ashes

Jaesung leans the side of his arm against the doorway while he watches as Minwoo gets himself ready for the kind of audience he entertained. One minute he's admiring the way the other knows exactly what to do with all those things on the counter, the next his brows are knitting together in confusion about Min's reaction. Easy?

The eye contact feels unnecessarily intense even for him and yet the water demon feels immediately compelled to get lost in his human friend's eyes. If he could step into them the way he could with the surface of a water source.

❛ Well, I'd simply end up growing complacent. Or -- ❜ Jaesung wasn't human, it was something incredibly evident in the way he composed himself; something slightly wrong in his expressions, a gentle shift in the air temperature -- and yet, there were many bad human qualities that Minwoo was relieved didn't ever seem to show in the demon. Resentment. Cruelty.

The heartbeat that he felt, quiet through the layers of clothing but un-mistakenly Minwoo's, was fast. The rhythm was like the melody of dramatic drums. He didn't find it offensive or discouraging even if he understood that it was a natural response to someone being frightened. Perhaps Minwoo was more afraid than he was revealing, but... he was also holding him. Even after seeing him like that. Jaesung liked hearing his heartbeat even if it was thudding like an epic drum solo.

His eyes remain closed, face buried in the fabric for a moment longer as Jaesung speaks. ❛ You don't scare me- ❜, he responds, voice hushed in a whisper, ❛ -I was just surprised, that's all . . .❜ Minwoo leans back until they’re face to face, noses only millimetres apart, foreheads almost touching. Minwoo is quiet a moment longer, eyes flickering to Jaesungs lips - briefly, and as if out of habit - before the eye contact returns. The air between them feels suddenly tight, and he once again feels like he can't breathe. It's almost like drowning.

Being pulled in against his body  and to feel Minwoo's warmth of being alive made him ache with longing. Physical touch left him almost trembling as he pressed his face into Minwoo's shoulder and hoodie, getting it wet with his dripping hair. If Minwoo had any sense he would be running away from him and screaming at how he'd looked just a moment ago, and yet he wasn't. Jae didn't understand why or what was making him stay, but he was grateful that he was.

A prey animal’s heartbeat was always a giveaway . . . fast, trembling, impossible to hide. Snakes could feel it, could time the precise moment their prey stilled. Minwoo’s lamb-like heart, now, beat just as quickly. Pressed against the monster’s chest, he could only hope the creature holding him wasn’t paying attention to the frantic, rhythmic thudding beneath his ribs. It wasn't that he rationally believed Jaesung would consider harming him, it was simply a natural human response to seeing what he saw just minutes earlier.

Did Minwoo even know what he was saying? Hadn't he been looking just now? Jae thought his friend looked uncertain, but he couldn't tell if he was scared or not. Minwoo didn't look as mortified as he'd seen humans look in the past but he didn't look comfort either. Not until he came towards him and dropped to his knees. The demon widened his eyes and raised his head to look at his friend. What was he...?

It didn't come as a surprise that Jaesung ran colder than any person Minwoo had met before in his short twenty something years of living - the dampness doing nothing to hide the chill beneath his pale skin. Yet the human doesn't pull away, holding the other tighter just because he could, as if transferring his own body heat would ever be possible. Instead, the damp hoodie turns into a cold and damp hoodie, but he doesn't pull back. His voice follows next, soft and caring as always; ❛ I've met real monsters, Jaesung, you're not one. ❜

xue yang is proving to be a most fascinating man. for one so widely branded as mercurial and volatile, nie huaisang finds him surprisingly easy to read — his emotions unfolding across his face like a play at the local theatre. the flicker of confusion denotes that he had not known of xiao xingchen’s blindness, the sudden gleam of manic amusement that both his enemies are now sightless.

nie huaisang does not know details, only that song lan appeared with two working eyes around the same time xiao xingchen began appearing with cloth around his own. it is easy enough to put together the pieces from there.

he considers how he might respond to the young man, how many of his cards he might show.

the plan will unfold with or without xue yang’s cooperation, but perhaps it would be advantageous to let him believe himself more essential than he really is. allow him to feel safer.

