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6.
Nie Huaisang faceplants into dirt.
It’s the end of a truly despicable day, so he almost considers staying there for a second. Hands pressed against the hard ground, shins still scraping across the roots he tripped over, breathing in soil and blinking dirt out of his eyes. He’s out of breath, heaving buckets of air into his lungs so fast he’s lightheaded, and his legs are trembling so hard he can barely stand. Nie Huaisang is not built or trained for physical labor, but he’s been running for what feels like hours.
He stands up despite everything, one hand clutching a tree branch and the other rubbing his sleeves over his face in a futile attempt to get rid of the dirt. His vision is thick with trees, towering all around him and obscuring the setting sun. Nie Huaisang doesn’t know where he’s going, or how he’s going to survive, just that he needs to get away.
His fingers fasten on the flame-red edges of his outer robes and in one jerky, furious motion, yanks them off. The white robes sink to the ground anticlimactically, contrasting with the dark browns of the ground. Nie Huaisang takes a moment to shove dirt over it with his boots and grind it into the ground. His inner robes are forest green, with dark brown accents, which coincidentally helps him blend in with the forest around him.
At least, much more than the Wen robes ever could.
With the Wen robes sufficiently hidden, Nie Huaisang keeps on running, tearing through the trees like a man possessed. The forest is alive at sunset. The incessant chirping of insects grates on his ears, obscuring the more worrisome sounds of leaves rustling that isn’t wind, animals barking, and worst of all, footsteps.
Nie Huaisang pauses to lean against a tree and pant heavily, chest heaving and sweat running down his face. He stiffens at the sound of leaves crunching underfoot, at such a speed that he knows he’ll be quickly outrun if the person is running in his direction. Nie Huaisang strains his ears, relying on his years of bird-catching to tell him where to focus his attention. His labored breathing is far louder than he would like it to be, but he can’t do anything about that, Nie Huaisang has little of the lauded control over his own body that cultivators typically have.
More footfalls, and Nie Huaisang is half-certain they’re coming from his left. That’s good enough for him; he doesn’t have time to investigate further, so he takes off running again, pushing through the ache every time his lungs expand and the stabbing pain in his feet. A low-hanging branch catches him across the nose and his vision swims for two precious, precious seconds.
He’s well aware that he’s crashing through this forest louder than a buffalo in a chicken coop, but stealth is the furthest thing from his mind right now. On a normal day he could slink through a forest quieter than a fox; he has been catching birds for years and years now. Not hunting birds, as cultivators are wont to do, but catching them, which takes a different set of skills entirely, skills that Nie Huaisang has perfected by accident. But today he doesn’t have the time or the necessary patience, or much of anything but a mind-numbing fear that sends him barrelling through the Qishan forest faster than his feet can keep up with.
“NIE HUAISANG!”
Nie Huaisang flinches and runs faster, pinning his future on the haphazardly cultivated golden core spinning in his chest. He knows the map of this area by heart, knows that if he can just get through this forest there’s a river on the other side that’ll take him to Yinxian, a medium-sized city in the middle region of Qishan territory. After that he can go to Yunmeng. He’s sure that Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian could use his help right now, and Nie Huaisang kind of misses his friends. They remind him of better, simpler times, at least, and he could use a reminder right about now.
The sun pools around the horizon line, spilling red light across the trees to Nie Huaisang’s right. He’ll have to turn left soon or find himself completely off-course, but first he has to get away from those terribly loud footsteps which still haven’t faded away, despite Nie Huaisang’s most strenuous efforts.
Nie Huaisang glances behind himself and his right foot catches on another exposed root, sending him flailing to the ground once more. This time it takes him longer to catch his breath. He slammed his chin on the root and bit his tongue on the way down, and he lies there, belly-down, wincing, trying in vain to find the effort to stand up again.
The footsteps draw too close, and then draw to a stop.
Nie Huaisang looks up slowly, pushing himself up on trembling arms. His eyes zero in on the sturdy boots in front of him, and then he looks up slowly. His gaze travels up, up, up, past the golden hems of grayish black robes, splattered with blood and dust, past a belt from which a giant saber hangs, past shoulders broad enough to fit three human heads, up to the striking, angular face and angry eyebrows that Nie Huaisang knows all too well.
All of a sudden Nie Huaisang can’t find the willpower to get himself off the dirt, can’t find the energy to brush the leaves and soil off his forest green inner robes. His hair falls loose and messy around his shoulders, and it’s through a curtain of his tangled hair that he looks up again, chest still heaving.
“Nie Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue says again.
It’s a threat.
5.
Nightless City burns, and Nie Mingjue leads the battle.
