#ccdwydyog

He and Wei-xiong had been engaging in a pleasantly light back-and-forth regarding the superiority of weasel hair over squirrel hair in calligraphy brushes -- Wei Wuxian was wrong, there was a significant difference in quality using the former -- when they were very rudely interrupted by Jin Zixun’s completely predictable attack. 

His friend wasn’t even a little bit shaken by the arrow aimed at his chest. Or the hundreds of arrows still aimed at him from up on the cliffs. Annoyed maybe, like Nie Huaisang was, at being interrupted or at being proven right by this random Jin cousin of all people. But he just smiled at Nie Huaisang’s eyeroll, a sideways grin that reminded Nie Huaisang of passing porn back and forth over peanut shells and jars of Emperor’s Smile. 

Wei Wuxian looked like he wanted to yell something back at Jin Zixun’s inane accusation, but Nie Huaisang beat him to it. It was better if he handled this. Better if it came back on the Nie directly. Better if Nie Mingjue’s useless brother was the one who insulted Jin Guangshan’s favorite nephew. 

There was a short back and forth between Jin Zixun and Nie Huaisang that roughly amounted to the former repeating variations of, “But he cursed me,” and the latter counting through all the ways he could think to politely say, “Nobody cares.” 

Nie Huaisang knew Wei Wuxian hadn’t cursed Jin Zixun because sometime in the middle of that back and forth, Wei-xiong leaned over to him and asked, very sincerely, “Who the fuck is this guy, again?”

Also, Wei Wuxian wasn’t exactly a man of subtlety. Or of half measures. Nie Huaisang was fairly convinced that if Wei Wuxian had cursed someone with one hundred holes in their chest, the holes would spell out his name, or list out their transgressions in order of most annoying to him, specifically. 

But none of that mattered in reality. Jin Zixun was convinced Wei Wuxian had done it, and Jins tended to become intractable when their ego was at stake. Probably, Jin Zixun had built himself up in his own mind as the nemesis of the Yiling Patriarch. Disabusing him of that notion would get them nowhere, so Nie Huaisang, instead, said, “He is under the protection of Qinghe Nie. You can take it up with my brother.” 

That seemed to shut Jin Zixun up quite nicely. 

Wen Qing, standing in front of her brother like she could protect him -- the probably immortal and incredibly powerful sentient fierce corpse -- from the world, looked shocked that such a lazy threat had actually worked. But, then, she’d never been on a battlefield with Da-ge, so Nie Huaisang could forgive her her surprise. 

The Jin disciples and, curiously, Lan disciples up on the cliffs began to retreat back toward Koi Tower. Jin Zixun lingered for a moment. But then his cousin came flying in on his sword, yelling at him from the air. 

Which was also curious. 

Nie Huaisang decided to ponder the timing of that more later. 

So while there had certainly been events that took place, the whole of the matter was finished within moments and nothing but bluster had actually come of it. Well, bluster and the dubious satisfaction of having their suspicions -- and their precaution -- validated. 

After a blubbering explanation from Jin Zixun and a much more coherent and succinct one from Nie Zonghui, Jin Zixuan agreed to escort his cousin back to Koi Tower himself and to relay the situation to Da-ge. Jin Zixun paled, possibly recalling Da-ge’s war face. The two of them left swiftly after that, the one’s reproof drowned out by the other’s whimpering. 

Predictably, Da-ge met them at the foot of the stairs when they arrived. He exchanged a quick few sentences with Nie Zonghui as he fretted, in his way, over Nie Huaisang. Gruff words to make up for gruff hands that had to refrain from touching and grabbing and patting him down to verify he was still in one piece while they were in public. (He was sure Da-ge was going to make him account for every inch of his skin later -- if not for scrapes and bruises, then surely for curse marks.) It was annoying, but sweet in Da-ge’s way. 

It was also to their benefit, so Nie Huaisang leaned into it, whining loudly to his brother and sect leader about how scared he’d been when Jin Zixun shot at Wei-xiong. 

He made sure to call Wei Wuxian “Wei-xiong” or “Xian-di” as often and as overtly as possible. Their intention to swear brotherhood should have been well known in Lanling by then, if his gossip mill was doing their job correctly, and if anyone but a Lan had been paying attention. But it was still important to reinforce the idea for the eyes and ears they’d captured with their dramatic arrival. 

