Archive of Our Own

“A servant?” says Lan Wangji

Nie Huaisang gives him a chiding look from across the desk. “He is their head disciple.”

“You are the heir,” Wangji retorts. “It is an insult.”

“I am only the heir until my brother has children. The daughter is already set to marry out, and they could hardly be expected to marry their son out too.”

“Then the Jiang sect should not have sent an offer at all!”

Nie Huaisang sets his brush aside in response to Wangji’s uncharacteristic outburst. Restrained as it was, he is usually much too well-trained to be so loud so close to haishi.

“Their offer was both genuine and advantageous. Securing the Jiang sect as allies could swing the tide in our favour if push comes to a shove with the Wen. You know that.”

Wangji exhales through his nose. “Yes.”

The so what? goes unsaid. But Nie Huaisang has always been good at reading between the lines, at least when it comes to Wangji.

“Da-ge would never allow me to marry out, with how the conflicts are starting to boil. And the Nie sect don’t have much to offer when it comes to cultivation innovations and technology. Our trade partners are tied up in the capital too, which only a few clans can take advantage of.”

“I know.”

“This is a good deal,” says Nie Huaisang. “One that would let me stay with my brother and give us a powerful ally, one that gives a prized Yunmeng Jiang disciple legitimacy amongst the gentry. And it costs… what? Barely anything. Nothing.”

Wangji levels his friend with a disapproving glare at those words, but Nie Huaisang returns it with a determined one of his own.

“Stop it, I’m serious. It costs me nothing to marry this Wei Wuxian. The Jiang will be responsible for the dowry and the bride-price we’re offering in return is entirely proportional. Qinghe Nie will not suffer any losses with this betrothal.”

Wangji doesn't understand why he is so understanding over this matter. It is frustrating that his friend can't see what is truly at stake here.

Qinghe Nie may not lose anything, but what of Nie Huaisang? The boy who had shared his novels with Wangji, giggling over the silly melodramatic tragedies that were so popular in the markets. The one who would sigh wistfully sometimes when the romantic lead declared their ardent devotion to their one and only love. The one who wrote of passion and adventure in his letters to Wangji recommending new volumes.

Nie Huaisang, the pearl of the Nie sect, with his stunning calligraphy, his knowledge of poetry and art. He can match Wangji’s uncle in weiqi when he tries hard, and he is only fifteen.

Even at fifteen he already has the makings of a gentle spring-like beauty about him. Wangji knows that in a few years, when Nie Huaisang would have grown into his face, many would offer cartfuls of precious treasures for the privilege of sitting by his side, listening to him recite poetry.

And Wangji finds himself almost angry that Nie Huaisang, too used to being sidelined by their peers for his lack of martial prowess, to being derided for his awkwardness, will not have the opportunity to learn what it is like to be wooed, to be courted and won over.

Instead he will be a means to an end for some upstart young cultivator looking for a quick path to the top echelons of the jianghu.

And what makes Wangji truly boil is that none of this seems to anger Nie Huaisang at all.

Even if it is his duty to submit to his elders' plans as a filial child of his clan, his duty to dedicate his future to his family's sect, surely he feels some sort of loss at the indignity? To be betrothed is one thing, but to not even be considered worthy to be wedded to someone of an equal status, like another second son or prized third child at the very least.

(Never mind that besides Wangji himself, there are no other candidates of Nie Huaisang's status currently in the Jianghu. The only other possibility that could arise would be if Jin Guangshan would be willing to legitimise one of his many unrecognised offspring for the honour, which would be an even more egregious insult to the Nie clan.)

Nie Huaisang sighs at him from across the table. “If you want someone to feel sorry for, think about the poor guy who has to marry me. He’s the Head Disciple at Lotus Pier. Giving that up can’t be easy.”

Yes, as proficient as the Jiang cultivator would be in his sect’s cultivation style, he would not be able to hold the same position in the Unclean Realm, not without the years of conditioning required for the Nie style of saber cultivation. It would take a long time for him to rebuild his cultivation from the ground up, if he would be willing to abandon the years of work he’d put into his golden core in the first place. And there would be no guarantee that he would even be able to reach the same rank.

Not that it matters. Whatever position this upstart cultivator would have in the Nie sect, being the heir’s spouse will grant him enough pull in and of itself. Forsaking the rights and responsibilities of a head disciple would be a small price to pay.

Wangji huffs, loudly and pointedly, taking inspiration from his esteemed uncle who with just the slightest shift of his breathing, can convey the weight of a family’s worth of ancestral disapproval.

Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes in response. “You haven’t even met him yet.”

That is precisely seventy percent of the problem in Wangji’s eyes, yes.

“Have you?”

“No,” Nie Huaisang picks up his brush again. “But he’s coming to the guest lectures this year, so we’re bound to meet.”

