Chapter Text
I am a fool with a heart but no brains, and you are a fool with brains but no heart; and we’re both unhappy, and we both suffer.
Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot
--------
It took Nie Mingjue nearly a week to get back on his feet. It was the longest he’d been out of commission in many years. Even during the Sunshot Campaign, he’d never faced an injury so serious to have incapacitated him for so long – not including the time he’d spent in Wen Ruohan and Jin Guangyao’s hands.
The days passed slowly, and Nie Mingjue found himself going rather stir-crazy. In the mornings and evenings, Xichen came to play for him. The afternoons were spent with Huaisang hovering nervously at his side, often accompanied by Jin Guangyao. Being the captive audience that he was, he had to listen to lectures from both Xichen and Huaisang over apparently hurting his third sworn brother’s feelings. Not having much else to do, he was forced to mull over the issue, and particularly their argument in the gardens the previous week.
As his recovery progressed and they neared departure, he felt the matters of Sòng Bié and his brother’s engagement particularly hanging over his head.
Wen Xu, for his part, retreated. He was never too far – once, when Nie Mingjue stumbled on his walk to the table for tea with Xichen, cursing loudly, Wen Xu was there in a matter of moments. But he remained out of reach, the distance between them greater than it had been since his resurrection.
That particular afternoon, he felt like he’d really had enough of it. He needed to move, to get out of this room, to do something, or else he really might qi deviate again, out of pure boredom.
Nie Xin did not laugh when he relayed this feeling, but told him to wait shortly so that an outing of sorts could be arranged.
Not surprisingly, soon after Nie Xin had retreated, Wen Xu entered their rooms. For the first time that day he met Nie Mingjue’s eyes, looking him up and down as though making an assessment of his own.
“I heard you’re finally going out,” he said.
“Yes,” Nie Mingjue replied. “That is, Nie Xin–”
“Good,” Wen Xu interrupted tersely. “You can take me to the training grounds.”
“I… What?”
Wen Xu did not explain further, but turned on his heel. “I’m going to get Nie –” he always said the name with a sneer “– Xin and tell him his arrangements aren’t necessary. Get dressed. And do something about your hair. You look as though you haven’t bathed in a week.”
Nie Mingjue reached a tentative hand to the crown of his head where his hair was indeed rather haphazardly pulled back, usual braids snarled into tangles.
He felt a smile quirk across his lips. Then he called for a servant to draw a bath, and to bring him some of Huaisang’s hair oil – the expensive kind that smelled of osmanthus.
An hour later had Nie Mingjue feeling much improved. Never one to fret much over clothing and appearances, he’d not realized how much better he would feel upon finally donning a clean, sturdy outer robe after days spent in his sick clothes.
Wen Xu, too, had changed. The rest of the robes they’d ordered for him had been delivered, and he wore a more practical one, that day – something suitable for training indeed.
At his side was a sword. Nie Mingjue nearly took a step back, startled at the sight.
More than that, it was a Wen sword. The craftsmanship was unmistakable, not to mention the delicate red emblems climbing the scabbard.
“Where did you get that?” asked Nie Mingjue.
Unreadable emotion flashed across his face. “My cousin…”
And then Nie Mingjue remembered where he had seen the sword before; the last time, it had been pointed at him, as Wen Xin tried desperately to exact revenge over Wen Xu’s death.
“I didn’t realize he’d kept it all these years.”
Wen Xu sneered. “If you had to uproot your life and move to a new sect, you’d leave behind Baxia without a thought?”
Nie Mingjue bit his tongue.
“I suppose you’ll tell me I can’t carry it with me,” Wen Xu said, voice a challenge.
“I wasn’t going to,” said Nie Mingjue, who had indeed been about to advise against it.
Wen Xu met his gaze defiantly, likely sensing the lie.
Nie Mingjue rather basked in the sight of him, the feeling of Wen Xu’s full attention. He took a step forward. Wen Xu’s eyes narrowed.
“What is the name of the sword?”
“Qiūfēng.” [see A/N]
Nie Mingjue nodded absently. It didn’t really matter – all that mattered was that after days, he was finally alone with his soulmate; his soulmate was finally looking at him again.
Wen Xu made to brush past him, but Nie Mingjue grabbed him gently by the arm, halting him in his tracks. He could feel the other man tense beneath his grip. Nie Mingjue brushed a thumb against the bare skin of his wrist, felt his pulse quicken under his fingertips.
“Wen Xu…”
Wen Xu turned his head to face him again. They were just a breath apart; if Nie Mingjue were to lean in just so, they would be breathing the same air.
To his surprise, Wen Xu was the one to lean in. They were the same height, those honey eyes level with his. Wen Xu blinked, and Nie Mingjue was entranced by the sight of his long lashes against his cheek. Warm late afternoon light spilled in through the open window behind them, and it shone against the golden ornaments in Wen Xu’s hair.