Nothing damning showed on Jin Guangshan's face as he welcomed the Nie, Wei Wuxian, and two Wens into his banquet hall, but then, Nie Huaisang hadn't really expected it would. Jin Guangshan had been at his games much longer than Nie Huaisang had even been alive. They would just have to make sure to keep a close eye on Wei Wuxian and his Wens. It wouldn't be good to let them get separated, picked off one by one, and used against each other.

A quick glance around the room showed Lan Wangji paying very close attention to their little party. Lan Xichen, too, probably interested to know what his own disciples had been up to and why they were following Jin Zixun of all people. He departed his circle of delegates to corner San-ge. But Lan Wangji's gaze was fixed on Wei Wuxian.

Nie Huaisang watched him closely from behind the theatrics of his fluttering fan. He knew Wei-xiong was besotted with Lan Wangji. (He'd known before Wei Wuxian did, though it was nice that he'd figured it out on his own sometime since the lectures.) But, while he'd known Lan Wangji for much longer, the Second Jade's face was much more difficult for him to read. He didn't know whether Lan Wangji's continuous pestering of Wei Wuxian during the Sunshot campaign was born of worry or of actually, very Lan-like disdain for the kind of things Wei-xiong had been up to around then.

Was this close attention now worry for a man held in high regard? Or was it apprehension directed at an enemy of orthodox cultivation? Nie Huaisang was rather annoyed to discover that he couldn't tell.

Regardless, many eyes in the room were on them. Many afraid, many concerned, and many confused. It would be helpful if he and Wei-xiong could do their ceremony immediately. But that would be far too rude, which would, of course, harm their cause more than help it.

They could make it three days, Nie Huaisang was sure of it. Each of them were highly competent individuals. Capable of great feats and great focus when required.

Whether or not their opposition would catch them out somehow, well. That remained to be seen.

~

I wasn't sure if you guys would want me to tag you in these updates or not. It's not a new chapter, just edits done to the original and posted to ao3. But I figured better to do it and bother you than to make you think I forgot you!

Tag list: @shiranai-atsune @greywake @ghostysword @theshenanijiang @book-and-manga-dragon @sachfremd @kikisobsesssion

“Not a lot, to be honest.” 

Nie Huaisang flicks his fan open then, retreating back behind a vapid smile as if his candor has reached some limit and he must rest a moment. It’s an oddly placating kind of gesture. Like Wei Wuxian is someone who needs to be coddled or pacified. It irks. Sits wrong, stringing a tension between his shoulders where there wasn’t any before. 

“I believe you,” he says. “But you still haven’t answered my previous question. What is the cost, Huaisang?” 

The fan flickers back and forth as Nie Huaisang seems to consider how exactly to arrange his words. 

Usually he doesn’t take this long. Usually he walks people through a conversation he’s rehearsed in his mind, choreographed and memorized. At least, when he wants something. And maybe the pause itself is strategic, but Wei Wuxian knows his friend well. It seems… careful. Which only twists the band between Wei Wuxian’s shoulders tighter. 

Finally, Nie Huaisang snaps his fan closed. He deliberately meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes and says, “You’ll have to study it.” 

It would be misleading to say that this is what Wei Wuxian had been afraid of. The idea would have had to occur to him first, for him to fear it. But it is tangential to his fear. Connected. 

“Ah…” Wei Wuxian rubs his palms against the rough fabric of his robe. He glances over to Wen Qing, who meets his gaze with the anxiety in her own. “Nie-xiong…” 

“You don’t have to… cultivate it,” Nie Huaisang says, far too knowingly. Wei Wuxian’s eyes jump to his friend’s face, but Nie Huaisang presses on, “Just. Just study it. Fix it.” 

They’re going to have to address that at some point. Probably. Because just how the fuck-- No. Not now.

“Fix it?” Wei Wuxian asks with no small amount of incredulity. No small amount of curiosity either. “I can’t-- I know I helped you pass your exams during the lectures but--” His brain is already beginning to circle around what he knows of the Saber Path. Yang-focused, prone to qi deviation -- or at least something like it. 

Nie Huaisang must see it in his face, because he smiles, a little fiercer this time, and says, “You can. You think about cultivation in ways that other people can’t even imagine. Look at what you built during the war!” 

