer, life and light returning to them until Lan Wangji’s face was what Nie Huaisang knew and loved and not the empty mask he remembered from the first few months he’d been able to visit. Now, he could feel the energy emanating from them, and in it was the depth of Lan Wangji’s feelings.

Lan Wangji might not lie, but he also rarely put forth the effort to make his truth so vibrantly clear.

Nie Huaisang closed his eyes, unable to bear it any longer. “A-Zhan,” he whispered, and he wasn’t sure that the words actually passed his lips until he heard Lan Wangji’s answering hum. “I can’t— Right now— Please let me think. I never would have dreamt of this.”

Lan Wangji’s fingers slowly opened. “When you come to a conclusion about your own feelings, A-Tao, please tell me.”

Numb, Nie Huaisang nodded. “I will take my leave,” he said, bowing. He only opened his eyes again when he was looking down, so that he wouldn’t need to see what Lan Wangji’s expression was now.

“Be well, A-Tao.”

Nie Huaisang turned and walked out of the jingshi before he could tie himself up in further verbal knots. He didn’t go far before he stopped, banging his head against the plum tree’s solid trunk. He’d always found it amusing that the jingshi had a plum, of all trees, planted outside it. His second name, the one he hid behind and pretended was the name he’d been born with. Yet, Lan Wangji was one of the only people who called him the name his parents had given him.

It was an intimacy even his brother rarely showed, after so many years. Nie Huaisang sank down against the tree, sniffling as he curled himself against it and held back louder sobs. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Lan Wangji; it was just—

What the fuck did love mean?

He had never doubted how much Lan Wangji cared for him, never doubted that their affection and care was mutual. But he’d never thought that Lan Wangji’s feelings for him could ever match his feelings for Wei Wuxian. Those feelings, tangled and bright, had taken up the whole of Lan Wangji’s heart from the day they first met. Nie Huaisang had stood by Lan Wangji’s side that whole time, content with the subtler love and care their friendship overflowed with.

Nie Huaisang pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to stifle the physical manifestation of his emotions. It was just too much. His brother upset about his choice of weapon to the point of destroying things Da-ge knew he loved, Lan Wangji having branded himself with the sigil of the sect they had worked so hard to bring down, this new set of feelings—

He laughed bitterly. Of course the kindest of all those feelings was the one he couldn’t hold back. Nie Huaisang loved Lan Wangji, but he’d never thought about that love save as a solid ground to stand upon, a steady presence by his side, someone whose hand he could reach for and know would hold fast. A safety net, writ upon his soul. But the way Lan Wangji loved Wei Wuxian? That was different, and they both knew it.

To Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian was a beacon. He shone so brightly, and held to his own morals and beliefs and—inevitably, unfortunately—beloved people so strongly that he had stood in the way of every other cultivator because he disagreed with them. Lan Wangji admired him, and loved him, and when they were together they drove each other to greater and more terrifying heights.

Nie Huaisang’s love, quiet and enduring as it was, could never hold up to that kind of love. If Lan Wangji loved him like that, then he was doomed to the awkwardness of needing to balance their incompatible loves with each other. If Lan Wangji had simply decided to start using the word love for how he and Nie Huaisang already interacted with each other… Nie Huaisang took a deep breath and allowed his head to tilt back and rest against the plum tree’s trunk.

If that was the case, then why start out by talking about changing feelings?

They’d spent so much time together, and Nie Huaisang had never before been given cause to wonder if they cared differently for each other, and he really hated that he had to think about it now. But at least he wasn’t crying anymore, he reflected as he blinked up at the calm branches above him. He might be mad at Lan Wangji, but it was by far a more interesting problem to be upset about than the challenges back home.

Nie Huaisang took a deep breath, calming himself, and started working through all the implications of what Lan Wangji had and hadn’t said. He needed that foundation, first, before he could start thinking about his own feelings with anything resembling clarity.

He’d barely made any progress when little footsteps came up the path. They halted as Nie Huaisang looked over, and A-Yuan peered curiously at him. “Huaisang-gege!” A-Yuan said brightly. “Are you here to visit Wangji-er-ge?”

Nie Huaisang laughed, a little awkwardly. “Hello, A-Yuan. Yes, I came to see Lan Wangji. I have already seen him, though,” he added hastily. “I was going to see Xichen-ge next.”

“Oh.” A-Yuan plopped himself down next to Nie Huaisang. He’d always been friendly, and Nie Huaisang appreciated how cheerful he tended to be in the midst of Gusu Lan seriousness. “Why are you sitting here?”

“I like plum trees,” Nie Huaisang said, which wasn’t a real explanation but A-Yuan was young enough that he didn’t pry any further.

“Are plum trees your favorite?”

Nie Huaisang smiled at the child, who was so earnest and curious and kind. All the best qualities of the people who raised him were being mixed together in this boy, and he really hoped that their self-destructive tendencies skipped this generation. “I think I like peach trees more,” he said, because it was true and there was no reason to lie. “But plum trees are very good.”

“Wangji-er-ge calls you A-Tao sometimes.” A-Yuan tilted his head. “Does he call you that because you like peaches?”

Nie Huaisang laughed, helpless in the face of this question. “It’s a special name that he calls me sometimes. I don’t like other people calling me that.” Which just brought him back around to all the feelings he’d been trying not to think about, and he could feel himself flush.

“He calls me a turnip sometimes, when he’s sad.” A-Yuan turned to face the jingshi, suddenly far more serious than Nie Huaisang would expect from a child his age. “I wish he’d call me that when he was happy, too.”

“You should tell him that.” Nie Huaisang ruffled A-Yuan’s hair. “I think Lan Zhan would call you a turnip all day if it makes you happy.”

A-Yuan giggled. “Thank you for the advice, Huaisang-gege!”

“Of course, A-Yuan.” Nie Huaisang stood and dusted himself off. “Were you going to say hi to Lan Wangji?” At A-Yuan’s nod, Nie Huaisang sighed and said, “Please tell him I hope to continue our discussion as soon as I have a chance.”

“I will!” A-Yuan gave a very proper bow. “I will be leaving first!”

Nie Huaisang bowed back, murmuring all the proper words, and then turned and walked away before he might need to see A-Yuan enter the jingshi and learn if Lan Wangji had been watching him all along.

He firmly set aside those issues, heading towards the more usual visiting areas of the Cloud Recesses. Talking to Lan Xichen would hopefully provide him with some answers; he was usually very good at that. It was a combination of being very thoughtful, having a strong background in logic and debate, and usually being on the outside of whatever issue Nie Huaisang was having.

Today, unfortunately, Lan Xichen was far less helpful.

“I’m scared about Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said, as soon as they had finished the pleasantries and were safely alone in Lan Xichen’s office. “He’s getting more erratic, far more quickly than is normal.” He paused, then added, very quietly, “Even for a Nie.”

Lan Xichen’s hand trembled a minute amount at that. Nie Huaisang had never been completely sure which secrets his brother had chosen to share, but he wasn’t surprised to learn that Lan Xichen understood all the implications of what he’d said. “Huaisang,” Lan Xichen said carefully, “is that why you’re here today, without any warning?”

Nie Huaisang fidgeted with his fan, emotions still too raw to face them directly, but he never wanted to lie to Lan Xichen. “Yes.”

“I taught Jin Guangyao to play Clarity.” Lan Xichen sighed. “Is it not enough?”

“I don’t think it is.” Nie Huaisang bit his lip. “If you could visit more—”

“Nie Mei, if I could visit more I already would.” Lan Xichen touched his hand lightly. “I’m sorry.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, swallowing down his frustrations about how unfair that was. They both already knew. “Xichen-ge,” he said instead, delicate with his words and staring fixedly at a painting hung upon the wall. He barely saw it. It wasn’t important. “Why is there a Qishan Wen brand on Lan Zhan’s chest?”

Lan Xichen’s breath came quick, and then released into a long slow breath, like he was calming himself. “Did you ask him?”

“He said he’d been sad.” Nie Huaisang heard the tremor in his own voice. “He said he wouldn’t do anything like that again.”

“I trust his word.”

“He also said he loved me.” More unwanted tears spilled over his eyes, gently trailing across his cheeks. “I don’t understand.”

Stillness, and silence; Lan Xichen always retreated into them when he had to think. Nie Huaisang traced the calm mountain brushstrokes as he waited, until Lan Xichen finally said, “He would not lie, especially not to you.”

“I know.”

“What are you asking me for, Huaisang?”

“I don’t know.” Nie Huaisang finally looked back at Lan Xichen, read the worry in his eyes and the slump of his shoulders. “I just—” He swallowed, tried again. “I can’t be what Wei Wuxian was.”

Lan Xichen rose, came around the desk, and settled next to Nie Huaisang. Like the elder brother he was, he wrapped his arms around Nie Huaisang and murmured, “If he wants you to be Wei Wuxian, he is deluding himself. As deep as that wound goes, I do not think that Lan Wangji would ask you to be anything other than yourself.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, face pressing into the soft strength of Lan Xichen’s shoulder. It was different from his Da-ge’s, but no less supportive. “I don’t know if I love him the way it sounds like he loves me.”

“Do you need to?”

Did he? Nie Huaisang bit his lip, hard enough that it hurt, and the shock blossomed through his system and cut short the tangled spiral of his emotions. “I don’t know.” He thought for another moment, then admitted, “Probably not?”

“Then you should first look to your own feelings, and what you want.” Lan Xichen shifted back, smiling kindly as Nie Huaisang reluctantly pulled himself upright again. “I suspect he has been clear about what he might want; when he makes up his mind to share his feelings, he’s usually quite forthright.”

“He did.” Nie Huaisang sighed, and rubbed at his aching eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to think about it soon, if Da-ge keeps getting worse.”

“I’ll do my best to find time to visit,” Lan Xichen promised. “And Wangji will wait, if you need him to. He’s very good at that.”

“He shouldn’t have to be,” Nie Huaisang muttered, the instinctive thought slipping through his lips before his mind could catch up.

Lan Xichen laughed softly. “And that, Huaisang, is why I know that whatever shape your love takes, the feelings which blossom between you will be sweet.”

Nie Huaisang blushed fiercely, and turned their conversation to simpler topics. By the time he began his journey home, he was settled enough to turn his thoughts from the uncomfortable present to the unknown future, and think about what secrets his own feelings might hold.

He wouldn’t figure them out today, but given time, he was sure he could.

Nie Huaisang had seen Lan Xichen at Nie Mingjue's funeral, of course, and again at the formal welcome for Nie Huaisang as Nie-zongzhu. They had met each other's eyes, recognized the grief-reddening, and silently agreed to take refuge in the purest formality. The smallest crack would allow the dam to break, and neither of them could afford to dissolve into gasping sobs in the middle of solemnity.

Lan Xichen had sent an invitation, a week later, to come visit the Cloud Recesses whenever Nie Huaisang had the time.

Now, a month later, things were settled enough that Nie Huaisang could spend two days somewhere other than the building he had grown up in; a building which currently suffocated with the memory of his brother's presence. He kept expecting to see Da-ge around every corner, hear his laugh boom across a courtyard, debate policy in private dinners and exchange amused glances across formal halls. But now there was nothing but memory, and Nie Huaisang was drowning in it.