“...Oh?”

This is the first Wangji has heard of it. Who could have allowed this to happen!

“I’m rather looking forward to it actually,” says Nie Huaisang, oblivious to Wangji’s mounting indignation. He tilts his head thoughtfully at his painting in consideration of his next stroke. “Usually a first meeting is so highly monitored that we won’t get to talk about anything interesting. Maybe we’ll be able to actually get to know each other before the wedding if we get some time alone.”

Wangji narrows his eyes.

Not if he has anything to do with it.

That meeting will be supervised.

By him.

Wangji will look upon this upstart and determine whether he is worthy of the treasure that is about to fall into his lap. And if he is not, he will be there to caution him from overstepping beyond the relationship defined by the betrothal contract.

After all, this Jiang sect disciple and Nie Huaisang are only betrothed. Their eventual marriage will not be for some years yet. There is plenty of time for revisions to either the terms of the contract or the intended's character to ensure that the marriage will be truly suitable for both parties.

And Lan Wangji, in his very objective capacity as the second young master of the Lan clan, intends to facilitate this process as much as possible for the benefit of both his only friend and the Jianghu.

Of course, the world has the tendency to upend his well-intentioned plans.

Wangji meets a boy on the rooftop, and finds himself blinded for a moment by strikes of a sword wielded as skillfully as his own, and a smile as luminous as the moon that hangs above them. He speaks with musical lightness. Arrogant, and brash, and so full of life. A flame fed on heartwood.

And then Wangji drags the boy before his esteemed uncle to receive his punishment for breaking the rules.

“This Wei Wuxian greets Lan-xiansheng.”

Wangji hates him.

///

“Good afternoon, do I have the honour of addressing Wei Wuxian?”

“A-Are you Nie Huaisang?”

“I am!”

///

Nie Huaisang kicks his feet, sitting on Wangji’s bed.

“He’s really nice! He said I was pretty,” Nie Huaisang giggles. “I told him that he didn’t need to flatter me, since we’re already promised. But guess what!”

Wangji grunts from his desk, head ducked so far into his book that his nose almost makes contact with the page.

“He said that since we were promised anyway, what use would it be to lie! He’s so clever. So quick and witty!”

Wangji lifts his book higher to hide his sneer. Such empty and flippant compliments could only fall so carelessly from a man’s lips if he were an irrepressible flirt.

He adds another strike to his mental tally of Wei Wuxian’s deficiencies.

“It was so easy conversing with him. He’s read the usual classics, of course. But also some of the more esoteric texts! He said that he likes the old travelogues best and he has such interesting thoughts about Wen Mao’s account of the qiongqi. He said he’d refined a talisman that was inspired by the chain technique Wen Mao used!”

… That is rather impressive, Wangji concedes. Not just any talented cultivator can design new talismans and techniques. If Wei Wuxian is truly as skilled in crafting new tools as he had boasted to Nie Huaisang, then he must have at least a solid foundation in cultivation theory to support his experimentations. He is willing to accept that as a point to the (very small) list of favourable qualities.

“Isn’t he so interesting, A-Zhan? I feel so lucky.”

Wangji scoffs, suddenly unable to hold it back. He knows that it is a mistake as soon as the sound leaves his mouth.

Sure enough, Nie Huaisang narrows his eyes.

“What is it?”

Wangji shakes his head. “Nothing. Congratulations.”

“Lan Zhan, really, what–”

 Wangji’s lips purse in discontent. “Nothing. I am reading.”

“You haven't turned a page in five minutes.”

A hand comes sneaking up over the top of Wangji’s book, Nie Huaisang leaning forward to snatch it away. Wangji dodges his attempts with a scowl.

“It is a treatise on yang cultivation,” he says, taking advantage of his long arms to keep it away from Nie Huaisang. “The language is opaque and the concepts difficult to integrate.”

“Oh!” Nie Huaisang straightens. “I can help! Read it out to me.”

They do this often when they visit each other. Nie Huaisang enjoys reading and reads widely, even if he may never find the same joy as Wangji has when reading dense historical texts. Between them, they can usually make good headway into the complex language used in treatises and dissertations, combining their knowledge of rarely used characters and phrases.

But for some reason, Wangji doesn’t want Nie Huaisang’s help. Not this time.

“I can do it myself," he says, sitting up with his shoulders straight.

Nie Huaisang frowns slightly in his periphery, bemused.

“I don’t mind helping? Come on!”

Wangji shakes his head. “I do not need it.”

“If it’s on yang qi, I read a fun novel with a surprisingly–”

“No, thank you. It is fine.”

Silence. Wangji’s jaw ticks with tightly held tension as he fights not to cover himself with a blanket like a child throwing a tantrum.