He loses track of how many Wens have spilt blood on his saber, how many buildings burn and how many collapse. They’ve given their everything to this battle, and Nie Mingjue loses himself to it, loses himself to a fight he can’t afford to lose. He fights beside the other great sect leaders, all except for Jin Guangshan, who has yet to leave Koi Tower, and with Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian and Jin Zixuan. The demonic cultivator is a massive asset to their fight, calling up an army all on his own that only grows the longer they fight, but Nie Mingjue can see the toll it’s taking on him.
But then they’re at the steps of the Fire Palace, and he has bigger concerns. It’s the six of them that fight against Wen Ruohan, each so hopelessly outmatched against the man who should’ve been an immortal, and he can’t keep track of them–Jiang Cheng, who is only seventeen, or Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, who aren’t much older. It’s a quick, bloody, brutal fight, and by the end of it Wen Ruohan is dead and no one among the six of them knows who’s responsible.
“It’s over,” Sect Leader Jiang wheezes, and he and his brother support each other.
Lan Xichen’s white robes are a mess, and he wipes sweat and ash from his forehead ribbon but straightens anyway. “I will handle the cleanup,” he says, and his brother goes with him.
The Wens are dead and the medics are setting up tents right in the ashes of Nightless City to care for the wounded, and Jin Zixuan gets word from his father that Sect Leader Jin will be arriving to throw a feast to honor the victors.
And still, Nie Mingjue has bigger concerns.
“Meng Yao,” he says, seeking out his deputy, who has stuck by his side throughout the war. “You are in charge.”
If Meng Yao is surprised he doesn’t show it, and Nie Mingjue likes that, a person who will just roll with whatever Nie Mingjue gives him. Meng Yao was like that even before it happened, never anything less than polite and differential, and ruthlessly efficient to boot.
Still, Nie Mingjue makes sure everyone else knows too. “Meng Yao speaks for me while I am gone,” he announces, and the Nie disciples take that well enough. Enough that they’ll make anyone who doesn’t regret it.
Night is falling, and there’s still one person unaccounted from the rubble of Wens and Nies and all the members of the Sunshot Campaign.
Where is he? They whisper behind his back, like his cultivation can’t pick up on it. Where’s the spy? Where’s Chifeng-zun going?
The sun sets over the ruins of Nightless City, and Nie Mingjue heads east.
4.
What would I say to Huaisang if he were here?
Nie Mingjue usually doesn’t allow himself time to think during the war. It’s an exception, this day. A minor qi deviation sees him bedridden for a full day. The doctors said he could either rest for a day or derail the entire campaign, and Nie Mingjue may not care about his health but he does care about the campaign.
It’s the stress that caused the qi deviation, they say, and they don’t say that the war is causing the stress, because the war, against all odds, is only causing about half of his stress.
The war is a terrible, unending fight that Nie Mingjue has spent the better half of his life preparing for. The fight with Nie Huaisang, or whatever it was because a fight requires one person to fight back, was not.
Nie Mingjue has a whole day to think and by the end he’s not sure if the day was a blessing or a detriment. There’s a thousand things he wants to say to Nie Huaisang, but in the end he doesn’t know what he’ll actually say if–when–the day comes.
He’s used to worrying over his silly, vain, carefree little brother before but never has the worry been so bad it causes him to qi deviation. Is Nie Huaisang eating alright? Is he safe? Is he practicing his saber, is he painting fans in the middle of the day now that his older brother isn’t there to yell at him for doing so? Is he making friends with them?
Would he come back, if Nie Mingjue asked?
Will Nie Mingjue ask?
3.
Meng Yao is the only person keeping Nie Mingjue sane at this point. His deputy was there, on the day it happened, but he hasn’t changed the way he acts around Nie Mingjue because of it. Well, maybe a little. Nie Mingjue knows there’s a sly, vicious side to him, can see it in subtle movements and smiling masks. No one with that brain can be as stupidly reverential as Meng Yao pretends to be. Once, Nie Mingjue thought he was getting Meng Yao to open up with him. It wasn’t a requirement, but Nie Mingjue prefers complete honesty, likes to know what and who he’s working with. And he doesn’t punish people for their thoughts, only their actions.
And their actions–
“I’ve received another letter from our spy,” Meng Yao says.
They’re in Nie Mingjue’s war room, and something about the way he says it, with that matter-of-fact, bland tone, like Nie Mingjue is too stupid to realize what’s going on behind his back, or that it’s so obvious Meng Yao just assumed he already knew, just digs under his skin.
Meng Yao presents the letter to Nie Mingjue. “The troops from Heinan–”
Nie Mingjue rips the letter from him in a sudden fury. “It’s from Huaisang, isn’t it?”
Meng Yao doesn’t flinch at the sudden movement, or the sudden accusation. “Chifeng-zun?” He inquires politely. “Are you alright?”