“ it really is troublesome to do it all on my own! ” he sighs, the tension leaving his body as he splays himself out across the tables surface. dramatic, yes, but sincere. he could understand why jin guangyao needed as many accomplices as he has. “ and don't you think we would make a fine team? fill in each other's gaps? and, of course—” he grins up at xue yang from his place leaned against his arm, smile boyish and mischievous. “ i am much more entertaining company. ”

people like xue yang, he knew, craved stimulation and excitement. nie huaisang could certainly provide, if it meant keeping him obediently by his side.

when xue yang’s posture begins to slacken, huaisang straightens, ready to intervene should the man’s head tilt too near the open flame. the incense smoke wavers in the corner, its thin plume beginning to falter.

“ it is not that I wish him dead, exactly, ” he muses aloud, tone thoughtful as though confessing something delicate. “ but xiao xingchen... people like him see the world in absolutes — black and white, good and evil. there is no space in that vision for nuance or exceptions. were he alive, he would only complicate things. and I am so tired of complications! ”

there are others, of course, who may rise to oppose him. one, a fool as blinded by those dimples and sweet words as a lovesick puppy and the other, a man of too much righteousness and too much respect to allow his brother's pain to go unspoken for. lan wangji would certainly prove an obstacle — but if they can keep him occupied long enough, it will not matter if he wants nie huaisang dead at the end of things.

once vengeance is won, there will be little left for him here.

Nie Huaisang’s speech becomes a blurred ramble of nonsense by the time he gets to the offer, the words melting into each other like ink bleeding in water. Xue Yang fights his body’s natural urge to fold in on itself the way it always does when the world begins to tilt before sleep ... slow at first, then all at once. His pulse thumps unevenly in his ears, drowning out half of what Huaisang is saying.

❛ How is it complicated? Surely a man like you can do as he pleases, good or bad be damned. Just like Jin Guangyao, it's all a matter of opinion - is it not? I am sure men like Wen Ruohan believed they were doing good, even if it only benefitted their own goals. ❜

He blinks several times as he speaks, trying to focus on the blur of a figure before him. He can just make out the shape sitting opposite him: the flutter of a fan, its painted talons catching the candlelight; the warm, steady glow of that single candle; and the two teacups between them, still aligned on the low table. His own cup sits empty. Huaisang’s, though - the younger Nie brother's delicate porcelain cup that had been lifted, tilted, admired, but never once actually touched to his lips - remains just as full as when it was first poured.

Clever, Xue Yang thinks, the words sluggish and thick in his skull. Much too clever for the simpering, feather light persona he plays at. Clever and meticulous enough to make him fall straight into a trap he should’ve seen coming.

He tries to shift, to straighten, to summon even the ghost of a smirk on his lips, but his body responds with the fluid resistance of wet sand - he's slumping in his seat and he can't seem to fight it. And Xue Yang realizes far too late that the rambling nonsense wasn’t nonsense at all.

It was stalling.

❛ Let me guess . . . you've poisoned me. I say no, and you take me out. I say yes, and we become a team until I'm disposable. ❜

“ thank you. ” at that, nie huaisang actually brightens a fraction, his smile loosening from the brittle edge into something more genuine. he has worn the mask of incompetence for so long — the good for nothing, useless young master the world delights to mock — that being seen for a sliver of what he truly is feels nice.

his hands have awarded his fan a little mercy, resting casually in his lap as he watches xue yang speak. his movements seem pinched with pain, a puppet with it's strings pulled too taut.

nie huaisang does not believe a single word he says.

“ is that so... ” it's said with a disappointed sigh, as if he actually believes a word the other says. his eyes flick down to xue yang's gloved hand, to what he now knows covers a mangled mess of flesh and bone, but he does not say a word.

his gaze slips to the incense again, then back to xue yang.

“ it will not fail. things are already in motion. ” it is uneasy, to speak about it so plainly. the words grate against his throat on the way out. “ as i see it, you had three main adversaries. one of them is dead and the other a blind nomad with very little connections in the cultivation world. he can be dealt with without public spectacle. ”

and it would have to be discreet, if they were to avoid getting song lan involved. nie huaisang's patience for codependent men has worn especially thin.