“...Do you…” Nie Huaisang begins tentatively. “Do you want me to leave?”

Wangji's eyes are on the page, but he does not know what characters he is reading. He turns the page anyway.

“Nie Huaisang is a guest and is welcome at the Jingshi at any time.”

“Why are you being so stiff all of a sudden? Look, all I did was offer to help you–”

“Nie Huaisang would not be able to help with this particular book, as it is only relevant to those who have cultivated a golden core.”

Wangji hears Nie Huaisang inhale sharply and feels slight regret at his words. He knows that Nie Huaisang is a little sensitive about his lack of progress with his cultivation, even if he puts up a confident front to the other cultivators their age. But the regret doesn’t last long, not when the memory of how Nie Huaisang had just barged into his home and proceeded to prattle on about his day without so much as a “how are you” is still fresh in his mind.

“Lan Zhan, that was mean.” Nie Huaisang’s voice trembles a little with hurt. “Apologise.”

Wangji lifts his chin slightly without looking up from his book. “I will not. It was not mean. It was true.”

The treatise deals with how balance is achieved in the golden core for those born with higher than usual levels of yang qi. Nie Huaisang is unlikely to be able to provide any insight into the topic, with neither a golden core nor predominantly yang natured qi. His qi has no dominant nature, achieving a natural balance where Wangji’s tends to skew towards the yang side.

Which is why the book is relevant to Wangji, not Nie Huaisang. Really, Nie Huaisang should have realised that himself. He had no right to be so offended when Wangji was only pointing out what should be obvious.

And yet still, Nie Huaisang insists.

“Lan Wangji,” he says, “apologise.”

Wangji shakes his head. “I will not.”

“You–!”

He hears a rustle of silk and looks up to see Nie Huaisang, lips thinned in anger and red in the face.

“Lan Wangji, we are friends, and I know you don’t have very many of those. But friends don’t hurt each other like that, and if they do, they apologise, you understand?”

Wangji glares at the condescension that drips from those words.

“Perhaps I do not have many friends because I am unwilling to lie.”

Nie Huaisang draws himself up, eyes growing damp. He has always been prone to tears. Wangji does not appreciate that Nie Huaisang is attempting to manipulate him with the oldest trick in his repetoire, not when they had used it only as a tool to benefit the both of them in the past. 

“You think that you can say whatever you want to me and I’ll take it, just because we’ve known each other for so long. You know, this is why none of the other disciples want to talk to you.”

“I was unaware that being my friend is such a hardship,” Wangji bites out. “Feel free to unburden yourself from the responsibility if it is so difficult for you.”

Nie Huaisang narrows his eyes. “You’d throw away your only friend, just like that?”

“Do you expect me to lavish you with sweet words in thanks for gracing me with your presence?” Wangji challenges. “Was this friendship so cheaply earned that you’d be offended at a mere statement of a fact?”

Nie Huaisang stands, fists clenched at his sides.

“I spent so many years defending you,” he says, shoulders trembling. “Everyone says that you’re haughty and cold. They always asked me why I would spend so much time with someone who couldn’t even talk, whose face was as still as a stone statue.”

Wangji snorts under his breath. Everyone spends so much time gossiping. No wonder no one his age could match him in a spar.

“Apparently they were right all along,” Nie Huaisang says with a sniffle. “You’re an ass, Lan Wangji.”

He throws Wangji one more teary glare before storming out of the room into the night.

He will be back. Wangji sneers at his book, a tiny quirk of his lips. Nie Huaisang is quick to fall into dramatics and also quick to fall out of it again. By the next day, Wangji knows that Nie Huaisang will cast his shadow across the Jingshi’s threshold, babbling about something or other.

That is how things are. That is how it always happens when they fight. And they have known each other for so long, had so many such minor quarrels, that Wangji has no doubts about Nie Huaisang’s return.

Except that apparently, now that Nie Huaisang has options other than Wangji for company, he does not return.

“Haha, you’re so funny, Wei-xiong!”

Wangji’s lips thin at the sight of Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian heading to the lecture hall arm in arm. Shouldn’t they have a chaperone? A different one. Jiang Wanyin is proving to be supremely inadequate in the role, if he is letting his shixiong touch Nie Huaisang so casually when he knows about the arrangement that his family had entered into.

It was tacitly agreed upon that guest disciples at Cloud Recesses would ignore the complicated web of politics that dictate the actions of the gentry for the months they spend studying in Gusu. After all, not all sects who were sent invitations by the Lan were allied with each other, even if they were closely associated with one or two of the great sects. This careful disregard of the usual expectations that usually governs the interactions of young cultivators of course extends to various betrothal agreements made throughout the families of the Jianghu.