“You’ll recall,” Wei Wuxian says, raising a pointed eyebrow, “that not many people are very pleased with what I built during the war.” 

Wen Qing, with a bit more wariness adds, “And some are extremely greedy for it.” 

“Also true.” 

“Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang huffs. “False modesty will get us nowhere.” 

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Yes. I’m smart. But this…” He flaps his hands uselessly. 

“This is new. A challenge,” Nie Huaisang grins, and Wei Wuxian hates that it works on him. “And you’ll be tackling it inside a library. With insulation. And on a full stomach.” 

The Wens, aside from Wen Qing, are all outside the cave somewhere. Tilling corrupted soil, washing clothes with barely cleansed water, gathering any scraps of cloth they can find to sew into blankets and coats as the winter looms near. 

Wei Wuxian looks toward the strained sunlight that brightens the mouth of the cave. He bites a strip of cracked skin from his lip. His leg bounces under the table. 

When he turns back, Nie Huiasang is watching him closely. He’s letting Wei Wuxian see how closely he’s watching, which counts for something here. Between them. He needs this. He’s almost begging them for it. And when has Wei Wuxian ever been able to turn down someone in need of his help? 

“Chifeng-zun has agreed to their safety?” he asks. An insane question in any other circumstance. 

“He has.” A similarly insane answer. 

That Nie Mingjue would willingly shelter Wens is almost as unbelievable as the Wens all surviving this winter in the Burial Mounds. But that’s the thing, isn’t it. Their options are severely limited. And if Wei Wuxian wants to keep them safe, he must consider any that are open to him. 

He nods and asks, “What else?” 

The vapid smile returns. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Huaisang.” 

Nie Huaisang shakes his fan at him. “You sound eerily like Da-ge when you do that, did you know?”

He’s avoiding the question. “It’s bad, then.” 

“It’s…” he trails off for a moment, but has the decency to look guilty when he nods and says, “permanent.” 

Wei Wuxian huffs, exasperated. He’s so fucking tired of games. 

Nie Huaisang sets his fan down on the table. Presses his fingers against the surface until his knuckles bulge with it. Then he says, “You’ll have to give up the Yin Tiger Seal.” 

“To whom?” Wen Qing asks, the question quick to her tongue, like she already knew this would be the request. 

She probably did. Wei Wuxian probably should have known, too. But he’d thought, of all people… 

“No,” he says.  

“Wei-xiong--” 

“No, I’ll do it,” he amends. “But I won’t give it to anyone.” 

“Wei Wuxian.” Wen Qing’s voice is sharp with warning. Pointed and precise like her needles. Because she knows what he’s thinking now, too. 

“Qing-jie. It’s the only way we do this.” 

“You don’t know it won’t kill you.” 

It won’t matter if it does, he doesn’t say. Instead, maybe more bullheaded than necessary, he bites out, “Luckily, I’ll have a library at my disposal.” 

Wen Qing’s jaw tightens like she heard him anyway. 

“Ah, Wei-xiong?” Nie Huaisang flutters his fan, blocking the lower half of his face, exactly like he used to during their tutoring session when Wei Wuxian would go off on some borderline esoteric tangent about cultivation theory. 

It’s so familiar that Wei Wuxian almost laughs aloud with the nostalgia in his chest. 

“When?” he asks. 

“When what?” Nie Huaisang returns. 

“When will I need to give it up?”

Nie Huaisang’s eyebrows dip together. “I don’t--”

“If your brother will allow me to hold onto it --” unlikely, but, “fuck, if he’ll lock it away for me -- Tight, safe even from himself. He's more suspicious of Jins than any of the other clan leaders,” he trails off, considering. But Nie Huaisang taps his fan and Wei Wuxian finishes, “I can figure out how to destroy it. Safely.” 

That seems to take Nie Huaisang by actual surprise. His fan pauses, mid sway, then shivers back into motion, faster and far less even. “Destroy it?” 

“Completely,” Wei Wuxian says with a confidence he forces into his throat. 

He needs to be confident in this. He needs to be sure he can destroy it, otherwise… Otherwise none of this will matter anyway. 

Nie Huaisang hums, considering. He folds the fan and taps it against his lips. “We can probably make that work.” 