“Just answer the question,” Nie Mingjue insists. He flattens the letter against the table with one palm so he doesn’t end up crushing it in his fury. “The spy. Is it Huaisang?”
“I’m afraid Sect Leader Nie is ill,” Meng Yao replies, faintly puzzled. “How could Nie Huaisang be the spy when he–”
The blood pounding in Nie Mingjue’s head reaches a fever pitch, throbbing at the base of his skull. Still, it isn’t enough to drown out everything; the stench of blood that hasn’t washed clean of this tent in months, the scent of pines and firewood, the sounds of Nie disciples chopping wood, the murmur of voices outside and the murmur of voices inside demanding blood and revenge. It isn’t nearly enough.
“–So publicly betrayed Qinghe Nie?” Meng Yao finishes, inquisitively. He even shrugs his shoulders slightly, as if to say, see, it’s impossible, you see, Nie Huaisang is a traitor–
Nie Mingjue almost cracks the table.
Once, he thought that Meng Yao could’ve been a close friend. It’s difficult to have friends in a position as high as Nie Mingjue’s. For a while, his only friend was Lan Xichen. He would never put an underling in a situation in which they would feel too scared to say no to him, if it wasn’t about their job. Meng Yao, though, he’d been hoping he could work something out with Meng Yao. He admired him, in some ways; the deputy had skills that Nie Mingjue could never have, and he liked to think that Meng Yao admired him too.
But how can he expect Meng Yao to be open with him, or to trust him, even, after what happened to Nie Huaisang?
2.
A servant of the Wen sect.
A servant of the Wen sect. A servant of the Wen sect. Nie Mingjue isn’t sure which part is most insulting to him, but he hates all of it.
He can see Lan Xichen giving him pitying glances whenever someone mentions it, but Nie Mingjue doesn’t need pity, he needs revenge. He needs answers. And somehow, despite how despicably public it’s made, no one has answers for him. Not Meng Yao, who saw it. Not Lan Xichen, the only one who dares ask Nie Mingjue about it. Not the Wens, when Nie Mingjue is busy killing them, and not Nie Huaisang.
And oh, does Wen Ruohan lord it over him. The former heir to Qinghe, now a ranking servant of Qishan? How could Wen Ruohan resist? It seems everywhere Nie Mingjue turns, someone is talking about it. They stop whenever they see Nie Mingjue, or a Nie disciple, but he hears them before. He knows Jin Guangshan is gossiping about it in his gold tower. The Lans aren’t, of course. Nie Mingjue trusts Lan Xichen to shut down any conversation about it.
The only exception in Nie Huaisang. Nie Huaisang, somewhere in Qishan, serving Wen Ruohan as his loyal servant. Nie Huaisang, in the one place Nie Mingjue has no ability to stop him from going. Sometimes Nie Mingjue forgets that his brother is a legal adult, even though Huaisang is seven years older than he was when he was made the sect leader. There’s nothing like realizing his little brother is not going to be little forever by learning he’s been hired by Wen Ruohan.
There’s nothing like realizing his little brother isn’t the silly, vain, dainty creature that gave him drawings of birds with hands barely capable of holding a brush by seeing those same hands dropping a blood-covered sword into the dirt.
1.
Nie Huaisang arrives in time to see Meng Yao stab a Nie commander in the back.
He had it coming, is the first thought that floats through his brain, because he knows this commander, and he completely understands why someone like Meng Yao would want him dead.
“Deputy Meng!” Nie Huaisang says, stalking out of the trees and snapping his fan open. “Why’d you kill him so publicly?”
Meng Yao startles so hard he nearly drops his sword. “I–what?” He tears his gaze from the fallen body of the commander to the unfazed figure of Qinghe’s second master. “He was a spy for the Wens!”
Nie Huaisang considers the chances that Meng Yao is just making up an excuse to get himself out of trouble, and the chances that the commander was indeed a spy for the Wens. “I believe it,” he declares. “Give me the sword.”
Meng Yao tightens his grip. “I don’t understand.”
“My brother is coming,” Nie Huaisang says bluntly. “If he thinks that you’ve killed one of his commanders, he’ll kill you. There’s not enough time to hide the evidence. Give me the sword.”
Still, Meng Yao doesn’t move. His face is wiped clean of its usual smile. “I don’t understand,” he repeats. “Why would you want to take the blame?”
“My brother would never hurt me,” Nie Huaisang assures him. “And I like you. My brother needs you.”
Meng Yao’s honey eyes are round as saucers as he hands the bloody sword to Nie Huaisang. “Are you sure?” He backs away, robes spotless, hands clean.
“Nie Huaisang.”
And suddenly Nie Huaisang is not very sure at all. He jumps a foot in the air and turns to cower before the foreboding figure of his brother. What if this was the wrong choice? He thinks, and bursts into tears.