But Wangji had never thought it proper when various guest disciples would carry on at Cloud Recesses as if they weren’t already spoken for. Unfortunately, if they were not actively breaking any specific rules, he could not submit a notice of punishment. Not for simply indecorous behaviour, at least.

Fortunately, Wei Wuxian seems to find flouting the simple rules of the Lan sect endlessly entertaining, giving Wangji plenty to work with when it comes to trespasses to punish.

(Nie Huaisang gives him a baleful look every time Wangji catches him and Wei Wuxian committing some sort of misdemeanour. It’s at least half of the reason why Wangji has been increasingly diligent with his patrols now.)

His uncle commended him on his vigilance and doled out the customary consequences for the misdeeds. But perhaps Wangji had been a little over enthusiastic in reporting Wei Wuxian’s behaviour, because, likely due to the sheer volume of them, Lan Qiren had deemed it necessary for Wangji to personally supervise Wei Wuxian’s punishments.

Wangji then had to quickly reassess his strategy.

Leaving Wei Wuxian be allows him to run unchecked, unduly influencing the guest disciples that seem to hang on his every word. But having to sit in the library for hours to make sure Wei Wuxian does his assigned copying, chasing him down when he tries to escape to the far reaches of Cloud Recesses, takes up a significant portion of Wangji’s day, a portion that would be better spent doing something more productive.

It would be unacceptable to turn a blind eye to Wei Wuxian’s misbehaviour, when he makes such sport over breaking the rules. But yesterday, when Lan Qiren had been too busy to receive Wangji’s reports, Wangji had been left with enough time to casually hint to the kitchen staff that Nie Huaisang had a newly acquired preference for bitter gourd, after which they had served the boy that they were so fond of after his extended stays at Cloud Recesses a double helping.

Watching Nie Huaisang grit his teeth and eat the whole plate, eyes glaring almost tearfully at Wangji the whole time, had made his own meal taste like victory and vindication. Nie Huaisang had known exactly who was responsible for the acrid taste in his mouth because as concerned as he always was about making a good impression on the people around him, Wangji was the only one in the Lan clan to know that Nie Huaisang hates bitter gourd with a passion. Which meant that Nie Huaisang would have known exactly what message Wangji had been sending.

Only children make a fuss over bitter foods. Only children would hold a grudge over words said that were only true in the first place.

Would Nie Huaisang insist on being a child over this? A baby?

Apparently so.

Nie Huaisang had retaliated by more pointedly ignoring Wangji as well as speaking to his new friends within earshot about how the second jade of Lan was “unfriendly and scary”. He had even taken to walking arm in arm with Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin, laughing loudly at some joke or other and then casting significant glances at Wangji as if making sure that he was watching.

Such pettiness. Wangji had not known Nie Huaisang to be so juvenile.

Nie Huaisang’s dinner that night had none of the termite mushrooms that he is so fond of, and Wangji eats each piece on his own plate slowly, carefully, while staring Nie Huaisang right in the face.

Revenge from Nie Huaisang usually comes slowly, more subtly. Wangji would wait full days after inflicting some sort of inconvenience onto Nie Huaisang before he finds himself subjected to Nie Huaisang’s retaliation. So far, he had found every fourth or fifth poem in his favourite collection replaced by one from his least favourite writer, an insufferably florid and pompous poet, preoccupied with depicting the glory of the central kingdom in obnoxious metaphors about horses and flowers. One string on his favourite guqin goes missing. The hairs of his favourite brush fall out, the adhesive dissolved.

From Wangji’s end, Nie Huaisang had found himself subjected to a long lecture about diligence, courtesy of Wangji’s uncle, after his lecture notes just ‘happened’ to have rolled open to reveal only doodles of birds and leaves. Wangji supposes that keeping Wei Wuxian occupied with endless amounts of copying could also count as retaliation. The way the two of them carry on, it is as if they are best friends reunited after a long time apart, despite having met each other barely two months previous. Nie Huaisang’s betrothed could not carouse and make merry with him if he’s too busy bothering Wangji.

Really, Nie Huaisang should be thanking Wangji for this favour. Wei Wuxian is clearly a bad influence on him. Nie Huaisang had never been called up to be disciplined while attending the guest lectures in previous years. In fact, in the years previous, Nie Huaisang had been a model guest, paying careful attention to the Lan sect way of life by following Wangji’s lead. And now look at him, whispering conspiratorially into Wei Wuxian’s ear. The mischievous glint in his eyes, the delight when Wei Wuxian reaches over to squeeze his hands in excitement. It is as if he had forgotten all of the lessons he and Wangji had diligently attended together, all the time they spent practising proper conduct.

Wei Wuxian, as well-raised as his invitation to the guest lectures indicate he is, seems to think proper conduct as nothing more than play-acting, as if codes of honour and courtesy are just masks he can put on and take off at will. He so shamelessly splays himself over the library tables all the time, just to bother Wangji with his insouciant posture. That, over everything else Wei Wuxian is, irks Wangji the most.