“ and the third, if you were to have a hand in taking him down... well, you know how the cultivation world is, how practised in its hypocrisies. when a crime benefits those in power, eyes learn very quickly to look elsewhere. ” the words are spoken with a cold, bitter tone. in huaisang's eyes, this is the very reason the death of his brother was never truly looked into. he held too much power. “ let him fall and see how many will act as though they had no role in his descent at all. ”

a pause. he never truly answered xue yang's question.

❛ Interesting . . . ❜ the young demonic cultivator murmurs, the word slow and deliberate, rolling off his tongue like he’s tasting it. It's the only word that he offers towards Nie Huaisangs revelation.

The pristine Bright Moon And Gentle Breeze and aloof Distant Snow And Cold Frost - the ever-righteous pair - had both gone blind. How poetic.

The last he’d heard, they’d still been hellbent on dragging him to justice, Song Lan’s fury practically foaming at the mouth. And yet, it had been Song Lan who’d been left clawing at the dark, poison burning through his veins, eyes ruined by his own vengeance turned back on him after the massacre at Baixue Temple.

He hadn’t known about the other one though. Xiao Xingchen ... that self-sacrificing, saintly little thing, walking the same path into blindness? That almost made him laugh.

Two men bound so tightly they’d even lose the same light.

( Little did he know, that same saintly little thing had traded his own eyes to give his friend back his sight. An act of selflessness Xue Yang could never reciprocate with another living being. )

❛ Not much at all, Nie Gongzi. I know you must be in dire straits to consider playing a wild card. ❜ Though, he supposed, if they were both outwardly liars - at least neither of them had a reason to hide their cards. Not completely, anyway. Of course there were things that the younger kept to himself. He wondered, briefly, just how much Nie Huaisang knew of his brothers death? Was he simply swallowing his pride to work with Xue Yang, or did he simply not know that the very hand who decapitated his own flesh and blood was sat, injured, inches from him right this very second?

Tired of his uncomfortable lean, Xue Yang finally rises to his feet, growing suddenly restless and uneasy with the stillness of the room surrounding the pair. The bed of the room creaks as he does, unused to an action so sudden and aggressive - as he finds himself eyeing Nie Huisang where he sits behind the table. Were there always two Huisang shaped figures?

The gwishin was crouched on all fours. He had frozen in place as though he was a deer caught in headlights, but he looked nothing like a deer or human for that matter. His ghostly white hands clawed the ground and his face appeared to stare menacingly at his friend. No, he didn't look menacing, not if you looked closely to the way he sat. Observing his wide blackened eyes staring back at Minwoo and the restraint to keep his jaw from disjointing and mouth from gaping, the demon was sheepish and he looked ... forlorn. He didn't understand the confession, but it ignited a warmth in his chest that he rarely felt. How could Minwoo not be afraid of him, when he was like this? He had seen him look afraid before and he had never blamed him for it. Jaesung knew he was hideous when he uncovered his glamour.

He could barely talk back to Minwoo when he was in this form. Between the aching of his body, the jaw that threatened to dislocate and mouth full of black blood (a phantom reminder of his death), all he could speak were uncomfortable groans that sounded close to a clicking.

Upset with having let Minwoo catch him like this, he stumbled back. The demon's crouch transformed as he sat down like a person would and laid his arms across his knees. As he did this his limbs appeared to shrink and twist rightfully into their sockets, his white skin gained some colour and now brown eyes with the whites returning looked as though there could be a soul behind them. His lips turned from grey to pink and stringy black hair became floppy damp locks. Jaesung furrowed his brows and interlaced his human hands together behind his knees.