The Cloud Recesses had always been a refuge for him, Nie Huaisang thought as he walked the final stretch. It had never been so clearly a lifeline, though; even when Da-ge had been slowly dissolving into his qi deviation, it had simply been a place to release tension. Now, it was the only place he thought he might be able to clear his head, so that he could return feeling almost like himself and not like a lost soul in need of guidance.

(Jin Guangyao would give him all the guidance he wished, Nie Huaisang knew, and he viciously wished he could grab San-ge by the throat and yell at him until answers came pouring out: What had he done to Da-ge? Why hadn't he realized the Clarity he played was wrong? How could he smile, let alone laugh, at Da-ge's wake? But no answer would be forthcoming, let alone satisfactory, as Jin Guangyao was too politic to do anything other than soothe him like the child Nie Huaisang was no longer allowed to be.)

Lan Xichen didn't greet him at the entrance to the hanshi, either, and Nie Huaisang had to steady himself on the archway before continuing in. He'd known Xichen-ge wouldn't be in a good place, but he hadn't— He'd seen Lan Wangji in mourning, yet it had never occurred to him how similar the two could be in their grief.

Nie Huaisang knocked on the door, and heard Lan Xichen call for him to enter. With trepidation, he did so, and then stopped in shock at the strong scent of alcohol in the air. “Xichen-ge,” he whispered, looking at his almost-brother. “Isn't it—”

"I don't care," Lan Xichen said, interrupting him. He met Nie Huaisang's eyes, a bleak smile on his face. “This is what Da-ge would have wanted, Huaisang; you know that as well as I.”

Nie Huaisang nodded gingerly, sitting down across the table from Lan Xichen. There was some food there, amongst the bottles of wine, but almost certainly not enough. “We had a celebration,” he offered, picking up the cup Lan Xichen wordlessly pushed over. “Everyone told stories about his life. But that was just for the Qinghe Nie.”

Lan Xichen nodded, and it wasn't even bitter somehow. “I wish I could have been there.”

“What story would you have told?” Nie Huaisang asked. He took a sip of the wine, and it buzzed on his tongue and burnt down his throat. “This is good,” he added, refraining from mentioning that it was also stronger than he'd expected.

Lan Xichen downed a whole cup, expression unchanging. Nie Huaisang watched carefully; Lan Xichen knew how to nullify alcohol, if he wanted to. He usually did, so that he could abide by his sect's rules in name while visiting the Unclean Realm. Today, he really didn't seem to care, and his face held a hint of pink from the alcohol he'd already drunk. “A night-hunt when we were young, before everything went to shit.” Lan Xichen laughed at Nie Huaisang's expression. “A-Mei, did you really think I could be so close to Nie Bai and not know how to curse?”

Nie Huaisang silently shook his head.

“We were seventeen and cocky,” Lan Xichen said, pouring himself more wine. Nie Huaisang sipped at his, and wondered how long it would take before he too broke down and drank to remembrance while trying to forget the pain. “We should have brought backup, especially as two sect heirs.”

“Oh,” Nie Huaisang said, realising what night-hunt this must have been. “The wolfpack.”

Lan Xichen nodded, a crooked smile on his face. “We had all the information to know that there was more than one beast. We ignored it, of course.”

Nie Huaisang listened, drinking more than he had planned to as Lan Xichen spun out a story that Nie Huaisang had heard a hundred times before—though never from this side. When Da-ge told this story, it was usually as a warning against overconfidence for the juniors. Xichen-ge told it as a hilarious tale of misadventures, a hundred little ways they’d played themselves and fucked themselves over.

It hurt to laugh. It hurt to cry. Both hurt less when his body floated on alcohol, though.

Lan Xichen was matching him—leading him—drink for drink, until finally he finished the story and the hanshi was silent. The sun had dropped to the horizon, and its light burnt gold against the shuttered windows. Nie Huaisang looked at that blaze, and—before he could think better of it—said, “I miss him.”

“I keep thinking of things I want to tell him.” Lan Xichen was slouched down so far it barely counted as sitting instead of lying on the floor. His head tilted back further, face pointing straight up at the ceiling. “And I write them down, like all I need to do is wait for a chance to send him a letter. And then, when my ink touches the page, I remember again.”

Nie Huaisang grimaced. “Half the leadership of Qinghe Nie keeps saying things like ‘Oh, I’ll ask Nie-zongzhu’ and then walking away from me for a few steps before turning around and begging my forgiveness.”

“What do you do with them?” Lan Xichen poured himself another cup of wine, hands surprisingly steady despite the empty bottles scattered on the floor. “Nie Bai would have—” his voice caught “—laughed, at least at first.”

“Mostly, I try not to cry.” Nie Huaisang heard his own words crack and break, and for once didn’t bother trying to stop it. “If it’s not urgent, I don’t say anything and they remember something they need to do immediately and come back in an hour or two.”

He watched Lan Xichen slowly drink the wine, not spilling a drop despite the angle. When Lan Xichen set down the cup, he said, “What if it is urgent?”

“Then I answer their question and I watch them worry what later punishment I will inflict upon them for their disgrace.” Nie Huaisang contemplated the floor. It wasn’t late yet, even by Gusu Lan standards, but his body ached and he was tired of forcing himself to be more upright than he wanted to be. Slowly, he let himself tilt over until he was looking sideways at Lan Xichen, head pillowed only by his own arm. “I haven’t done anything to them yet.”

“Don’t,” Lan Xichen advised, more animation in his face than Nie Huaisang had seen any other time in the last three months. “Let them twist themselves into knots; they’ll devise far more interesting punishments for themselves than you ever could.”

Nie Huaisang laughed. “I’m too tired to devise punishments. Thank you for the advice, Xichen-ge.”

Lan Xichen flapped his hand vaguely in Nie Huaisang’s direction. “It’s nothing, it’s nothing.”

There was silence, for a few minutes, and Nie Huaisang watched the sun’s light slowly fade from the windows.

“I’m glad the war has ended,” Lan Xichen said eventually, his voice so soft Nie Huaisang barely registered it at first. “There were too many of us who inherited too young, and without enough support at our sides. You are still too young, Huaisang-di, but at least it is peacetime and you can have the slow transition that none of us were allowed.”

Nie Huaisang felt tears trickle across his cheeks. “I don’t like this.”

“You shouldn’t.” Lan Xichen’s voice broke, finally, words coming out through heaving sobs. “He didn’t deserve to die, let alone like that.”

“Xichen-ge.” Nie Huaisang pressed himself upright, scrambling across the floor until he was next to Lan Xichen. Helpless, he just said, “Xichen-ge,” again.

“Don’t comfort me,” Lan Xichen said, reaching up to grab Nie Huaisang’s shoulder. “Cry with me, Huaisang-di.”

Nie Huaisang gaped at Lan Xichen for a moment, and then he was pulled down with crushing strength into Lan Xichen’s chest. His self-control—which had been dissolving anyway—shattered, and he clutched Lan Xichen’s robes (too soft, too thin, smelling of different herbs) and cried.

He didn’t know how long they’d been clutching each other, faces soaked and muscles trembling, before someone walked into the hanshi.

Nie Huaisang knew who it was by the footsteps, and knew that Lan Xichen recognised him too, even before Lan Wangji said, “Xiongzhang, A-Sang. How much have you drunk?”

“Not enough?” Lan Xichen said, before Nie Huaisang could figure out a response. A tired laugh came from his chest, somewhere beneath Nie Huaisang’s ear. “Who realised what we were doing, Wangji?”

“The juniors, at dinner.” The sound of cloth brushing against itself as Lan Wangji sat down. “I don’t think they know you’re drunk. I’m told they were just passing rumors around about Huaisang’s visit and how you disappeared, and speculating about why you’ve been so stoic lately.”

“Did A-Yuan tell you?” Nie Huaisang asked, shuffling himself around until he was supporting himself and not leaning entirely on Lan Xichen.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji looked at them, eyes bleak but clear. “The juniors don’t wish to interrupt either my seclusion or your sorrows, but are also very curious. One of them suggested sending A-Yuan to me for answers.”

“Have you found answers?” Lan Xichen asked, lazy with alcohol-fuzzed amusement. “I'm not sure they're appropriate to share with the seniors, let alone the juniors.”

Lan Wangji was silent for a moment, then sighed heavily. “Xiongzhang,” he said, very neutrally, “you have been caring for me these long years. Please let me return the favor.”

“Wangji?”

“You know perfectly well that your ability to take care of yourself, let alone sect business, has decreased over these last weeks.” Lan Wangji shook his head. “I am forbidden from interfering, but I think Shufu will overlook my bending of rules for this.”

Before either Nie Huaisang or Lan Xichen could react—slowed by alcohol and grief as they were—Lan Wangji had moved over to Lan Xichen’s side and gripped him firmly. Nie Huaisang had a brief moment of being irritated that Lan Wangji had chosen to go to his brother first, and then it was carried away by shock as Lan Wangji picked Lan Xichen up.

It wasn’t a surprise that Lan Wangji could pick up his brother. They were both strong, and Lan Xichen wasn’t resisting. That he had chosen to do so, without asking permission or seeming to have any sense of regret, was the surprise.

Lan Xichen snorted, exerting no effort on his own part as Lan Wangji carried him over to his bed. “Do you think a night’s rest will be enough, Wangji?”

“No,” Lan Wangji said, and Nie Huaisang finally heard the covered frustration in his voice. “I merely hope that, come morning, you will realise that overindulgence helps nobody. Least of all you.”

“Speaking from experience?”

Lan Wangji dumped Lan Xichen on the bed. “You are entirely capable of removing your own hair ornament and any clothing you do not wish to sleep in,” he said coldly. “I am taking Huaisang back to the jingshi.”

Lan Xichen laughed. “I’m sure you’ll sleep well.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes widened, and Lan Wangji’s closed for the briefest moment as he paused just beyond the screen hiding most of Lan Xichen’s bed from sight. “Sleep well, Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji said, eyes opening and fixing on Nie Huaisang instead.

“The jingshi?” Nie Huaisang asked, struggling to get his own feet under him. He had a high alcohol tolerance—he’d built it up, same as most Qinghe Nie—but Lan Xichen’s unrestrained imbibing stretched even his body to its limit.

Lan Wangji’s hand, strong and familiar, caught him under the elbow and raised him up to standing. “Is that a problem?”

“No.” Nie Huaisang leaned into Lan Wangji’s solidity, head briefly resting on his shoulder. “You never offered, before.”

“You never needed it.” Lan Wangji guided him out of the hanshi, shifting his grip to wrap around Nie Huaisang’s back and steady him at his waist. It wasn’t the first time Nie Huaisang had walked with Lan Wangji like this, but the other times they had been teenagers and Nie Huaisang had thought nothing of it.

Now, the heat of Lan Wangji’s body against his was a blazing fire even through all the layers of cloth separating them, and Nie Huaisang couldn’t ignore it. With each step they took through the quiet gloaming, the frozen barriers Nie Huaisang had built around his heart thawed more. He didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything which might draw attention; neither he nor Lan Wangji should be here, and no matter how addled his thoughts might be (from wine, from grief, from Lan Wangji), Nie Huaisang knew that being noticed would draw danger upon them.