The fact is that Wei Wuxian knows better. It is obvious that he is intelligent and well-read, with the confident way he talks about even the most obscure cultivation texts. And yet, he seems to think nothing of trampling over well-established boundaries in order to get what he wants, so sure he is that his charm and charisma would get him out of whatever messes he finds himself in.

Wangji does not deny that Wei Wuxian is clever, as talented as Wangji himself has been touted to be all of his life. But the boy acts flippantly about the effect he has on the people around him. That Nie Huaisang, still in the middle of condensing his golden core, is eager to follow behind Wei Wuxian’s heels is bad enough. The younger disciples have also started to push the boundaries following Wei Wuxian’s example. And should they choose to do so at an inopportune time, not many of them can fall back on their talent to push through like Wei Wuxian could. Nie Huaisang at least is the heir of a major sect and subject to a measure of protection from the potential fallout such troubles could cause.

So much power, with no sense of responsibility.

Wangji hates Wei Wuxian.

He hates his indecorous smile. He hates the clever retorts he throws back at Wangji’s assertions, his bright laughter. He hates the way he runs through the paths of Cloud Recesses, gripping Nie Huaisang’s hand tightly, the both of them dragging a loudly protesting Jiang Wanyin along.

He hates the way he calls him “Lan Zhan!” so casually.

He hates the way Nie Huaisang calls him “Lan Wangji” now, when he had been the one who had taken the longest to start calling Wangji by his courtesy name instead of the one he used as a young child.

“Lan Wangji is sure to catch us, Wei-xiong! Be careful!”

“You’re amazing, Wei-xiong! Lan Wangji told you to get out and you really went out!”

“He must really hate you… Lan Wangji is never that rude.”

He doesn’t know when it happened exactly, but the fact that it did makes him feel like Nie Huaisang is drawing a line between them finally. And while Wangji finds himself rather enjoying having Nie Huaisang as a nemesis – almost as much as he had enjoyed having him as a friend – the new distance Nie Huaisang has instituted between them does ache a little with something like... loss.

He admits that his response to that feeling is perhaps immature and juvenile. But he has yet to repay Nie Huaisang for how he had replaced Wangji’s boots with an identical pair, two sizes smaller, and truly, he is running out of ideas.

Wangji throws Nie Huaisang’s shoes into the cold ponds.

He submits himself preemptively for punishment, and sits himself down to copy out the rules regarding decorum as he waits for Nie Huaisang's response.

And respond, he does.

“Lan Wangji,” Nie Huaisang growls, tossing his sodden shoes onto the Jingshi’s floorboards, right by where Wangji sits at his desk.

“Nie Huaisang.”

“How dare you.”

He lays down his brush, turning his body to give Nie Huaisang his full attention.

“How can this one be of service?”

Nie Huaisang snarls, sounding more like his older brother than Wangji has ever heard him sound, his eyes blazing with fury. Just looking at him like this, focused on the object of his rage (Wangji) and so incensed that he doesn't bother righting his dishevelled hair, makes Wangji have to swallow down a mouthful of victory so it doesn’t show on his face.

“My shoes,” Nie Huaisang grits out. “My shoes. I only took one other pair to Gusu.”

“My shoes.” Wangji retorts. “Where did you put them?”

Nie Huaisang stomps towards Wangji’s bed, each step thunderous on the wooden surface, and pulls it out away from the wall, frame and all.

Wangji should have known. Nie Huaisang had hid all sorts of treats and trinkets under his bed since they were both small.

“How childish,” Wangji sneers.

“Is it my fault that you didn’t think of checking under your bed?”

“Is it this one’s fault that Nie-gongzi failed to sufficiently prepare for an extended stay outside of his home?”

“You–” Nie Huaisang seethes. “This has gone on long enough. I’m going to end this.”

"Of course." Wangji folds his hands demurely in his lap. “I will accept your apology.”

“Hah!” Nie Huaisang barks. “I am not going to be the one apologising.”

He turns on his heel and leaves Wangji’s home, never once looking back.

Wangji spends the next two days wondering what form Nie Huaisang’s next act of reprisal will take. So far he had been mostly focused on inconveniencing Wangji through his material possessions, which was only rational since Wangji’s things are more accessible to Nie Huaisang than his food or training supplies.

(Wangji knows that he has the advantage in their feud when they are within Cloud Recesses, but Nie Huaisang was the one who had chosen to engage. Wangji plans to make him regret that decision.)

Unfortunately he had forgotten that Nie Huaisang tends to fight dirty when cornered.

“Wangji…” Lan Xichen sighs. “You threw his shoes into the cold ponds?”