Something like relief breaks in Wei Wuxian’s chest. A breath he hadn’t been holding. He wants to reach for Wen Qing’s hand, but she probably wouldn’t appreciate the gesture in front of their guest. 

He takes a deep breath. Waits for Wen Qing’s tiny nod. And says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” asks Nie Huaisang, hope shining too bright to be false in his eyes. 

“If you can guarantee the safety of the Wens,” says Wei Wuxian, “we’ll go.” 

Wen Qing inhales, pauses, inhales again, and says, “Nie-er-gongzi…”

“Yes, Wen-daifu?”

She still seems to be gathering her words, but Nie Huaisang waits patiently. His fan is still, his smile gentle again. 

She tilts her head, eyes calculating, and says, “There will be political backlash for this.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose there is one last thing I’ll require of you, Wei-xiong.”

Wei Wuxian waits, annoyed, but also dazed. He’s not entirely sure that any of this is really happening. It’s too good. Even if there is yet another condition. 

Nie Huaisang smiles -- smiles, not a grin full of mischief or a calculating quirk of the lips -- and says to Wei Wuxian, “Become my sworn brother.”

Wei Wuxian’s face reacts before he can tell it not to. His jaw drops open, his brow furrows, his eyes search his friend for the joke, for the punchline, for any hint that he’s not serious about this. When he doesn’t find one, he yells, “Huaisang!” 

“What?” asks Nie Huaisang, fan flapping back and forth over an exaggerated pout. “I didn’t realize it was so detestable a concept.”

“You cannot swear yourself to Yiling Laozu.”

“We’re not getting married.” 

Wei Wuxian scoffs. “We kind of would be, and you know that.”

“So what? You’re a war hero. And an incredibly powerful cultivator.” 

A glance to Wen Qing offers no help. Her lips are softly curled and her eyes are unfocused, like she’s imagining Jin Guangshan’s face when Wei Wuxian is pulled out of his reach for good. Or maybe just the spectacle of Yiling Laozu swearing himself to Nie Huiasang, the most unassuming figure of the highly ranked gentry. 

“I don’t have a core,” Wei Wuxian blurts out, “which you seem to have figured out somehow.” 

Nie Huaisang looks very smug and says, “Nothing in the ceremony requires a golden core.” 

“I’m a servant’s son.”

“Meng Yao is a prostitute’s son. Wei-xiong, I really don’t understand what the problem is here?”

“He has self-esteem issues,” says Wen Qing. Which is just-- 

“I--? What? I’m incredibly full of myself, ask anyone.” 

Wen Qing catches his eyes and glares. But he isn’t lying. 

It’s not self-esteem he has issues with. It’s other people risking themselves for him. Reputation means everything in this world, all three of them know that. And Nie Huaisang’s reputation is far from spotless. He does not need it raked over the coals by being associated with Wei Wuxian. 

But then. It’s not for him. Or not just for him. It’s for Nie Mingjue. It’s for the Wens. 

It-- Damnit, it could work, too. 

This time when he looks at her, Wen Qing looks back. It’s in her eyes: his acquiescence. He can see it there, taunting him. She knows him too well. She knows him better than anyone, it seems, even himself. 

“In front of everybody?” he asks, a whine more than anything. 

Nie Huaisang’s smile gets wider. Victorious. “That is generally how it’s done, yes. I’m planning it for your nephew’s 100 days ceremony.”

“That’s quick,” says Wen Qing. 

“It’s necessary.”

“I’m impressed.”

Nie Huaisang winks, “Don’t tell anyone.” 

“And Nie-zongzhu is just-- fine with that?” Wei Wuxian asks, some last token protest before he has nothing left. 

“He understands the complexity of the situation. And the… Jin Guangshan of the situation.” 

“Ah.” 

“Yeah.” 

Wei Wuxian blows out all the air in his lungs. It’s not a lot, but it gives him several seconds to collect himself. Then, finally, he says, “Alright, let’s do it.” 

He’s not sure who looks more satisfied, Nie Huaisang or Wen Qing. He ignores the strange ease that settles into his own gut at the idea of it. At a path forward that isn’t a single-log bridge in the night. It’s… nice, he thinks. To have somebody else to help him across the river, to help him help the rest of them cross safely to the other side. 