So it was only when they came to the jingshi that Nie Huaisang moved, letting the raw ache in the center of his body guide his movements as he pressed Lan Wangji against that plum tree. Lan Wangji didn’t resist—Nie Huaisang didn’t know why, didn’t care why; it wasn’t important right now—and his back slammed against the old trunk. Nie Huaisang followed up his momentary advantage by grabbing desperately for Lan Wangji’s neck, for the shoulder of his robes, drawing him down enough that Nie Huaisang’s mouth could find Lan Wangji’s own.

One of Lan Wangji’s hands tightened on the nape of Nie Huaisang’s neck, and Nie Huaisang’s eyes flickered closed at the pressure. It felt good; just as good as Lan Wangji’s dry lips against his, or as Lan Wangji’s hair tangled in his fingers. Pleasure purred through his body, a rarity in recent months, and Nie Huaisang didn’t even notice for a moment when Lan Wangji pulled back.

“A-Tao,” Lan Wangji murmured, his hand still gripping Nie Huaisang. “No.”

“Why not?” Nie Huaisang demanded, looking into eyes as clear as frost. “Have your feelings changed? Do you not want this?”

“Have your feelings settled?” Lan Wangji asked, terrifyingly patient as he spoke. “You have yet to speak them to me.”

Nie Huaisang shook his head as a great clawing pain rose up from the same place the too-brief pleasure had settled. “Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji gently, but inexorably, pushed Nie Huaisang back towards the jingshi. “Neither you nor my brother are in a good place right now, Nie Tao.”

“I can hold my drink well enough for this.” Nie Huaisang stepped backwards, clutching Lan Wangji’s shoulders. He didn’t think Lan Wangji would let him trip or run into anything. “Did your feelings change?”

“I love you,” Lan Wangji said, very matter-of-factly, “and I do not believe that will change.”

“So what are you afraid of?” Nie Huaisang pulled himself away from Lan Wangji as they entered the jingshi. His heart was beating wildly, and his skin felt too hot. “Are you worried I’m going to fuck you and then disappear?”

Lan Wangji slid the jingshi’s door shut. His hand stayed pressed against the door, face turned away from Nie Huaisang, as he said, “I am afraid that you only want me because you’re in pain and want something to soothe you.”

“That’s not true.” Nie Huaisang pressed himself to Lan Wangji’s back, wrapping his arms around Lan Wangji’s waist.

“Then why are you only trying to kiss me now?” Lan Wangji shook his head. “You’ve visited multiple times since I told you what I felt.”

Nie Huaisang buried his face in Lan Wangji’s back, painfully glad that the scars were well-healed by now. “I’ve been worried.”

“And now you’re grieving.”

Silence stretched between them. Nie Huaisang sniffled into Lan Wangji’s robe. He didn’t have any words left in his hollowed ribs; the vast emptiness he’d plugged up with Lan Xichen’s wine had drained again, leaving nothing to hold him together.

Lan Wangji sighed, and slowly turned to face him. “A-Tao, I know that it’s overwhelming.”

“It hurts,” Nie Huaisang whispered, curling closer and tucking himself under Lan Wangji’s chin.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed. His arms enveloped Nie Huaisang, strong and familiar. “We’ll talk more in the morning, A-Tao.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, inarticulate, and let Lan Wangji carry him to bed. Nimble fingers pulled his hairpiece down and set it aside, and then set to work unbraiding his hair. As Nie Huaisang’s hair loosened, so did his control. He started sobbing, loud and wild and utterly out of place in the jingshi, and Lan Wangji did nothing to stop him. Lan Wangji’s fingers kept moving through his hair, gentle and inevitable and grounding.

He had done this for Da-ge time and time again. After battles, after stressful meetings with the other sect leaders; sometimes for no reason but it being the only time they had to talk and tease each other. Nie Huaisang would sit there and chatter about his paintings and music, and Da-ge would tell him about strategic planning and grumble about politics. Then, when Da-ge’s hair was unbound, they would switch places. Sometimes, Nie Huaisang had played music while Da-ge patiently undid all the braids. Sometimes, it had been a continuation of the conversation they’d already been having.

Regardless of what they did, it had been a ritual since their childhood, a way of spending time together that had only grown more precious as they’d grown older and devoted themselves to their sect. It had stopped being a nightly ritual, but they had made time for it at least once a week, so long as they could. Long summers spent studying with other sects could interrupt them, and so did war (in a very different way), but they always came back together.

Lan Wangji had unbraided his hair before; he’d even braided it sometimes, winding new patterns into Nie Huaisang’s scalp. But today, his hands were too delicate, his calluses catching in the wrong way, and he was the first person to unbraid Nie Huaisang’s hair for him since Da-ge had died. It hurt, and Nie Huaisang hated that it hurt, hated that this thing which he loved had become something that could make him cry.

When his hair was smooth, Lan Wangji’s hands came to rest on his shoulders. “Nie Tao,” he said, feather-soft, “do you want company as you sleep?”

Nie Huaisang wiped tear-sore eyes. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll try something?” he asked, trying for bitter. He was too tired to make it stick, though, and so his words came out resigned. “Take advantage of you in your sleep, or something?”

Lan Wangji raised a single eyebrow. “Would you?”

Nie Huaisang sighed and slumped against him. “No.” They’d been together through too much. They might push each other, wind each other up with dares, but they had never once intentionally moved further than the other wished. Nie Huaisang had no intention of doing so now.

“Then there is nothing to fear.” Lan Wangji began undoing Nie Huaisang’s robes with a precise and distant touch. “Do you want me to sleep beside you tonight?”

Nie Huaisang nodded, unable to commit the request to words, and batted Lan Wangji’s hands away. “I can do that.”

Lan Wangji smiled slightly and withdrew to prepare himself for sleep. Nie Huaisang stripped himself, not bothering to fold his robes neatly but instead tossing them to the ground. He was smaller than Lan Wangji, but he still borrowed an extra set of sleeping clothes without asking. He didn’t think Lan Wangji would care—or, more accurately, Nie Huaisang thought Lan Wangji would prefer he borrow clean clothes than sleep next to Nie Huaisang when his clothes definitely all smelled of alcohol and grief.

Nie Huaisang lay on Lan Wangji’s bed, eyes closed and loose clothing swallowing him. Everything around him smelled like Lan Wangji, and if he focused on that alone he could pretend that everything was—not exactly normal, but close enough. Nie Huaisang held his attention on a tight leash, focusing on only the way his chest moved as he breathed and the way the bed felt beneath his back, distantly aware that Lan Wangji had returned and was folding cloth wordlessly.

When Lan Wangji laid down next to him and pulled the blanket over them both, it was all Nie Huaisang could do to hold himself still. He could hear Lan Wangji’s slightest shifts, could feel the warmth of his body bare inches away, and couldn’t think of anything but how much he wanted to cling to him.

“A-Tao,” Lan Wangji murmured, after long enough that Nie Huaisang had thought he’d fallen asleep. “I can hear how stiff you are. Relax. Nothing has changed.”

“It’s not that.” Nie Huaisang turned, before he could think better of it, and reached for Lan Wangji.

To his surprise, Lan Wangji didn’t do more than sigh and adjust himself to account for Nie Huaisang’s weight sprawled across his body.

Nie Huaisang fell asleep listening to Lan Wangji’s steady heartbeat, and—for the first time in weeks—didn’t dream.

When he woke up, the sun was already shining brightly. For a moment he was confused by the soft warmth beneath him, and then—abruptly, with the feeling of a weight slamming into his sternum—he remembered where he was and how he’d fallen asleep.

“Good morning,” Lan Wangji said, and Nie Huaisang melted in relief at how amused he sounded. “I was beginning to wonder if I’d need to wake you up myself.”

“Good morning,” Nie Huaisang echoed, reluctant to open his eyes, or even stir much at all. It felt too good to be close to Lan Wangji. “How late is it?”

“I’ve been awake for half a shichen.”

Nie Huaisang sighed and forced himself to open his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Lan Wangji smiled softly as he brushed a stray lock of hair out of Nie Huaisang’s face. “I could have woken you, if I had chosen to.”

He couldn’t refute that. Nie Huaisang rolled off Lan Wangji so that they were side-by-side and he wasn’t looking straight into Lan Wangji’s eyes. “I shouldn’t stay.”

“Shouldn’t stay where?” Lan Wangji sat up smoothly, gaze still focused on Nie Huaisang. “In my bed, in the jingshi, in the Cloud Recesses?”

Nie Huaisang groaned and covered his rapidly heating face with his hands. “Lan Zhan!”

“It’s a simple question.” Lan Wangji was enjoying this conversation far more than Nie Huaisang’s newly-awoken brain was capable of—especially since he was now awake enough to realise his headache was actually a hangover. “I do not think that staying in my home longer will cause any rumors to surface.”

“Lan Zhan.” Nie Huaisang draped one arm over his face to continue blocking the light and used his free hand to bat uselessly at Lan Wangji’s face. “Rumors?”

Lan Wangji caught Nie Huaisang’s hand easily. “I don’t think there are any yet. I’m sure that between Shufu, Xiongzhang, and A-Yuan, I would have been told if there were.”

“Then why bring it up?”

A pause, long enough for Nie Huaisang to almost worry, and then Lan Wangji quietly said, “Even if there were rumors, it wouldn’t change my choices. I’m happy to have you here.”

Nie Huaisang uncovered his face and stared at Lan Wangji. “Even with the reason I’m here?”

“There are things which could be improved,” Lan Wangji said dryly. “I’m sure you’re aware of this.”

Nie Huaisang glanced away, guilt and grief resurfacing in his heart. He was one of the things that could be improved, in this moment; Lan Wangji seemed perfectly in control of his own actions. Sharp ice churned in Nie Huaisang’s gut. Lan Wangji had been so badly hurt, yet Nie Huaisang was the weak link. Bitter words rose into his throat, simmering on his tongue.

Before he could speak those words, Lan Wangji said, “Huaisang, you have nothing to apologize for.” And then, before Nie Huaisang could try and protest, Lan Wangji added, “Let us first arise. Any further conversation can wait until after we break our fast.”

There was no room for Nie Huaisang to argue that point. Silently, he rose and began tidying himself up. His clothes had been neatened and set aside, and when Nie Huaisang picked them up a sweet-smelling sachet fell out. Nie Huaisang blinked suddenly teary eyes and picked it up. It wasn’t Lan Wangji’s typical sandalwood scent; this was floral, with a cold bite of pine mixed in. “Thank you,” Nie Huaisang said, staring at it.

Lan Wangji made a pleased noise. “It is important to take care of your clothing.”

Nie Huaisang nodded numbly. He’d heard Lan Wangji folding his clothing, of course, but the sachet had been so utterly unexpected. He swallowed the lump in his throat and set about clothing himself. He didn’t think about how Lan Wangji was doing the same behind him, or about how if he turned around he would be able to watch the precise and methodical way Lan Wangji wrapped all his layers around himself. If Nie Huaisang thought about that, he wouldn’t be able to focus on doing the same for himself.