“... Yes.”

“This isn’t like you. What were you thinking?”

It is forbidden to lie, so Wangji will not say that he is sorry. But his older brother looks disappointed at him and he has to avert his gaze before the words come blurting out of his mouth anyway.

He can’t believe Nie Huaisang would tattle to Lan Xichen. Doesn’t he know that gossip is forbidden?

“Why are you bullying Nie Huaisang? I thought you were friends.”

“It is not bullying when Nie Huaisang was the one who started it,” Wangji sniffs.

His Xiongzhang sighs again. “You realise that it doesn’t matter who started it, not when it comes to ending it.”

Wangji glowers. “I will not be the one who apologises first.”

“Someone must be first. Why can’t it be you?”

Wangji turns away mulishly. Why should it be him? Why can’t it be Nie Huaisang, when he was the one who had thrown their friendship in Wangji’s face, speaking ill of him behind his back. Why should Wangji be the one to ask for forgiveness when he is the one Nie Huaisang cast aside in favour of brighter, warmer, more sociable friends.

Lan Xichen reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, ducking his head to catch Wangji’s gaze. “So much pride, little brother. Be careful you do not cut yourself on it.” His smile gentles when Wangji lets out an annoyed exhale.

This year Wangji had finally caught up to his older brother’s height, and yet Lan Xichen still insists on treating him like a child. The two of them are only three years apart, but each one of those years feels like an intraversible chasm when it comes to Wangji and his older brother. Lan Xichen, Zewu-jun, the bright and shining figure destined to stand at the head of their sect. Wangji's wise and kind Xongzhang.

“You know, Wangji… It is not easy to become an adult. You will soon need to come to terms with the fact that your relationships with your friends cannot stay the same.”

Lan Xichen pours him another cup of tea, pushing it closer. He waits, and waits, as patient and unmoving as a mountain until Wangji relents and takes the cup.

“You will always be my precious younger brother, and I will love you no matter what. But do not forget that you are also Lan Wangji, the second young master of the Gusu Lan sect. Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian are your peers, but they are also current and future masters of the Nie sect. You will have to make peace with them eventually.”

Wangji sips his tea slowly and loudly, front teeth clicking against the porcelain.

Just because the Nie and Lan sects are closely allied through multiple generations of close friendships. Just because he is the second young master. Just because Wei Wuxian would be marrying Nie Huaisang one day, and Nie Huaisang is his brother’s heir.

“It seems like it will take time for you to grow into that name of yours.” Lan Xichen sighs again at Wangji’s stubbornness, but he reaches out to touch his hair fondly. “That’s alright. Just think about it, hm?”

Wangji huffs, submitting himself to his brother's petting.

“Mm.”

///

The cave is dark and damp. It is hard even to breathe, with the air so steeped in malevolent energy. The bite on his leg throbs in time with his heartbeat and Wangji’s wounds seem to catch up with him all at once.

“Ah! Easy, Lan Zhan!”

Wei Wuxian eases him onto the ground carefully in front of the fire he’d built from bare scraps of wood littering the floor of the cavern. The slight warmth emanating from the flame makes Wangji realise how cold he is in his sodden clothes. He has no spares. Wen Chao had not let them take any qiankun pouches in this foolhardy quest.

“Don’t worry! The creature is too big to get to us here. We have to treat your leg.”

Wei Wuxian bends down in front of him, reaching for something in his robes.

“Now don’t tell my betrothed that I’ve been feeling up your leg in the dark, Hanguang-jun,” he says, winking as he pulls out pinchfulls of medicinal herbs to dab onto the worst of Wangji’s wounds. “I don’t think he’d like that very much.”

“Shameless!”

Wei Wuxian, as flippant as ever, ignores him.

“I have to thank that pretty girl Mianmian for the herbs. She really saved us with this gift. I wonder... If I thank her sincerely after this, will she give me another? Or maybe something else?”

Wangji scowls. “How dare you.” Has Wei Wuxian forgotten that he is already promised? “Flirting without intentions is despicable.”

“What?” Wei Wuxian tilts his head. “You don’t think she’s pretty? Or is it because…” He points at Wangji. “Ah! Do you like Mianmian? How cute, Lan Zhan! You’re jealous!”

“You–”

Wangji gets no further than that because his mouth fills with blood.

“There we go,” Wei Wuxian pats his back. “Get all the bad stuff out. Isn’t that much better? Don’t worry, don’t worry. My shidi should already be on his way to get reinforcements. We’ll be out of here and tucked into bed at home in no time at all!”

Home.

Wangji wants to go home. But he’s not sure how much of it is left standing anymore. His last view of Cloud Recesses had been of so many of the buildings alight in flames. His father is dying, his older brother missing. No word on how his uncle is faring.