“Nie Mingjue,” said Wen Xu. He could almost taste the words, and his eyes were drawn to those lips, a splash of red against powdered skin. Nie Mingjue felt himself start to lean in, to close the gap between them, and then Wen Xu said: “If you don’t take me to the training grounds now, I’m going to take Qiūfēng and drive her through your heart right here.”
Then he wrested himself free of Nie Mingjue’s grip, and shouldered past him.
“Nie Xin!” he called out, opening the door with a clatter.
Nie Mingjue’s lips curved into a smile. He turned to follow.
--------
Wen Xu was seriously going to kill Nie Mingjue.
He could still feel his pulse fluttering, even as they walked through town and to the training grounds, standing now at a respectable distance apart.
It was ridiculous. They’d shared one kiss, and then Nie Mingjue had been injured protecting him, and apparently Wen Xu had lost all of his senses. If his father could see him now… he almost shuddered.
At least Nie Mingjue seemed no better than he. Wen Xu had been waiting all week for the day that the other man would finally be well enough for an outing, but he’d been half-sure that his request would be refused. Or that Qiūfēng would be taken away. But, as seemed to be happening more and more often, Nie Mingjue simply folded under Wen Xu’s will. He’d been made a fool, too.
It wouldn’t last, surely. There was some misplaced guilt – he’d sensed it since Nie Mingjue had woken up. As though he owed him, for having kept the secret of the qi deviations and making Wen Xu find out the way he had.
But what did that matter to Wen Xu? He’d already made his resolve; he was only going to play along until he could safely slip off, and then he’d never have to see Nie Mingjue – or anyone else from these four “great sects,” for that matter – again.
The training grounds Nie Mingjue took him to were, thankfully, empty. Wen Xu had spent much of the last week in meditation, trying to strengthen his core and build spiritual energy. It was still weaker than it had been, though, there was no doubt. It was bad enough that one person would view his regression in skill – he certainly couldn’t tolerate an audience.
Wen Xu glanced over his shoulder. There was a jarring dissonance, finding Wen Xin there, exactly where he should be, but clad in green and Nie braids, a saber at his side.
“Make sure no one disturbs us,” Wen Xu said to him.
Wen Xin glanced at Nie Mingjue, and Wen Xu thought he might truly stab someone, but Nie Mingjue quickly nodded his assent and his lieutenant retreated to the entry gate.
Then they were alone.
“You might as well get comfortable,” Wen Xu said without looking at his companion. He gestured towards the stands where an audience would usually sit.
He didn’t have to look to know that Nie Mingjue was scowling. And sure enough, the other man didn’t climb the stands, though he did settle himself comfortably on the sidelines. A good thing – if Nie Mingjue tried to train and injured himself, Nie Huaisang would probably truly bite his head off this time. The younger brother was still furious, Wen Xu could tell.
He walked to the center of the grounds and unsheathed Qiūfēng.
He took a deep breath, feeling oddly unmoored.
Wen Xu lost himself after that, working through familiar sword forms one after the next. Qiūfēng was at first an unfamiliar weight in his hand, a shorter blade than Sòng Bié, but it didn’t take long for his body to recalibrate. He started from the beginning, moving assuredly through the simple forms that all Wen disciples were taught from a young age, properly stretching his body and muscles after these long days (years?) of disuse.
He kept going, moving through each and every one, falling into the complex training his father had put him through, sword forms restricted for the use of the inner family circle. Wen Xu had been slowly teaching his brother these forms. He hadn’t been able to complete the training before they had both died, Wen Chao only barely yet of age.
Wen Xu nearly forgot himself, would have but for the small part of his mind which screamed that he wasn’t alone – there was an audience, and that audience was a Nie. He shouldn’t be revealing these training techniques, not to an outsider.
But that was only a small part of his mind. The larger part was fully resigned to all that he had learned these past two weeks.
What did it matter if he showed an outsider restricted Wen sword forms? There was no Wen clan anymore. Hadn’t been for nearly twenty years. There was nothing, no one, left to protect. When Wen Xu died again, the last of his family’s blood would truly leave this earth. That he’d betrayed this secrecy would be lost to time.
By the time he finished, the sun was truly on its way to setting, half-sunk below the horizon. Wen Xu’s breathing came heavily, a sheen of sweat across his forehead. He didn’t need a mirror to know that his hair was in disarray, coming undone slightly from its tight knot, the few ornaments he’d worn hopelessly entangled.
It had been foolish to wear hair ornaments, at all, to train. Only, he’d seen the way Nie Mingjue’s eyes were drawn to them, the satisfaction in them every time Wen Xu wore something from that small collection of pins and jewels he had gifted him.
Wen Xu slid Qiūfēng back into its sheath.
His hand rather ached. The sword calluses he’d had for nearly all his life had disappeared in his rebirth; his hand was soft, like someone who had never spent a day at work. He glanced down and saw red skin, then clenched a tight fist, ignoring the sting of his nails into his already sensitive palm.