Only when he was properly dressed, the layers of cloth a familiar armor, did Nie Huaisang ask, “Should I break my fast with you, or find my way to the guest houses properly?”

“Stay,” Lan Wangji replied. His feet slid across the floor, and Lan Wangji made a satisfied noise. “Xiongzhang sent an apology.”

Nie Huaisang turned and made his way over to where Lan Wangi stood. A tray sat outside the jingshi’s door, holding plenty of food for them both. Lan Wangji held a length of paper, which he angled to show Nie Huaisang without needing to be asked.

Lan Zhan, it read, I spoke unkindly last night. It has been a long time since I have snubbed our sect’s rules like that. I will be spending today in meditation, contemplating my words and choices, so that I do not disappoint our ancestors further.  

Please let Nie Huaisang know that I would be grateful if he stayed until tomorrow morning; I would like to speak to him again with a clearer mind.  

I hope you both slept well.  

— Lan Xichen  

“That’s barely an apology,” Nie Huaisang grumbled. “But yes, of course I’ll stay.”

Lan Wangji’s lips curved into a slight smile. “Xiongzhang is hiding his hangover,” he said, tucking the note away and picking up the tray of food. “How is your head?”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “As it has been.” He’d had a headache for one reason or another since Da-ge died. Sometimes it was from crying, sometimes from stress, and sometimes from drinking too much. He rubbed at his neck, and then said, “My muscles are more relaxed than they have been. Sleeping with you—” he blushed “—was soothing.”

Lan Wangji set down the tray and poured tea for them both. “I am glad. I don’t want you to be suffering for no reason.”

“I’m not suffering,” Nie Huaisang said automatically.

The look Lan Wangji gave him was clearly disbelieving, but Lan Wangji didn’t press. “Eat,” he said, sitting down. “We will talk after.”

Grateful for the silent ritual of Gusu Lan, Nie Huaisang sat across from Lan Wangji. The food was plain, filling, and notable mostly for how familiar it was to be eating from the same bowls and plates. It wasn’t awkward, even after the events of last night. The last vestige of worry finally lifted from Nie Huaisang’s heart, and he sat straighter.

After everything, if Lan Wangji had pushed him away because of his grief-fueled actions, Nie Huaisang didn’t know what he would have left. He never wanted to hurt his dearest friend, and he didn’t want to be the kind of person who kissed people to soothe a hole in his heart, but he had definitely done the latter and might have progressed to the former. Nie Huaisang held that thought in his throat, a heavy rock that didn’t hinder his ability to eat food at all, until they had finished eating.

Then, with Lan Wangji’s near-luminescent eyes boring into him, Nie Huaisang said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have— I know you desire me, but I shouldn’t have acted on that as an invitation last night.”

Lan Wangji sighed, expression changing minutely. “Do you have words for your feelings, A-Tao? That was… much of my concern, last night.”

“I love you,” Nie Huaisang said easily. Right now, with the sun bright in the windows and the memory of Lan Wangji’s heartbeat against his skin, he could think about this. Last night, there had been too many other emotions fighting for prominence. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you since you said you liked me.”

Silence fell between them, and Nie Huaisang listened to the birds outside. It felt like Lan Wangji was waiting for him to say something more, but Nie Huaisang didn’t know what else he could say. In the last six months, he’d spent too much time managing the Unclean Realm and Da-ge’s instability to have worked out anything further. That he was certain of those two facts was enormous, to him.

“Will those feelings stay?” Lan Wangji asked, his face so resolutely blank that even Nie Huaisang couldn’t pry out the emotion behind those words.

Nie Huaisang hesitated. “The love certainly will.” He didn’t know if it was what Lan Wangji felt for him, but Nie Huaisang had given his deepest affection and care to Lan Wangji for too long to believe it could be uprooted. The new—more physical—elements that Lan Wangji had kindled the possibility of were intriguing, but he didn’t know how they fit into the more important elements of his fierce fondness yet. “I don’t think I can know about anything else without— Without trying. And seeing what I think.”

Lan Wangji sat, statue-still, for nearly a minute before nodding. “Not yet,” he said, and Nie Huaisang’s heart clenched. He couldn’t tell if it was regret or relief. “Grieve, Nie Tao. When I am out of seclusion, we will discuss this again.” The glimmer of a smile played around his lips. “I doubt my feelings will change in that time.”

Nie Huaisang laughed a little, the sound a release of the tension he had built up unknowingly. Lan Wangji was nothing if not constant in his affections. “I will strive to understand my feelings by then, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji breathed out, and this time Nie Huaisang was sure it was in relief. “Good.”

Nie Huaisang arrived at the Cloud Recesses at the head of an assortment of Qinghe Nie disciples. It felt strange to enter with such a large group, after so much time visiting on his own. He couldn’t let that oddity show on his face, however; he was here as Nie-zongzhu, after all. The only thing Nie-zongzhu could show was his concerns, not his contemplation.

Gusu Lan disciples quietly led Nie Huaisang and his entourage through the Cloud Recesses and into the deep forest of the back mountain. Lan Xichen had invited all the major sects—and many of the minor, but politically important, ones—to a crowd hunt, so that disciples from all over could mingle and learn from each other. The subtext was purely in the timing: The crowd hunt was set to begin a bare week after Lan Wangji left seclusion.

Lan Wangij’s skills have not atrophied, Nie Huaisang read into the invitation’s polite words. Do you remember how he left early from the final crowd hunt of the Qishan Wen, yet still ranked near the top? He can still do so.  

Nie Huaisang didn’t worry about Lan Wangji’s skills. He simply hoped he would have a chance to see them for himself, and not merely sit and wait on the sidelines. In the months since his unwise drinking session with Lan Xichen, he had only visited Lan Wangji once—a brief visit, stolen time from an exhausting session of determining the exact tax rates between different regions—and Nie Huaisang badly wanted to see Lan Wangji. Even if it was in a formal setting, it would be better than nothing.

The weight of leading a sect was nothing like seclusion in practice, yet Nie Huaisang sometimes wondered if the emotional effect was similar. Especially since he was unmarried, and had no close family left, there was nobody Nie Huaisang could find to share his burdens.

(Sometimes he gazed at Jiang Wanyin when he thought this, and wondered how his friend had managed—either in the early years during the war, or during these lonely times after Wei Wuxian died and changed the relationships between all the sects once more. The anger burning beneath Jiang Wanyin’s skin hid much, and Nie Huaisang did not want to find out if he would burn from touching it. He had been dealing with enough, between himself and Da-ge and Lan Wangji.)

Yet, even Lan Wangji had A-Yuan—who broke the letter of the rules, but whom nobody could blame for doing so. Lan Wangji had Lan Xichen, who obeyed the letter of the rules but easily broke the spirit by staying outside the jingshi and speaking to the vast expanses of nature for Lan Wangji to overhear. Lan Wangji had Nie Huaisang, no matter how erratic his visits might be, and—

Nie Huaisang’s mind always stuttered to a stop, then. He knew how much Lan Wangji loved him, and he knew how deeply he cared for Lan Wangji in return. Nie Huaisang still didn’t know if he and Lan Wangji meant the same things by the words they shared, but he wasn’t sure it mattered. He had been dreaming of what it felt like to wake up with Lan Wangji, and what the brief memory of Lan Wangji’s lips on his might be like if it lasted longer. Nie Huaisang wanted those things, and he knew Lan Wangji wanted them too. Between that, and the affection, there would be enough.

He took a deep breath as the temporary pavilions set up for the crowd hunt came into view. He couldn’t let his mind drift too far while he was here; even if Lan Xichen would overlook his distraction with a smile, and Jiang Wanyin would simply shake his head, Jin Guangyao’s eyes were very sharp and his smile was poisonous. Nie Huaisang couldn’t allow him to see where to fasten his claws to inexorably pull either Nie Huaisang or Lan Wangji to his side.

Nie Huaisang dismissed his disciples to go mingle while waiting for the crowd hunt to commence. He, on the other hand, opened his fan and covered his face as he walked to the pavillion clearly designated for sect leaders. Lan Xichen was already there, of course, as was Jin Guangyao. Nie Huaisang glanced around and saw Yunmeng Jiang disciples mixed into the crowd; Jiang Wanyin was clearly around somewhere, but hadn’t joined the other sect leaders.

Sometimes, Nie Huaisang thought bitterly, it was good to be seen as angry and impulsive. You didn’t need to hold yourself to the same political standards, then. But he couldn’t take that path; even before Da-ge’s death, he had never wanted to walk into Qinghe Nie’s downfall. Since becoming Nie-zongzhu himself, he had leaned even further away. It stung to hide his full abilities, but if it meant nobody would find him a threat, he could accept that.

Besides, the people closest to his side knew how to manage Qinghe Nie to his satisfaction. Even if he stuttered and begged for help in public, the people who mattered knew that he had settled into his role by now. It hadn’t been an act, at first; only when he’d seen the satisfaction in Jin Guangyao’s eyes had he decided to keep it up. Nie Huaisang had his suspicions about Da-ge’s death, even if he had no proof but his trust in the accuracy of his own eyes and ears.

But those were, again, thoughts for another time.

“San-ge! Xichen-ge!” Nie Huaisang called out, waving his fan at his fellow sect leaders with a delighted smile he didn’t need to force. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting!”

“Of course not,” Jin Guangyao said warmly. “There’s still a good thirty minutes before the first ceremonies. That’s plenty of time.”

Lan Xichen smiled more subtly and gestured Nie Huaisang over to the low table they sat at. Once the festivities started, they would need to place themselves more formally with the banner of their sect, but for now they could sit as friends. “I hope that the journey was not too arduous?”

“It’s so far,” Nie Huaisang grumbled, throwing himself into a practiced sprawl. “Xichen-ge, why do we need to live so far apart?”

It wasn’t a new complaint; Lan Xichen had to have heard it a hundred times in the last three years. Still, he covered his smile and merely said, “We must appreciate the beauty of the natural world, Huaisang.”

“It is quite lovely,” Nie Huaisang admitted freely. “Oh! San-ge, I found the most beautiful bird the other day…” He launched into a complicated tale about the Sunrise Pheasants that lived on the rocky mountain slopes and his vain attempts to catch their beauty for his aviary, because he really didn’t want to talk about politics and neither of his Da-ge’s sworn brothers would actually interrupt him while he was going off about birds. He did like birds, and he appreciated that Jin Guangyao tended to gift him birds because of this habit, but in other circumstances he would have told other stories.

By the time he wrapped up, Jiang Wanyin had returned from wherever he’d been and was rolling his eyes at Nie Huaisang’s mildly-exaggerated folly. “That’s all well and good,” Jiang Wanyin said when it was clear Nie Huaisang was done, “but isn’t it time to begin?”

Lan Xichen nodded. “Of course.” He rose, and the rest of them stood alongside him. The crowd of cultivators gathered in the forest turned towards them in a wave, and Lan Xichen stepped forward. Nie Huaisang barely caught the twitch of his fingers as he cast a talisman to amplify his voice into everyone’s ears; anyone standing in the crowd would have no chance at all to see it.