And Nie Huaisang… Nie Huaisang is…

Before he knows it, the heat in Wangji’s eyes overflows into tears, spilling down his cheeks.

“Um… Lan Zhan?”

“Shut up.”

Wei Wuxian. Out of everyone he could be stuck in mortal danger with, it is Wei Wuxian.

The man who flirts with girls behind his betrothed’s back, when said betrothed was missing in enemy territory. The man who keeps poking and prodding at Wangji as if he were a puzzle box, never mind Wangji’s repeated protests.

The man whose touch on Wangji’s skin had set it alight with sensation, so much that he feels a shiver run up his spine from where those hands stroke over his leg. Who had been so brave in defending them all against Wen Chao and his mistress.

“Wei Ying,” Wangji says, quiet through his teeth. “You really are a loathsome person.”

“Oh…”

His tears continue to spill hot over his face. Wangji goes to wipe away the moisture with the back of his sleeve.

“Ah… don’t– don’t use that, Lan Zhan, it’s dirty.”

Wei Wuxian strips quickly and offers him his silk zongyi.

“Here, use this. I know it’s the inner layer, but it’s clean and soft. I promise I’m not trying to annoy you. I’ll keep the outer layer. You must be cold too.”

Wangji sniffles and takes the robe.

“...Thank you."

“No problem.”

Wei Wuxian fidgets in his spot for long moments as Wangji does his best to clean his face. Despite himself, Wangji can’t seem to be able to stop watching him.

This is the most unsure Wangji has ever seen him, nervous and twitchy, refusing to look Wangji in the eye. And all it took was a few tears? How will he survive married life with Nie Huaisang, who cries to get what he wants?

Not that it’s any of Wangji’s business. Not anymore. They’ve all grown up, adults finally, and it all feels too soon. Wangji wonders if he is the only one begging for time to stop, to wait until he is ready.

Would he ever be ready? For loss? It doesn’t seem to be a thing that anyone could prepare for. But what right does he have to drag his heels when less powerful cultivators are already in the thick of it? What would his clan have raised him for if he was unwilling to rise to the call.

He just– he just thought that he had more time before he would have to face the prospect of losing his Xiongzhang, losing Nie Huaisang.

And not just to sect duties, or to handsome, charming, arrogant Wei Wuxian, but to war. Wangji could not even do anything in the face of those who sought to humiliate him and make a mockery of his family’s teachings. Everything had seemed so hopeless. The guards were not even bothering with the bare minimum of courtesy. Wangji had felt so small at the foot of Qishan mountain.

That was until Wei Wuxian stood with his back to him and recited the Lan precepts. It had been Wei Wuxian, foolishly brave but principled at his core, who had stood up in the face of tyranny and forced them to look at what they tried to burn to the ground.

And now? Wangji does not know what to do with that. It is so confusing to have gratitude mixed into all of the feelings he has about Wei Wuxian, mingling with the resentment and – he recognises it now –  jealousy, together with the respect and admiration he had tried so hard to bury.

It is all he can do to watch him from across the cavern, campfire between them.

“I’m sorry,” says Wei Wuxian, breaking the silence. “I’m– I’m just restless. We’re trapped in here, while out there…”

Wangji nods. “The others.”

But Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “Jiang Cheng and the others will be fine. It’s Huaisang I’m worried about,” he says, drawing his knees up to his chest. “I asked around before we got into the cave – no one has seen him since the evening meal two days ago, after that guard was picking on him.”

The shadows cast by the flickering flame dance over Wei Wuxian’s face, full of anxiety. Wangji realises now that he had been carefully hiding it underneath his usual bright smile the entire day, recognising the look from the glimpses that would peek out when Wei Wuxian thought himself unobserved.

“Nie Huaisang is a valuable hostage,” says Wangji. “They will not hurt him.”

“With how brazen they are getting, I’m not sure the Wen will care.”

The Wen’s hostilities have for years only been held back by Nie Mingjue’s ferocious resistance. Truthfully, Wangji is worried too. The fact that they even dared to demand their presence here, and that none of their elders could do anything to stop it, means that Nie Huaisang could be in even more danger than they are.

Nie Huaisang had just disappeared from the camp, with no one able to account for his disappearance, and none of the Wen had made a single comment about it.  

“You know, don’t you, Lan Zhan? That Nie Huaisang and I are engaged to be married?”

Wangji fights to keep his face still. “Mm.”

Wei Wuxian smiles weakly. “I was so scared, you know? Madam Yu had arranged it all. I knew that he was the Nie sect heir, but that was it. And I know my place. Uncle Jiang has been so kind to me, but I’m still only the son of his old retainer. Just a step up from a servant.”