For a moment, he felt bone-weary. He’d made it through the sword forms, gotten out his pent-up energy, and confirmed unequivocally that he was weak – weaker than he’d been in years. Whatever had happened to him, however he’d been brought back, had drained something from him, something essential. He was no longer the match of Nie Mingjue, or Lan Xichen. He didn’t know how long it would take to rebuild himself to that point.
He had never been much for moping, though, and almost as soon as the weariness had come, it was transforming, as it often did, into a frustration. The training had left him tired, but hungry for more.
Hardening his resolve, Wen Xu turned back towards his lone observer.
Nie Mingjue was looking at him. Nie Mingjue was looking at him intently, an odd glint in his eye. There was something dangerous there, some emotion that had been buried deep within and drawn out watching him. Wen Xu knew that his instincts should tell him to run from that look. So why did it send a shiver up his spine? Why did it make him take a step nearer, even as he felt he might be devoured whole if he strayed too close?
“Bring back old memories, does it?” he asked, wondering if Nie Mingjue was, as Wen Xu so often did, thinking of the countless times they had crossed swords in their previous lives. Up until those last few battles, there had been something exhilarating each time it happened. Wen Xu, feared in Qishan and outmatched by none, had felt a thrill each time Nie Mingjue had come at him, not quite knowing which of them would come out on top.
“You could say,” replied Nie Mingjue, rising slowly to his feet from his comfortable sprawl. “I haven’t seen some of those last techniques.”
Wen Xu snorted. Nie Mingjue remained rooted where he stood, but Wen Xu drew closer, until they were just an arm’s length apart. “Perhaps you didn’t pay enough attention in the past,” said Wen Xu. “You must have missed it.”
“It seems that I missed a lot.”
Their gaze held for a moment, some untenable tension stretched taut between them.
Then – “Spar with me,” said Nie Mingjue.
Wen Xu laughed, not a little incredulously.
Nie Mingjue’s eyes narrowed into a glare.
“Truly?” said Wen Xu. “When you can go three days without tripping over your own feet getting to the tea table, I’ll consider it.”
“I haven’t been tripping,” Nie Mingjue objected.
Wen Xu raised a brow. “I’m afraid it would be unfair, Nie zongzhu,” he said, injecting some false sympathy into his voice. “I wouldn’t dare prey on the weak – it goes against my moral code.”
He walked past Nie Mingjue breezily, just barely grazing shoulders. “Let’s go back–”
Before he could finish speaking, the breath was knocked out of him. Nie Mingjue had grabbed him by his robes, shoved him against one of the pillars of the viewing stands. Wen Xu was trapped in place, pressed between the pillar and Nie Mingjue’s body.
“You’ve got to stop doing this,” Wen Xu said, and he was proud of the steadiness of his voice despite how hard his heart was beating, how shallow his breath felt. “Grabbing me, pushing me around whenever you feel like it.”
“Then stop trying to leave me behind.”
And then, for the second time, Nie Mingjue’s lips were on his.
Wen Xu didn’t even try to resist, a satisfied jolt bursting through him. Nie Mingjue’s lips on his felt good, and natural, as though they were made to fit together like this.
Their last kiss had been hard, and fast, Wen Xu overwhelmed quickly by the unexpected. This time it was slow and deep, Nie Mingjue taking his time exploring Wen Xu’s mouth, and Wen Xu allowing it. He found his hands in Nie Mingjue’s hair, soft and silky. He smelled of flowers.
Nie Mingjue pressed his body harder against Wen Xu’s, and Wen Xu felt an involuntary noise slip from his throat. Nie Mingjue smiled against his lips.
“Still think I’m too weak?” he murmured.
Wen Xu felt weak, pliant in Nie Mingjue’s firm grip. His hands had moved down to those broad shoulders, tightly clutching the green fabric there.
He pulled away for a moment, opening his eyes, a breath apart like they had been that afternoon. Nie Mingjue watched him hungrily, his full attention on the curve of Wen Xu’s mouth, the blush dusting his cheeks.
Wen Xu brushed his lips against Nie Mingjue’s, touch light as a feather. Nie Mingjue held his breath, eyes fluttering closed again.
And then, Wen Xu, in this moment of submission, used his full strength to push Nie Mingjue, kicking his legs out from under him and shoving him to the ground. Nie Mingjue managed to catch himself on his elbows but Wen Xu followed, on his knees above him, hand against his chest to keep him down.
Nie Mingjue’s eyes were large, startled. For a moment, Wen Xu wondered if he’d made a misstep, if Nie Mingjue would get angry.
Then, Nie Mingjue tilted his head back and began to laugh, deep and genuine.
Wen Xu stiffened, before shoving Nie Mingjue the rest of the way down and divesting himself of his hold on him, standing and dusting off his knees.
After a moment, when Nie Mingjue’s amusement had died down, Wen Xu asked, “Are you about done?”
Nie Mingjue smiled, pushing himself back up. “I get it,” he said teasingly, holding his hands in front of him in mock-surrender. “No sparring just yet.”
The words were a promise. Soon. And Wen Xu found himself looking forward to it.
--------