Paralysed with fear was a common phrase for a reason, and it was never more prominent than in moments like these. The blonde, stood frozen in an open doorway, faced with something straight out of a nightmare - he'd seen Jaesung's true form once before. It was 10 feet deep under the icy water, where black eyes had locked onto his, moments before he passed out in the extreme cold, and almost drowned. Those same dark eyes had locked onto his own back on dry land - though, Minwoo doesn't recall him looking so . . . pale. Regardless, the existence of the second form was never going to come as a surprise, he simply hadn't expected to walk into his .. friend .. in this form.

nie huaisang listens with wide eyes, head inclined just so to be the very picture of polite curiosity. each nod comes at the proper moment, each murmur of acknowledgment placed strategically.

he'd already known xue yang was steeped in resentment — he could feel it — but it's useful to know how angry, to take measure of it. to gauge just how this might go. mentally, he takes his notes.

nobody's ever asked me that before — he feels disregarded. condemned too quickly.

the stretch of silence — he has more to say, but he seems to have realized a little discretion might be safer for him.

the way he watches nie huaisang with such intensity — he can tell there is more to this than meets the eye.

it is no matter. nie huaisang is very good at getting what he desires, one way or another. once, it had simply been used to coax frivolous luxuries from his brother. now, a political plot that could even rival the sunshot campaign itself.

oh, how times have changed.

“ it's simply curiosity, i can assure you. nothing more. ” the words are light and lilting, but carry with them an actual piece of the truth. he is simply curious. it doesn't matter to him why xue yang did what he did. what matters is that he is strong, cunning, capable — most importantly, they now have a common enemy.

but he will have to provide more than just a shred of the truth if he's to earn xue yang's trust, and loyalty will require an even finer weave. his fan folds shut, and he taps it thoughtfully against his open palm and he considers his words, considers how to cast his net.

he would need to be careful with how he frames this. xue yang is volatile — a wild little thing ready to pounce at one show of vulnerability. too much softness, and the boy might lash out. too much force, and he might bolt like startled prey.

“ we do, we do. ” huaisang murmurs at last, voice heavy with something unknowable. if he is to make this work, he will need to show more of himself than he has to anyone thus far.

and if it doesn't work, well. xue yang is meant to be dead, anyway.

nie huaisang casts his gaze low, eyes hidden behind his lashes, face lit only by the candle flickering on the table between them. when he speaks, it is not with feigned courtesy or perfectly polished civility of a bastard, orphan, son of a whore. when he speaks, it is with a quiet, unvarnished bitterness, grief worn down into something sharp.

“ i understand betrayal very well, xue gongzi, as you do. to give faith, loyalty, admiration— ” he cuts himself off with a brittle, acidic laugh. collect yourself, nie huaisang. “ all to be a pawn in a game you didn't realise you were playing. as though you are nothing but dust beneath his feet. ”

the wood of his fan creaks under his tightening grip, but his gaze lifts, steady now, sharp with conviction.

For a long moment, Xue Yang just stared. The candlelight played in his eyes, glinting like something sharp and metallic under murky water - it simply made it hard to tell if it was born of interest or warning.

He hadn’t expected that. Not from this man. Nie Huaisang had struck him as the harmless sort: all trembling hands, and pretty fans and the soft, polished edges of someone who’d never dirtied themself with blood, or concerned themselves with the typical worrying of gentries. Yet the words he’d just spoken… they were ugly in a way Xue Yang recognised.

Familiar.

And it only served to make him smile once more, catlike and vicious, pushing the throb of aching broken bones further to the depths of his mind. Healing could wait, there was a new bundle of wool to unravel and play with right at his feet.

❛ Convenient, ❜ he echoed at last, tone bright again, the word twisted into something almost mocking. ❛ That’s one way to put it. You really are clever. Maybe even clever enough not to end up like the rest of them. ❜ Despite the others expression changing, Xue Yang was not interested in matching it.

❛ Do not get it twisted, Nie Huaisang. I do not hold faith in any man. And this similarity between us, may only be convenient for you. Jin Guangyao is whatever to me now. ❜ His sentence is punctuated with the raising of his gloved hand once more, before flinging back in a dismissive action - Xue Yang was prone to gesticulating as he spoke, irregardless of the injuries making it increasingly difficult.

It's a lie, too — if Jin Guangyao could discard him the moment things took a turn in Jinlin Tai, then Xue Yang would add his name to the long list of grudges he seemed to uphold. His revenge would come, and, perhaps, if Nie Huaisang was to try and use him, he could simply play his own version of the game.