“Thank you all for attending our crowd hunt,” Lan Xichen said, somehow sounding gentle despite the volume. “We are grateful to have so many friends and allies, and hope that today can be a day of friendly competition amongst friends. Let us all strive to cultivate our best selves, and aid each other in that pursuit.”

There were a few more words, but nobody cared about them. Everyone was waiting for Lan Xichen to announce the beginning of the hunt. Before he did so, Lan Xichen paused and his voice grew more serious. “There have been rumours about my brother’s health,” he said, eyes traversing the silent disciples. “I hope that today puts those rumours to rest.”

Then, before anyone could think to respond, Lan Xichen raised a hand and drew a large talisman in the air. It was a signal, Nie Huaisang realized a moment later when a number of other Gusu Lan disciples set off flares around the crowd. “The hunt begins,” Lan Xichen called, over the little explosions. “Do your best!”

The disciples scattered into the air and amongst the trees, disappearing within a handful of heartbeats like butterflies freed from a net. Nie Huaisang watched them go, looking for Lan Wangji’s pale robes, but couldn’t see him amidst the crowd. He sighed, and sat down in the chair provided for him with a slouch. Lan Xichen glanced over, and Nie Huaisang took the opportunity to murmur, “Is he well?”

“He is healed, though I think some aches yet linger.” Lan Xichen’s eyes glimmered with amusement that Nie Huaisang hoped nobody else knew the reason for. “He was looking forward to this.”

“I shall hope he performs yet better than you promised.” Nie Huaisang smiled sweetly. “Play a game of weiqi with me while we wait, Xichen-ge.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes narrowed. “Play with A-Yao,” he suggested, backing away. “He’s a better opponent for you.”

Nie Huaisang laughed; to play fairly against Lan Xichen, Nie Huaisang had to take a two-stone handicap. When he played with Jin Guangyao, however, Nie Huaisang deliberately obfuscated his skills and thus didn’t need a handicap at all. “If San-ge agrees,” Nie Huaisang said lightly, because today wasn’t a day to argue over who he used to avoid getting bored.

Jin Guangyao wouldn’t turn down his invitation to play, and the game was more balanced than it often was. Nie Huaisang didn’t need to feign being distracted by the signals blooming like colorful clouds. His own sect gave a respectable showing, but it was clear from the pale swirls in the sky that Gusu Lan was going to be in the lead. They knew the mountains, of course, but such an advantage shouldn’t skew the proportions so heavily. It was likely to be entirely Lan Wangji who made up the difference.

Nie Huaisang placed a stone on the weiqi board and smiled. Let Jin Guangyao wonder if he was smiling about the game or something else, when his play wasn’t particularly meaningful; he didn’t need to know that Nie Huaisang was smiling from thoughts of Lan Wangji.

The crowd hunt lasted through the afternoon, though the sparks showing successful kills slowed down greatly after the first two hours. Nie Huaisang played three games of weiqi against Jin Guangyao. He lost the first, won the second, fought the final game to a near stalemate that left them both picking for the final scraps of points. Lan Xichen watched that last game, because Jiang Wanyin had wandered off in frustration to find something to punch. (Nie Huaisang wasn’t sure that was the reason, but it seemed likely regardless.)

Once the third game finally drew to its end, Nie Huaisang sat back idly and listened to his brother’s brothers chat about the watchtowers Jin Guangyao wanted to build. They were a good idea—more people would tell the cultivation sects when things were going wrong if they could reach the sects without long days of travel—but he didn’t have anything to add to the discussion. He simply didn’t know enough about the architecture and logistics that Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao were so excited about.

Nie Huaisang could lead the Qinghe Nie well, but he did so by spending a lot of his time finding people who were better at specific aspects of leadership than he was and setting them loose. If that meant everyone saw him as weak and unknowledgeable, so be it; his home would still be safe and secure, and that was what mattered most.

At last, some invisible signal came back and Lan Xichen stood. “It’s over.” He drew a talisman in the air, sending a beautiful beacon into the sky to summon all the cultivators back.

It took half an hour for the crowd to fully gather, and Nie Huaisang spent the entire time scanning the returning cultivators for Lan Wangji. He wasn’t sure if he would be visible or not; despite how tall and striking Lan Wangji was, he was highly skilled at fading into the background if he wanted to. Besides, the number of people was enough to conceal him so long as he stayed near the back, which Nie Huaisang suspected he was doing.

At last, Lan Xichen called out the names of the disciples who had found and killed the most monsters. Lan Wangji was, naturally, at the top of the list. By following the gazes of disciples in the crowd, Nie Huaisang finally found where Lan Wangji was hiding, and immediately lost track of anything else Lan Xichen said. (He would have noticed if one of his own sect had done remarkably; he just knew that crowd hunts tended to leave his sect lagging because Qinghe Nie thrived best in situations where they could let loose and not need to track beasts down.)

Lan Wangji stood to the side, straight and tall and dressed in clothes that inverted the normal Gusu Lan color scheme: Instead of white on pale blue, he wore pale blue on white; it was the barest step from mourning colors. Nie Huaisang looked at him just long enough to be certain that Lan Wangji saw him, and then tracked Lan Wangji’s disappearance into the woods. Nie Huaisang settled back into his seat. As soon as he could, he would follow.

Of course, first he had to speak to his disciples and tell them how proud he was, and make polite small-talk with the other disciples who wanted to say something to him. In the end, it took him close to an hour to break free, and Nie Huaisang suspected he only managed it that quickly because the Qinghe Nie disciples had plotted with the Yunmeng Jiang disciples to sneak wine into the crowd hunt’s clearing and begin having a party. Nie Huaisang was sure Lan Xichen had known about this—Nie Huaisang himself had known and tacitly endorsed it by not saying anything against it—but since nobody halted it, it happened.

In the woods, Nie Huaisang glanced around until he saw a tiny sparkling sigil. He followed it, looking for the next as he found each one, tapping them as he passed so that they would fade away.

Nie Huaisang relaxed more the deeper into the forest he went. The smell of soil and decomposing leaves filled his nose, and the noise faded away. By the time he saw the flash of white-and-blue that heralded Lan Wangji, the crowd itself was a distant dream. “I’m here,” Nie Huaisang said as he stepped under the boughs of an old oak tree. Lan Wangji sat against its trunk, eyes closed in meditation. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

Lan Wangji stirred, opening his eyes. Nie Huaisang steadied himself; it had been long enough that he’d forgotten how compelling he found Lan Wangji’s gaze. It wasn’t just that Lan Wangji was beautiful—he was, and everyone knew it except sometimes Lan Wangji himself—it was that Lan Wangji knew how to look straight through all the masks Nie Huaisang wore and into the heart of who he truly was. “It’s restful in the forest,” Lan Wangji said. “I was not inconvenienced.”

Nie Huaisang smiled, and sat down next to Lan Wangji. They weren’t quite touching, but Nie Huaisang was still excruciatingly aware of the thin gap between their knees and arms. “Did you give Xichen-ge the show he needed?”

“I’m sure you know the answer to that better than I do.” Lan Wangji shifted slightly, so that they were facing each other, and their knees touched. It shouldn’t have been distracting, Nie Huaisang thought, and yet it was. “You stayed after the scores were announced.”

“You were the one out there killing monsters.”

Lan Wangji shrugged. “That isn’t where Xiongzhang’s plans will come to fruition.”

“Mn.” Nie Huaisang considered that, and thought more deeply about the conversations he’d heard and briefly partaken in while finding his way out of the crowd. “Nobody doubts your skills. I suspect the narrative Xichen-ge will shape around your seclusion will soon be that you withdrew to reach a new stage of cultivation. Those in the upper ranks of power will suspect the truth, if they don’t already know; most other people will believe this story.”

“He has mentioned something similar to me.” Lan Wangji smiled, and Nie Huaisang echoed the expression instinctively. “It aligns with my plans.”

Nie Huaisang tilted his head. Last he’d heard—five months ago, now—Lan Wangji hadn’t made any solid plans. From how Lan Wangji sat, calm and composed and filled with a quiet certainty which had been absent for long stretches of his seclusion and recovery, Nie Huaisang wasn’t surprised he’d come to some conclusion.

“I will travel, and find places in trouble, and help them.”

“Will you visit me?” Nie Huaisang asked, which really wasn’t what he should get out of Lan Wangji’s statement but was the first thing he thought of.

Lan Wangji didn’t say anything for a moment. His eyes travelled across Nie Huaisang, looking for something; Nie Huaisang didn’t know what. He thought he should be able to guess, but he didn’t want to be wrong. At last, Lan Wangji asked, “Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

A marginal hesitation, then: “Did you determine your feelings, A-Tao?”

Nie Huaisang sucked in a breath, heart beating fast. Determine seemed like a strong word. He had certainly contemplated his feelings during long nights or boring meetings that he didn’t actually need to pay attention to. Mostly, his thoughts returned to the same things they always had:

He loved Lan Wangji, he wanted to spend time with Lan Wangji, and the more he thought about kissing Lan Wangji (or even, sometimes, in dreams he only sometimes wanted to acknowleddge, having sex with Lan Wangji) the more he wanted to do it. He still wasn’t sure if what he felt matched what Lan Wangji felt, or what Da-ge and Xichen-ge had felt for each other, but it was certainly distinct from how he felt about anyone else, and that mattered.

“I think that to determine anything else, I would need more information.” Nie Huaisang bit his lip. He hated being this nervous. It wasn’t like there was anything to truly be nervous about; it was just Lan Wangji, and no matter what the end result of the conversation was, it wouldn’t break them apart.

“Then what do you know?” Lan Wangji snapped, voice taut and hard in a way Nie Huaisang thought many people would read as aggressive.

He knew better. This was Lan Wangji stretched to breaking, and wanting an answer.

So Nie Huaisang carefully spread his hands out upon his thighs, forcing them to stretch and not curl in towards his skin, and said, “I know I dream about you.” He swallowed, met Lan Wangji’s eyes, and kept speaking, words coming more fluidly as he continued. “Sometimes when I try to fall asleep, something feels like it’s missing and my body aches until I realise that what’s missing is the feeling of your body against mine. I write you letters full of all the little things I see and hear, because they make me think I wonder what Lan Wangji would think of this.

“I miss you, and I know that how often I see you is bound by my life as well as yours now, and it’s the part of being a sect leader that I hate the most. I can find other people to manage taxation or organize the harvest or make sure the disciples are well-trained, but I can’t find someone else who can visit you. There is no way to replace the sound of your guqin. There is nobody else whose hands feel as fond in my hair, nobody else whose hair I want to brush until it shines.

“I know the way your skin feels under my hands. I want to know the shape of your muscles, learn the way your scars have healed and how to touch them in a way that brings pleasure and not the reminder of pain. I think about your hands on mine and wonder what it would be like for them to explore further, for there not to be layers of fabric between your fingers and my flesh.” Nie Huaisang felt his face heat, but he couldn’t stop speaking now. “I remember kissing you, and even if it was a bad idea I know that I wanted to do it again. I still want to kiss you, to learn what it feels like when my mouth isn’t heavy with wine and you want to kiss me too.”

Lan Wangji made a sound, lips parting as he leaned forward.