It’s a new feeling. A new lightness. 

He’s sad, suddenly, that it didn’t come from someone else. Someone who has been his candle in the dark since they were teenagers. 

And then he is abruptly guilty for that feeling, and he shakes it off, letting his mouth run instead. 

“How does this sworn brotherhood thing work, anyway? Am I siblings with my sworn sibling’s siblings? What about their sworn siblings and those sworn siblings’... siblings?”

He ran out of steam at the end a little bit, and “siblings” now more resembles a jumble of sounds than it does a real word. But then Nie Huaisang sighs and says, “You will still be allowed to marry Wangji-xiong,” and Wei Wuxian feels all of the blood in his body rush into his cheeks. 

Wei Wuxian was doing the thing with his voice where he tries not to sound over eager. It never worked very well. The man wore his emotions like he wore that bright, red hair-ribbon of his. His face was glowing with curiosity and trepidation, both. Nothing quite like hope, but maybe desire.

“And Jin Guangshan has agreed that you should attend.”

The desire dashed into dejection.

“Fuck.”

Nie Huaisang sighed, whipping open his fan and idly waving it. A restless gesture, rather than a cooling one. “Indeed.”

Silence settled between them for a moment. Wei Wuxian’s brow furrowed in the way it did when he was considering a deceptively simple solution to a particularly complex problem. He cocked his head to one side and asked, with no small amount of anxiety slowing his words, “You don’t think Lan Zhan--”

But Nie Huaisang cut him off with a snap of his fan. “No,” he said with surprising weight and confidence for all that he has spent the entire conversation up until this moment prevaricating and professing his general ignorance.

Wei Wuxian, though, seemed comforted by this, taking him at his word and nodding.

It was strange, this interaction. Nie Huaisang, or at least Wen Qing’s impression of him during the lectures at the Cloud Recesses, was a flighty and distractible disciple. He was lazy in his classwork, even lazier in his martial arts. And, though he painted beautiful fans, he used them too often to avoid difficult conversations at all cost.

The man before her now, in this moment and this moment alone, looked like a competent advisor to the venerable Chifeng-zun.

“Lan Wangji is naïve and idealistic,” said Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian grinned at that.

“Aren’t we all, Nie-xiong.” He raised his eyebrows like it was a joke.

After all they’d all been through, Wen Qing supposed it only could be a joke, but it was still one she wasn’t exactly in on.

“Ah, it’s true,” Nie Huaisang agreed, opening his fan with a puerile smile and becoming, for all appearances, the featherbrained boy of their youth once more. “We are, we are.”

Wen Qing schooled her face into something like understanding as she tried to fit together the pieces of conversation that the two weren’t having. So far she’d gathered that the invitation was a trap, but she could have told them that from the beginning. There was something else hiding in the words that they weren't saying, but Wen Qing didn’t have enough of anything to figure out what it was. Which was frustrating.

It was no secret that Wei Wuxian was brilliant. Fourth-ranked in their generation or not, the man was infamous for his… unique solutions to difficult problems. She knew intimately how unique those solutions could be. But Wen Qing had never seen that ingenuity extend to politics. Or people in any kind of broader sense.

He had been, however, the head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang. A position that required both political acumen and a sense for leadership. Especially if he was awarded the position over the sect heir, regardless of cultivation skill.

It was an uncomfortable realization that she, just like everybody else in the cultivation world, had underestimated him. She thought she would have known better by now.

It was similarly uncomfortable to realize just how much she had underestimated the Nie sect heir, too. Because, even now, she had no idea how intelligent and observant he was. And she had the distinct impression that her ignorance -- both of Nie Huaisang’s cleverness and of the underlying thread of this conversation -- was by design.

Nie Huaisang flapped his fan back-and-forth and stared at it like nothing more interesting than that painted scene was happening around him. “He’s still writing your invitation as we speak.”

Wen Qing couldn’t help her brow from furrowing at that. “Then how are you here so fast, Nie-er-gongzi?” she asked, barely keeping her tone genial, even as frustration mounted in her chest.

“Oh, Qing-jie,” said Wei Wuxian with a grin that she knew boded mischief. “Did you know that just southwest of here there is a rather large and impressive freshwater lake?”