The tears are sort of optional, in that Nie Huaisang could stop if he chose to. He’s also not crying over what Nie Mingjue probably thinks he’s crying over, but Nie Huaisang is used to garnering sympathy points this way.
He reaches up to wipe the tears away, remembers he has the sword in his hands, and drops it. The blood seeps into the ground. Nie Mingjue tracks the movement with only his eyes. They flick back up to pierce Nie Huaisang with their intensity.
“Explain yourself,” Nie Mingjue orders.
Nie Huaisang wipes the blood off on his dark robes. He hates the sight and smell of blood. It makes him faint. “D-da-ge,” he blubbers, still pouring buckets of tears down his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t kill me!”
The words slip out, but suddenly the expression on Nie Mingjue’s face makes them seem like a poorly-timed joke at best. And at worst, well.
“You killed Nie Qiang,” Nie Mingjue says flatly. Baxia shifts in his grip. Nie Huaisang doesn’t like the thread of anger running under his tone. It’s a thread waiting to snap. “Why? How could you?!”
“He was spying for the Wens!” Nie Huaisang wails. “I only–”
“A spy?!” Nie Mingjue roars, and Nie Huaisang flinches. “Nie Huaisang, do not lie!”
“I’m n-not lying,” Nie Huaisang stammers. “I swear! He was a spy, b-but I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have acted rashly–”
“You never act rashly!” When Nie Mingjue stares at him, he stares like he’s never seen him before. “I saw you, don’t lie to me! Your actions were that of a cold-blooded murderer!”
Nie Huaisang opens his mouth to protest, but Nie Mingjue still has more to say. His face is slowly going a shade of red that Nie Huaisang has never seen before.
“Is this how justice is done in the Nie sect?” Nie Mingjue demands.
Nie Huaisang shakes his head furiously, though privately he thinks there’s some room for error. He doesn’t disagree with his brother’s principles, it’s just that not everyone is Chifeng-zun. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, and then throws himself at his brother, knowing that he’s never been able to resist a Huaisang Hug, which could prove useful right now–
Only to find himself landing butt-first on the dirt. He looks up, up, up, to Nie Mingjue’s stern face, and sees no love there, only the hard lines of a general and a sect leader. His brother pushed him away, for the first time in Nie Huaisang’s memory.
He struggles to stand up, then finds the tip of Baxia in his face. He flinches so hard he falls down again, unable to comprehend what he’s seeing. Baxia? In his face? He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not after what happened with their father.
“Nie Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue says lowly. Baxia doesn’t waver but Nie Huaisang doesn’t think Nie Mingjue truly notices it. “Leave.”
“Da-ge, I don’t understand,” Nie Huaisang whimpers.
“Leave Qinghe,” Nie Mingjue elaborates, face set in stone. “Don’t come back.”
“But–”
But there’s a war going on. But you weren’t supposed to do this.
“But–”
But you were supposed to keep me safe. You’ve always kept me safe.
“Leave!” Nie Mingjue bellows, eyes bloodshot, and Nie Huaisang scrambles backwards, thinking his brother is on the verge of qi deviation.
All his life he’s been the pampered second young master of Qinghe, and it only took five minutes to reduce him to this; scrambling in the dirt, cringing in fear. Cowering before his brother’s blade, face streaked with tears and hands smeared with dirt and blood.
And when he finally picks himself off the ground, he knows what he must do. He turns towards Qishan, and starts walking west.
7.
Nie Huaisang lies belly-down on the forest floor of Qishan, and he doesn’t dare stand up. But he looks up, into the wild-eyed, desperate face of his brother. Nie Mingjue looks terrible. He looks like he hasn’t slept in months, hasn’t been taking care of himself, like no one was there to trick him into going to the healer or drag him to dinner whenever he forgot to feed himself.
His brother looks so weary, so world-worn, and still Nie Huaisang wants to burrow in his brother’s arms like the annoying little tick that he is until he feels like everything will be alright.
But it’s not alright. The sun finally sets over the Qishan forest, and to the east smoke rises from Nightless City, and somewhere above them a crow caws loudly and the insects of the forest loudly announce their reply.
Nie Huaisang tastes dust in his mouth and stares at the dirt, and waits for Baxia to come down, and nothing is alright.
“Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue says quietly, like how he might approach a startled animal.
Nie Huaisang looks up one last time, and there’s a hand reaching for him, a hand that he flinches from, a hand that waits steadily for him.
“Come home,” Nie Mingjue says simply.
Nie Huaisang pulls himself to his hands and knees, then leans back on his ankles. He’s stopped panting. In fact, he feels like he’s holding his breath. Waiting for the punchline.
“Please,” his brother says. “Come back.”
Nie Huaisang takes his brother’s hand. “Okay,” he says, and lets Nie Mingjue pull him out of the dirt.