Nie Huaisang grabbed Lan Wangji’s hands and held them tightly. He wasn’t as strong as Lan Wangji, couldn’t hold him back if Lan Wangji really went for it. Nie Huaisang wasn’t done talking yet, however, and no matter how much he wanted to kiss Lan Wangji he wanted to finish spilling all the words he had carefully kept himself from dwelling upon. Lan Wangji had asked; Nie Huaisang had to give him a complete answer.

“I wonder what sex would be like between us,” Nie Huaisang confessed. Lan Wangji’s hands were clenched around his almost painfully. “I’ve never tried. I think that with you, I might be able to. But I don’t know. I’m curious, but I don’t know what I want there. I just know that I like how you move around me, I like the way you listen to me, I like sharing space with you. I want you to be by my side as much as you can be, even though I know duty and obligation often keeps us apart.

“Is this what love is for you, Lan Zhan? Because it’s vast and painful sometimes, but in the end all I can think about is how much I like you, and how safe it feels to be alone with you.”

Nie Huaisang stopped, tongue numb and throat dry, and nodded towards Lan Wangji in a way that he desperately hoped would convey that he was done talking. He didn’t have any words left; he’d used them all.

Lan Wangji drew one hand from Nie Huaisang’s grasp and brought it up to Nie Huaisang’s cheek. His touch was as gentle as a falling petal, or perhaps a snowflake. His tongue flicked out, moistened his lips, and then Lan Wangji said, “That sounds like love to me, A-Tao.”

Nie Huaisang breathed out, and his whole body curled forwards towards Lan Wangji. His eyes closed in relief, and distantly he thought, Oh.

Love was an emotion that everyone always said you’d know when you felt it, but Nie Huaisang had never understood why. People talked about so many different feelings, and in so many different ways, and they were sometimes contradictory and the only thing Nie Huaisang could find to link them was the intimacy of the words they used. He could call this set of feelings friendship, but calling it love— Yes, he could do that. That sounded good.

Lan Wangji’s arms wrapped around him. “Stop hiding your face,” Lan Wangji murmured into his ear. “I can’t kiss you when your face is against my neck.”

“So you do want to kiss me now?” Nie Huaisang said, somehow. He raised his head up, grinning at Lan Wangji. “Have you been thinking about it too?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes were normally pale, but right now the irises were dilated so much that it was hard to tell. “A-Tao.” His hand crept up Nie Huaisang’s back, fastened on the nape of his neck. “I have wanted to kiss you for years.”

Nie Huaisang shivered at the raw emotion in Lan Wangji’s voice. Then, very deliberately, he leaned forward and pressed their lips together.

It wasn’t a very good kiss, but it didn’t need to be. Lan Wangji was perfectly still for a single moment, and then he closed what little distance between them remained with enough force that they tumbled to the ground. Nie Huaisang thought for a moment that the air had been knocked from his lungs; the next second, he realised that the problem wasn’t falling over, but the way Lan Wangji’s mouth was locked against his.

Nie Huaisang tugged Lan Wangji’s hair with his hand, gaining just enough space to gasp, “I need to breathe,” and receive a sulky-sounding Mn in response.

Lan Wangji waited exactly five seconds before pressing down again, this time with biting kisses that left enough space for Nie Huaisang to breathe but not enough space for him to think.

Hand-to-hand combat didn’t electrify his senses like this. Lazing around in a pile of his friends didn’t wake his body to such heat. Even wrapping himself around Lan Wangji to sleep hadn’t left him so aware of every inch of his skin that Lan Wangji was touching. Nie Huaisang didn’t know what to do with himself save clutch Lan Wangji and try to return the kisses as well as he could.

From Lan Wangji’s pleased sounds, he wasn’t doing poorly.

Nie Huaisang lost track of time in the haze of sensation and heat. Lan Wangji’s weight on top of him felt good, and the heat of his kisses and the sharpness of his teeth on Nie Huaisang’s lips felt even better. Only when Lan Wangji’s fingers drifted underneath Nie Huaisang’s robes did he remember himself enough to say, “No, not now.”

Lan Wangji stilled on top of him, fingers digging deep into Nie Huaisang’s skin. They would bruise, Nie Huaisang knew, but he didn’t mind that. Gently, Nie Huaisang stroked his hands through Lan Wangji’s hair. “There’s still politics going on,” Nie Huaisang said, surprising himself with how hoarse his voice sounded. He hadn’t thought they’d done anything which would strain his throat. “I can’t— Lan Zhan, I need to be presentable and uphold the dignity of Qinghe Nie.”

Something that might’ve been I don’t care came out of Lan Wangji’s mouth, but because his lips were still pressed against Nie Huaisang’s jaw the words were muffled enough that Nie Huaisang could pretend he didn’t hear them. A moment later, Lan Wangji nodded and sat up. His face was flushed, his hair was a mess, and he grumbled, “I don’t want to let you go.”

“Believe me,” Nie Huaisang said, pushing himself off the ground with a wince, “I would much rather continue kissing you.”

Lan Wangji smiled and reached out to pluck leaves from Nie Huaisang’s hair. “It would be improper for me to impose upon you while you’re visiting for the crowd hunt.”

“It would be improper for me to enter Gusu Lan’s private residences.” Nie Huaisang felt his hair and sighed. “How bad does my hair look?”

“Xiongzhang will know exactly what we did,” Lan Wangji said, his blush deepening.

Nie Huaisang groaned. “Help me fix it?”

“Of course.”

Lan Wangji’s fingers were nimble and gentle in his hair, first pulling out the forest debris that had mixed in and then precisely rebraiding it along the exact lines it had originally been done up in. Nie Huaisang sat in front of him, eyes closed and trying not to show just how deeply this intimacy was affecting him. It wasn’t just the gentle brushes of Lan Wangji’s fingertips against his skin, or the slight tug against his hair; it was the simple fact that Lan Zhan was fixing the hair he himself had mussed to begin with.

When it was done, Nie Huaisang turned and pressed a kiss against Lan Wangji’s cheek. “I’m sure you know how to find me,” he murmured into Lan Wangji’s ear. “Please do so at the soonest convenience.”

Lan Wangji looked up at him with deep eyes and a soft smile. “Of course, Nie Tao.”

Nie Huaisang blushed again, and covered his face with his fan. “I will leave first,” he said, falling into rote formality as the only solace he had left.

Lan Wangji inclined his head in a bow, amusement flickering around his eyes.

Before either of them could make any more questionable decisions, Nie Huaisang fled back to the relative safety of the crowd hunt’s afterparty.

Still, his lips tingled from Lan Wangji’s kisses, and his heart sang from affection offered and held in safekeeping, and Nie Huaisang was eager to learn what else could bloom between them. He smiled as he entered the festive clearing, and didn’t even flinch away from Lan Xichen’s too-knowing eyes.

“Wangji did well,” Lan Xichen said, after the pleasantries of greeting had been exchanged.

Nie Huaisang raised his fan automatically. “He did.”

“I’m glad he’s moving forward with his life.”

“He mentioned he’ll be actively searching for problems to solve?”

Lan Xichen smiled. “I think he’s already solved the one closest to home.”

Nie Huaisang looked down, knowing that there was no way to disguise his blush, and didn’t deny it.

Lan Xichen kindly didn’t continue the subject, and instead turned to asking about how preparations for the discussion conference were going; it would be the Unclean Realm’s turn to host, and now that the crowd hunt was done it was the next exciting event for the sect leaders. Nie Huaisang had gotten out of talking about it earlier, but now he seized on the topic with relief. Anything was easier than Xichen-ge inquiring further about his feelings and actions towards Lan Wangji.

Later that evening, when all the Gusu Lan disciples were in bed and even most of the visiting disciples had returned to their sleeping quarters, Nie Huaisang finally made his way to his rooms to rest. It was late, and he was looking forward to collapsing into bed and dreaming of Lan Wangji.

When he reached his bed, he found that someone else was in it. Nie Huaisang conjured a light talisman, heart racing. In the golden glow, he saw Lan Wangji’s peaceful face, calm and composed even in sleep. Nie Huaisang laughed softly and let the talisman fade away. In the dark and silence, he readied himself for bed, heart light. Of all the ways he’d expected Lan Wangji to come to him, this had never been on his mind.

Nie Huaisang curled up against Lan Wangji, deeply content, and dreamt that night of nothing more than the truth: Himself, curled up in Lan Wangji’s arms.

Long months passed before Lan Wangji could visit Nie Huaisang. Summer deepened into autumn, autumn passed into winter, and—as the first blossoms spread their petals—spring began inching its way into being.

Nie Huaisang was entangled in a meeting with the heads of multiple minor clans, all of whom had banded together in the belief that Qinghe Nie wasn’t being fair to them for some inexplicable reason that Nie Huaisang suspected had more to do with persuasive ability than fact. They had been sitting in this room for two hours, going in circles around the idea that Nie Huaisang wasn’t allowing them to protect—and therefore tax—as great a region as previously.

It was a headache, and Nie Huaisang wanted nothing better than to snap Have you considered that the reason there are fewer monsters to defeat is because we’re all doing a better job overall? at them. He refrained, because he hadn’t built his power by intimidation; he had built it by seeming very easy to convince and then turning words back upon those who sought to manipulate him.

Most of the time he didn’t mind, but most of the time he wasn’t being ganged up on. Nie Huaisang sipped his tea, smiled politely, and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know,” a dozen times.

The door opened, a welcome distraction, and a servant said, “Nie-zongzhu, a guest has arrived unannounced. Hanguang-jun requests your hospitality.”

Nie Huaisang turned in shock, almost sloshing a few drops of tea out of his cup. For once, it wasn’t even feigned. “How could I deny Hanguang-jun?” he said lightly, setting the tea down before it could betray his nervous excitement. Lan Wangji had said he would come to the Unclean Realm when he could, but he had never said how long that would take. “Please invite him in; I will meet him in the Thousand-Blossom Courtyard momentarily.”

The servant bowed and retreated quickly. Nie Huaisang watched him go, and then turned to the clan leaders. They already looked resigned, and Nie Huaisang didn’t waste any time putting them out of their misery. “My apologies,” Nie Huaisang said, projecting sincerity he didn’t feel. “I will certainly think upon your requests, and consult with my advisors about how best to ensure all those who live within Qinghe Nie’s reach are treated fairly.”

They all stood, and murmured courtesies, and Nie Huaisang let them leave first. For a moment, he stood in the now-empty sitting room and let himself feel the frustration he had been hiding all afternoon. He didn’t kick the trays, or throw a teacup, no matter how satisfying the crashing sounds might be. Instead, Nie Huaisang pressed a hand against the wall and clenched his fingers, as if he could dig into the stone through sheer force of will. “Power-hungry idiots,” he hissed.

Nie Huaisang took a deep breath, straightened up, and put the matter from his mind. He hadn’t been lying, exactly; he would discuss the matter with his strategists and advisors. He just expected they would come to the same conclusion he already had: Offer them nice words, promise not to interfere in their territories, and let them suffer until they sucked up their pride and asked for help with whatever challenge might be greater than their strength.

Or until Hanguang-jun interfered, Nie Huaisang supposed, a smile tugging at his lips.