Wen Qing didn’t shake her head. She didn’t groan. She didn’t grab him by the shoulders and yell, “How is that relevant?!” She had greater composure than that. If she could stand at attention in front of Wen Ruohan while he openly threatened her brother, she could contain her reaction to a simple quirk of her eyebrow.

“It’s true!” said Nie Huaisang, snapping his fan closed and gesturing with it. “It’s on top of a plateau and in the winter there are hundreds of species of birds--”

She cuts him off. “So, you weren’t in the room when this decision was made, then.”

“Ah, no, Wen-guniang,” he said, ducking his head as if in apology. Then, allowing a glimpse of his cleverness to show in his eyes he asked, “But have I told you yet of my fondness for birds? Of many kinds?”

Spies, she understood. He had a network of spies that could reach even into the private halls of Lanling. She understood, too, that she was being given this information with trust. That it was only a hint of what the Nie heir was capable of and that Wei Wuxian’s trust in her was transitive.

She smiled. “I’m sure I don’t need the details, Nie-er-gongzi.”

“Good, good.” He smiled back, sharp but only for a flash before it was genial and light and then hidden behind his open fan once more. “I’d hate to bore you.”

Wen Qing’s heart hammered in her chest for a moment, a fear response she knew well how to mask. She wondered what exactly her body had interpreted as a threat.

“So, what are you saying, Huaisang?” Wei Wuxian asked, not bothering to hide his agitation, but also skillfully directing Nie Huaisang’s attention back to himself and giving Wen Qing the room she needed to breathe.

“I’m saying I’ll go with you,” Nie Huaisang said, simply. Like anything about that statement was simple.

“With me?” Wei Wuxian scoffed, incredulous. “You want to walk into Lanling and declare Qinghe Nie’s support of Yiling Laozu?”

But Nie Huaisang just nodded and said, “I do.”

“Huaisang!”

“And,” he continued, plowing through Wei Wuxian’s disbelief like oxen through rice fields, “I want to shelter the Wen Remnants in Qinghe.”

Wen Qing felt her eyes bulging out of their sockets, but Wei Wuxian just laughed and waved a hand dismissively.

“I want to marry Lan Zhan and bear him children,” he said in an uncharacteristically honest admission, flippant though it was. “Not all things are possible, Nie-xiong.”

Nie Huaisang looked nothing short of delighted at his friend’s candor but, undeterred, said, “Bearing his children may be outside even your scope, but offering you the protection of Qinghe Nie is not outside of mine.”

Wen Qing considered his words carefully. Considered all of the things she had learned about him as a person in this short conversation.

“At what cost?” she asked.

“What cost?” he responded, playing the fool as easily as breathing.

Even now, even knowing all that she did, she could almost believe it again.

Luckily, Wei Wuxian was not similarly affected.

“Huaisang,” he said, chastising his friend like he might a misbehaving shidi. “We both know that you wouldn’t even be hinting at something like this without your da-ge’s permission. No matter how much porn you smuggled into the Cloud Recesses, you don’t actually have a death wish. Nie Mingjue would allow you many things, but this?”

Ignoring the comment about porn -- another shared joke Wen Qing wasn’t privy to -- she agreed. She remembered the stories her clansmen and sect members had told about Chifeng-zun during the war. She remembered her cousin’s severed head displayed proudly at the gate of the Unclean Realm. “He hates Qishan Wen more than anybody.”

Nie Huaisang, to his credit, didn’t deny it. He hesitated for a moment but conceded with a nod and a tap of his closed fan, “He does. But!” The fan opens again, “But, he’s not entirely unreasonable.”

Wen Qing could feel Wei Wuxian rolling his eyes next to her, even if she couldn't see it.

“What’s the cost, Huaisang?” he asked, impatience hard-edged in his voice.

Nie Huaisang tapped his fan on the table a few more times. Another restless gesture, perhaps, as he collected his words into an order he thought might best be presented to his friend.

In hindsight, Wen Qing thinks it very strange that this was the moment Nie Huaisang found most uncertain. Most delicate. But then, maybe this pause, this careful consideration and apparent reluctance, was all an act, too.

In the end, whether it was calculated or not never really mattered.

Nie Huaisang fixed Wei Wuxian with soft eyes and a determined frown, leaned forward enough to brace an elbow on the table, and said,