He quickened his steps towards the Thousand-Blossom Courtyard, turning that possibility over in his mind. It seemed a bit crude to set Lan Wangji on people who were annoying him, but the idea was very satisfying to contemplate.

Nie Huaisang set the thought aside as he stepped outside; he didn’t want Lan Wangji to get any hint of that thought from his face. Instead, he wished that he’d grabbed a cloak before coming outside, because it had started lightly snowing sometime while he had been closeted in the indoor warmth. He hurried into the Thousand-Blossom Courtyard; while he wouldn’t freeze, he still didn’t want to stay outside longer than he needed to.

The Thousand-Blossom Courtyard was blooming in defiance of winter’s final grasp. Plum trees stretched pale pink flowers towards the sky, bright and beautiful against gray stone and overcast skies. Nie Huaisang had always loved this courtyard; since becoming sect leader, he’d been slowly but surely planting more flowering plants around the Unclean Realm. The contrast between the simple military design of the buildings and the unrestrained beauty of the plants elevated both, in Nie Huaisang’s opinion, and he didn’t care what anyone else thought.

Lan Wangji stood in the middle of the courtyard, looking up at the blossoms. Nie Huaisang observed him quietly, looking at the calm profile of his face. He was wearing blue again, pale as the winter sky but more promising than the mourning-white he’d clung to during seclusion. Snowflakes dusted his hair, speckling the long dark strands like stars. Nie Huaisang rarely thought consciously about how beautiful Lan Wangji was, but right now he looked like he had stepped out of a painting meant to celebrate the oncoming spring, and Nie Huaisang wanted to appreciate him the same way he would any such piece of art.

 
[art by Lola (ao3/tumblr)]

Before Nie Huaisang could decide if he wanted to interrupt, Lan Wangji turned to look at him. In the midst of the flowers, the slight smile on his face was a poem. “Nie-zongzhu.” His voice was soft but clear, easily carrying across the space between them.

“Hanguang-jun.” Nie Huaisang stepped into the snow, reaching Lan Wangji in a bare few steps. “It’s a wonderful surprise to see you here.”

“I was nearby.” They both knew that this conversation was more for the benefit of anyone who was listening in than their own information. “Is it an imposition?”

Nie Huaisang smiled, and hoped that the warmth in his heart came through his eyes. “Never. Please, Lan Wangji, let us go inside and away from the cold.”

Lan Wangji followed him silently into the Unclean Realm’s halls. Nie Huaisang felt overly aware of every step he took, every glance Lan Wangji gave the decorations; Lan Wangji had visited before, of course, but that had been— Well, it had been before.

He did not let himself think about all the ways things were different now.

Right now, he was leading Lan Wangji into his quarters and waving off the normally omnipresent attendants. Nie Huaisang breathed, and poured the tea already helpfully provided before the attendants had run off, and said, “I understand why you couldn’t have come sooner.”

“I could have,” Lan Wangji said, surprising him. “But not without attracting attention.”

Nie Huaisang caught his breath, then nodded. He set a bowl of tea in front of Lan Wangji, words swirling inside his head like the steam, and finally settled on, “I missed you.”

“A-Tao,” Lan Wangji murmured, reaching not for the tea but Nie Huaisang’s hands, “I too wished I could come sooner.”

Very carefully, Nie Huaisang set down the teapot without pouring for himself. “How long will you stay for?”

“A week at most.” Lan Wangji’s fingers tightened on his. “But I plan to make good use of all the time we can have.”

Nie Huaisang allowed Lan Wangji to draw him off of his seat, settling instead on Lan Wangji’s lap. “What use are you proposing?” Nie Huaisang asked, resting one hand on Lan Wangji’s shoulder and indulging himself by stroking Lan Wangji’s hair with the other.

“There were so many people at the Cloud Recesses.” Lan Wangji pressed his forehead against Nie Huaisang’s. “There was only so much we could do there.”

Nie Huaisang stilled, heartbeat coming quick as a kestrel’s wings. At the crowd-hunt, they had kissed, and slept in the same bed, and otherwise very little had changed from how they always interacted. He’d known Lan Wangji wanted more than that—it had been clear years ago, even, when Lan Wangji had first raised the question of feelings—but Lan Wangji had never gone into detail about what, precisely, the more entailed.

And right now, they were sitting in his chambers and there was nothing stopping an especially urgent message from coming to find them. Nie Huaisang was sure his closest attendants knew something of the bond between him and Lan Wangji, but he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to trust their discretion in this particular case. So instead, Nie Huaisang whispered, “What more do you want to do, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji’s breath was hot against his ear, voice shivering straight into Nie Huaisang’s bones. “If we have the time and space, I would strip you bare and find every hidden spot of pleasure your body holds. I would hold you down and fuck you until you knew nothing but my body against yours. I would tie you up so that you could never leave, and take my pleasure from you until we were both sated, and then I would release you only to keep you in my arms instead.”

Nie Huaisang shivered in Lan Wangji’s grasp. He’d been expecting something like this, but he hadn’t expected detail, hadn’t expected the images suddenly flooding into his mind. His body felt hot and prickly, almost alien. Desperately, defensively, Nie Huaisang said, “Lan Zhan—”

“I’m sure that you have duties to attend to later today.” Lan Wangji pulled back enough for Nie Huaisang to see the faint flush on his cheeks and ears, catch the minute smile in his eyes. “I simply wished for you to understand what I desire to do once night falls and duty no longer binds you.”

Nie Huaisang let his head fall forward to land on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “How long have you been desiring this?” His chest was tight and his stomach was hot, and for all that Lan Wangji was right that there was still work to be done before the day’s end, Nie Huaisang had no idea how he was supposed to complete any of it now.

“More than long enough.”

“How did you resist, in the Cloud Recesses?”

Lan Wangji let out a breath of laughter. “I didn’t want to scare you away.”

Nie Huaisang’s fingers tightened on Lan Wangji’s clothes, twisting in the soft folds. “You think I would be scared of you?”

“Are you not?”

“No.” Nie Huaisang took a deep breath and looked up into Lan Wangji’s eyes. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Then what?”

Nie Huaisang stood, pulling himself out of Lan Wangji’s distracting grasp. Lan Wangji let him go, after a first instinctive tightening of his fingers. Nie Huaisang could feel the willpower it took for his hands to relax, and thanked him in his heart but not his words. As he stood, Nie Huaisang grasped for his fan and began playing with it, hoping it would help him calm down.

It sort of worked. Not being held and not needing to fixate on Lan Wangji’s clear eyes helped more. Nie Huaisang took a breath and said, “I’ve never—”

He cut himself off with a shake of his head. For a moment, he stared at the wall hangings of wild birds in flight that covered his room, gathering the flock of his thoughts, and then started again. “You know how our bodies are, Lan Zhan. I had never even thought about, ah, sexual intimacy in any seriousness. At best, I wondered why it consumed others’ thoughts so much. A few times, I tried to see if touching myself would bring any clarity to this issue.”

“Did it?” Lan Wangji murmured, voice smooth and deep and piercing straight into Nie Huaisang’s heart.

“No.” Nie Huaisang sighed and glanced back over the top of his fan. Lan Wangji’s focus was absolute, and Nie Huaisang could bear it only for a few fluttering heartbeats before he had to turn away again. “I started to understand when I thought about kissing you, Lan Zhan.

“The idea—the burning curiosity—didn’t leave my thoughts, and it haunted my dreams. And I did mean it, when I said I’d wondered what else we would do, how it would feel for you to touch me in other ways, but—” Nie Huaisang snapped his fan closed, then open, then closed again; an old habit he’d trained himself out of as a youth but still which resurfaced when he was very stressed “—every time I thought about sex, it was a vast blank space. An unknown.

“Since the crowd-hunt, I’ve found little islands in that vastness.” Nie Huaisang laughed softly. “I liked having you pressing down on me. I liked the way you knew exactly what you wanted and went to take it from me. But when I think about applying that experience to the idea of sex, all I can think about is my uncertainty. What will it look like? What will it feel like? How will our bodies come together, when stripped of all the layers of protection and pretense we wrap around ourselves in order to create the truth?”

“I want to learn.” Lan Wangji’s voice was just as steady as if they were discussing calligraphy or the details of a complex sword form. “Do you?”

Nie Huaisang breathed in. That was the crux of it, and there was no more space to hide. Lan Wangji had always been good at untangling complex questions until they became simple. No matter how much Nie Huaisang or Wei Wuxian had brought debates into the realm of “If” or “Maybe” or “Here’s another idea,” Lan Wangji would stay unruffled and cut to the heart of the problem as many times as it took.

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang said, helpless in the face of the phrase he knew he was inextricably linking to his name. “I wish I did.”

Lan Wangji stood up in a soft sweep of cloth. “Are you uncertain of your desires?” he asked, stepping closer and closer. “Or are you afraid of your heart’s truth?”

Nie Huaisang shook his head, not in negation but because no words could pass through the forest growing in his throat.

Lan Wangji placed his hands on Nie Huaisang’s shoulders. They were warm, and heavier than they should be, and terribly gentle. “Neither have I done this before,” he said, words calm as a stream over stones. “Do you think my heart is unburdened by fear?”

“Then why ask for it?” Nie Huaisang shifted so that his back pressed against Lan Wangji’s chest.

“Because I want you.” Lan Wangji’s hands slid over his shoulders, holding him loosely in place. “Because I wish to dispel uncertainty.” He pressed a kiss to Nie Huaisang’s ear. “Because no matter what happens, I believe it will bring joy and cause no harm.”

Nie Huaisang’s heart steadied under Lan Wangji’s touch. He twisted until he could press a kiss to Lan Wangji’s cheek. “I trust you,” he said. “Yes. I will try this with you, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes crinkled slightly with a smile. “Tonight, then.”

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang said. He had no idea how he was going to get through the remainder of the afternoon with this thought lingering in his mind. Regardless, Nie Huaisang was going to do his best; his enemies and rivals might see nothing but a scatterbrained youth struggling to maintain his position, but Nie Huaisang worked hard to keep track of everything that happened in every sect’s realm. He wasn’t planning to abandon that work for even an afternoon, when the night yet awaited.

“I will take my leave,” Lan Wangji murmured, releasing Nie Huaisang. He bowed ever so slightly. “Shall I see you for dinner?”

“Of course.” Nie Huaisang ruthlessly forced himself back into the role of sect leader. He smiled, and bowed, and walked out of his rooms alongside Lan Wangji. Once outside, he caught his servants’ attention with a glance and gave them quiet commands. One led Lan Wangji to the guest rooms that had been prepared for him to rest in; the other listened attentively to Nie Huaisang’s instructions for their dining.

Nie Huaisang did not watch Lan Wangji depart. He turned in the other direction and walked to his office, where work awaited him. There was a pile of notes carried by pigeon and hand from his spies that he had to read and sort through, as well as more mundane reports of how Qinghe Nie’s holdings fared. Nie Huaisang glanced through the notes to ensure nothing earth-shattering had occurred, then carefully set them aside. He wouldn’t be able to retain that information today; better to focus on something he could comprehend.

A shichen and a half had to pass, and Nie Huaisang hated every moment of it. He could get away with avoiding a certain amount of work—his image of being a frivolous idler needed a basis in reality, after all—but Nie Huaisang knew perfectly well that leaving aside the work of a sect leader and instead focusing on music, art, or books would simply allow his thoughts to wander yet further towards Lan Wangji.

It wasn’t that he was opposed to thinking about Lan Wangji. On the contrary, Nie Huaisang quite liked thinking about Lan Wangji. It was just that Nie Huaisang didn’t want to betray the direction of his thoughts, and he didn’t know how visible his mental wanderings towards tonight’s promise would be. He had a very good mask, but if anything was going to slip through it would be something like this.

So instead, Nie Huaisang worked slowly and methodically, and told anyone who commented on how hard he was working that he wanted Hanguang-jun to spread the word that Nie-zongzhu was more competent than he appeared. He said it with wide eyes and an earnest voice, and by the time the afternoon ended one of the servants he tipped to tell him the Unclean Realm’s own rumours about him reported that people were gossiping about how they’d need to check extra-carefully that Nie Huaisang had really done the work he’d attempted today.

Nie Huaisang’s lips curved into a smile at that. He was sure they would; there was no way he was doing a proper job when every ten minutes or so his thoughts would wander towards Lan Wangji’s hands and lips. But his faults would be hidden, and his cover intact, and Nie Huaisang could take this particular blow to his reputation perfectly well. It wasn’t a true blow, after all, not for him.

He left the papers scattered on his desk when he rose for dinner. Either a secretary would clean it overnight or Nie Huaisang himself would check it more carefully tomorrow. Right now, he had more important matters to consider.

Lan Wangji was waiting outside his office, and Nie Huaisang was never more grateful for the Gusu Lan propensity towards silence than he was this evening. They could walk quietly back to his rooms and it wouldn’t seem strange. People could assume that Hanguang-jun had scolded him to silence if they wished; it was easier than the truth.

Dinner itself was simple. Nie Huaisang didn’t need complex or rich dishes; he’d spent too much time at the Cloud Recesses to be picky in that way. With Lan Wangji, dinner was of course silent, save for the toast Lan Wangji offered before they ate: “To camaraderie,” he said, and the words echoed like To sworn brotherhood and To our love in Nie Huaisang’s ears.

Nie Huaisang smiled, and drank, and ate, and didn’t notice anything about the tastes that passed across his tongue. He was too busy thinking about Lan Wangji.

There wasn’t even anything new or different about what Lan Wangji was doing. They’d eaten together hundreds of times, and Lan Wangji moved with elegance and precise etiquette every single time. But today, because they had plans for after the meal finished, Nie Huaisang found himself distracted by Lan Wangji’s fingers on his chopsticks, by the faint smile on Lan Wangji’s face when he realised what was happening, by the deliberate flicks of Lan Wangji’s tongue onto his perfect lips.

It took most of Nie Huaisang’s control to wait silently until they had not just finished eating, but the servants had cleared away the dishes and left them truly alone.

“You are going to put your hands on me now,” he said, before he could start to worry again. “And your mouth. Because I have been thinking about it all afternoon, and you tried to make it worse at dinner.”

Lan Wangji hummed, a smile tucked into his eyes. “Of course.”

“Of course you tried to make it worse, or of course you’re going to touch me?” Nie Huaisang asked, suspicious of how Lan Wangji wasn’t moving yet.

“Do you want me to take you right here, A-Tao?” Lan Wangji asked softly, which didn’t answer the question but meant that Nie Huaisang didn’t think he cared about the answer anymore. He leaned forward, reaching one elegant hand over to rest on Nie Huaisang’s cheek. From there, Nie Huaisang knew Lan Wangji could slide his fingers into Nie Huaisang’s hair or along his throat with ease. “Or are we doing this in your bed?”

“Bed,” Nie Huaisang said, breath already coming faster. “Please.”

Lan Wangji nodded and stood smoothly. Nie Huaisang followed with a swallowed yelp, because Lan Wangji’s fingers fastened tight in his hair and he was dragging Nie Huaisang along with him. Nie Huaisang stumbled a little with his first steps, then caught up to the purposeful tug. His head was bowed slightly to be at the level of Lan Wangji’s shoulder, but only slightly—Nie Huaisang often forgot how different their heights were, but right now he was very aware of how Lan Wangji could use his height and reach to his advantage.

When they reached the bed, Lan Wangji released Nie Huaisang and then turned away to carefully ensure the bird-painted privacy screen was fully extended. Nie Huaisang bit back a helpless smile at the sight. It wasn’t necessary, but he liked Lan Wangji erecting barriers to anyone disturbing them at all. This was for them alone, and nobody else needed to know how they chose to share their time.

As Lan Wangji turned back to him, Nie Huaisang began removing his many layers, acutely aware of the hawk-bright eyes fixed upon him. Nie Huaisang carefully laid the outermost robe on the bed and reached for the ties fastening the next, only to be interrupted by Lan Wangji saying, “Let me.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, fingers faltering, and said, “Yes.”

Lan Wangji unwrapped him, layer by layer, graceful in this as in all things. Nie Huaisang kept trying to shift closer, to make Lan Wangji touch him in more than glancing brushes, but Lan Wangji deftly moved aside and maintained a pointedly intentional distance that—by the time Nie Huaisang was down to his innermost shirt and trousers—left Nie Huaisang breathless and speechless from sheer frustration.

Especially since Lan Wangji, perfect and proper and carved of beautiful jade, was still fully dressed. He hadn’t shed even a single layer yet, and he’d avoided Nie Huaisang’s attempts to remedy this unfair situation.

Nie Huaisang finally grabbed Lan Wangji’s hands as he untied Nie Huaisang’s inner shirt. “Lan Zhan,” he whined, feeling the racing pulse under his fingers, seeing the way Lan Wangji’s eyes darkened at his words, “I don’t want to be naked without you being naked too.” He released one of Lan Wangji’s hands, reached up and tugged at the obnoxiously-perfect collar of Lan Wangji’s robe. “You need to strip too.”

In contrast to how careful Lan Wangji was when taking Nie Huaisang apart, when he undressed himself Nie Huaisang barely had time to appreciate the way his body’s shape was unveiled. Lan Wangji stripped efficiently, like he was getting ready to plunge into the Cloud Recesses’ springs. Nie Huaisang couldn’t complain—he was getting what he’d said wanted—but he promised himself that next time he would make Lan Wangji go as slowly with himself as he was with Nie Huaisang.

Or maybe he’d make Lan Wangji let Nie Huaisang undress him. That sounded good too.

Nie Huaisang removed his last bits of clothing as Lan Wangji did, leaving them both bare and vulnerable to the other’s gaze. Nie Huaisang looked up to meet Lan Wangji’s eyes, attention straying across the curves and muscles and scars on Lan Wangji’s beautiful body as he did.

“Gorgeous,” Lan Wangji said. Then, before Nie Huaisang had a chance to react, he grabbed Nie Huaisang and pressed him into the bed. Lan Wangji’s mouth fit against Nie Huaisang’s perfectly, hot and warm and while that part was familiar it was different now that their skin was pressed flush together.

Nie Huaisang groaned into Lan Wangji’s mouth, body twisting and shifting because there was just so much that he could touch and he liked all of it. The faint shift in texture across Lan Wangji’s back as his fingers brushed across the scars. The way Lan Wangji’s hips pressed into his, hot and heavy and demanding. The way Lan Wangji bit his way down Nie Huaisang’s throat to his collarbone, then went further still and sucked dark bruises into his chest while Nie Huaisang cried out and tangled his fingers in Lan Wangji’s hair.

Lan Wangji held him in place, fingers digging into him hard enough to bruise, and Nie Huaisang sank into the sensation. He didn’t fight back, exactly; fighting would imply that he didn’t want this, and he very much did. No, he simply pushed into it, asking Lan Wangji with his body (and his words, when his mouth could shape sounds other than “Oh” and “Fuck” and “Yes” and “Please”) to give him more and more, as much as he could take.

He didn’t know where that limit was, but Lan Wangji seemed very happy to find out.

Nie Huaisang was covered with sweat and scratches and bruises by the time Lan Wangji finally slowed down, rocking their bodies together not in pursuit of yet another climax but simply the sweet hot build of pleasure. Nie Huaisang let him do as he wanted, wrung out already but still willing to savor the electric buzz of Lan Wangji’s fingers sweeping across him or the way Lan Wangji tasted in deep kisses.

After Lan Wangji shuddered into Nie Huaisang’s skin for the final time, they both lay there, quiet save for the beat of their hearts and their heavy breathing. Nie Huaisang nuzzled into Lan Wangji’s shoulder, and was rewarded with a soft laugh.

“I liked this,” Nie Huaisang murmured, some amount of time later.

“Yes,” Lan Wangji said in response, and that was all that needed to be said.

Eventually, Lan Wangji stood up and Nie Huaisang whined, but when he heard the sounds of Lan Wangji washing himself he just groaned and flopped over. Of course a Gusu Lan disciple would find a secret store of energy just for cleaning sweat and stickiness before falling asleep. Nie Huaisang didn’t think he could stand up right now, even if he wanted to (which he didn’t); he was too tired.

He fell asleep (again, he suspected) before Lan Wangji returned. He dreamed, which might have been sleep-fogged memory, that Lan Wangji had wiped the worst of the mess off of his own body before falling asleep next to him.

In the morning, Nie Huaisang woke alone.

He lay there for a moment, somewhat disappointed but also unsurprised; by the amount of light alone, it was well past when the Gusu Lan inevitably rose. It was also, Nie Huaisang suspected, far enough into the day that he couldn’t justify staying in bed much longer himself, no matter how much he wanted to. He grimaced, and levered himself upright enough to see a note on the table next to his bed. He skimmed it quickly, unsurprised by the contents; Lan Wangji apologised for returning to his rooms.

Nie Huaisang flopped back onto his bed. He could feel the soreness of his bruises, and the coiling satisfaction of pleasure in his core. They might only be able to see each other sometimes, and they might not be together for long, but that was fine. Nie Huaisang didn’t need this all the time. He liked the way it felt to lose himself in pleasure, but he thought that having access to it all the time would lead to it losing its lustre.

Better to throw himself into sex when their lives aligned, and take joy in the special treat. His life had not been lacking without sex before, after all, and nothing had fundamentally changed with this revelation. Nie Huaisang allowed himself a few more minutes to seal the memories of last night into his heart, and then rose. He would see Lan Wangji again soon enough, after all, and he wanted to be able to enjoy the experience.

Nie Huaisang smiled as he pulled on robes to cover the bites and bruises blooming against his skin. He would keep those with him, his own secret pleasure, and nobody would know why he was in such a good mood today. He braided his hair, settled his guan, chose a fan, and ensured that nobody would think anything strange about his appearance.

He sent a brief note to Lan Wangji, formal because other eyes would see it, to let him know that Hanguang-jun could call upon Nie-zongzhu at any time he wished, and to convey his hopes that Hanguang-jun would find the Unclean Realm’s hospitality satisfactory. Then Nie Huaisang turned his attention wholly to the work of being Nie-zongzhu; the world never waited for you, after all, and Nie Huaisang had plans he had to enact.

But he was content with his life, and his plans, and the love he never would have expected to find.