All of those things are true, even things that Wangji himself had thought about and pointed out to Nie Huaisang. But coming from Wei Wuxian’s own mouth… Wangji feels like he needs to refute them somehow.

“I was so lucky,” says Wei Wuxian, hugging his knees closer. “Nie Huaisang… he is so clever and quick. I could spend days just sitting by him, listening to him talk, watching him paint. And every day he only gets more and more beautiful. Without the contract between our families I wouldn’t have had the slightest chance to win him over.

“And I guess I still have to win him over, even if we are already betrothed, but Huaisang is so kind too. He’s so gentle with me, he lets me make a fool of myself to get his attention. I keep thinking that it is all a dream.”

He lifts his gaze, meeting Wangji’s eyes.

“I promised myself that I would be a good spouse to him. What else is all of this cultivation for if I can’t use it to keep my husband safe?”

It feels like the first time they have truly looked at each other since that moonlit night on the roofs of Cloud Recesses, and Wangji finds this Wei Wuxian, sincere and vulnerable, almost too much to bear.

“To survive,” he says. “To see him again.”

Wei Wuxian looks at him for a long time, holding his gaze. The silence between them feels like the meeting of practice blades, swords moving fluidly in unison through practised forms.

“You’re right," says Wei Wuxian. “We have to survive.”

Wangji watches as resolve begins to solidify in those clear eyes, suddenly captivated by the determination on Wei Wuxian's face as he wipes it clean with a sleeve. In that moment he understands why Nie Huaisang had clung onto Wei Wuxian's sleeve throughout the guest lectures, shadowing his every step. In that moment, Wangji would follow Wei Wuxian anywhere.

"We have to kill the Xuanwu of slaughter."

///

Huaisang had known that escaping the Wen camp on his own had been a bad idea. But the Nie disciples that had infiltrated into the Wen army ranks had disagreed vehemently.

“But my friends–”

“Young master, your older brother will strike a great blow against Wen Ruohan with this planned ambush. You are in the most danger here!”

He had been reluctant to leave, but the Nie spy that had pulled him out of dinner had risked his cover to get Huaisang to safety. For him to return to his post as a guard to the hostages would endanger his life.

So he had snuck his way out of Qishan in the dead of night, praying for the moon to watch over the people he left behind.

He knew most of them would be safe enough there while he worked on getting them out. The Nie disciples left behind would be the most vulnerable but he was assured that they would be looked after.

But while the Yunmeng Jiang had not yet announced their betrothal, most of the sects already knew that Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian were promised. And with Nie Huaisang missing, who knows what forms of reprisal will fall onto Wei Wuxian’s head instead when Nie Mingjue’s actions anger the Wen?

And there was Lan Wangji to think about too!

Huaisang had only just stopped himself from reaching out to him when he’d walked in, back as straight as an iron rod. Lan Wangji had looked so alone, frailer than Huaisang had ever seen him, even with his shoulders held proudly and chin high. They were still fighting, both too stubborn to submit to a truce even years after the original incident, but Huaisang has never ever truly wished him ill. He doesn’t even remember what their feud had been about – it all seems so silly now, so close as they are to breaking out into true war.

And sure enough, only two days after Huaisang arrives back at the Unclean Realm, Jiang Cheng comes battering down the gates with Jin Zixuan, begging for help to extract Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian out of the trouble they’d gotten stuck into.

A Xuanwu of Slaughter?!  

Even accounting for the time Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan shaved off by travelling through the night, Huaisang had only been gone a few days! How could they get into such a big mess in such a short span of time!

The thought of it has Huaisang sick with worry, even as he helps his Da-ge rally the disciples to come to their aid. Wei Wuxian is too eager to jump into battle, almost uncaring about the damage he’ll take at the cost of winning a fight. And Lan Wangji, as stoic and sensible as he seems, has always been too easily drawn into Wei Wuxian’s current. He can’t trust those reckless fools to keep themselves safe by retreating to an out of the way corner of the cavern Jiang Cheng described instead of trying to take an ancient, resentment filled monster on in a fight.

“Let’s hurry, Da-ge!”

The situation is dire enough that it would be too much to wait until dawn the next day. They travel to the borders of Wen territory through sunset and deep into the night, tracing Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan’s steps backwards. The two exhausted cultivators eat and drink on the way, hitching a ride with a few Nie disciples on their sabres.

Lady Guanyin have mercy, neither Wei Wuxian nor Lan Wangji would even have their swords.

They push into the vicinity of the caves past midnight, with the moon high above them, reconvening with the rest of the disciples sent to the camps. It is a miracle that Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan had made the journey in only two days while on foot. They must have ran most of the way.

“The exit we took is blocked,” says a Jiang disciple, not even bothering to greet them. “We checked, we couldn’t break through the rock. We’re finding another way in, but it’s slow going.”

Ever dependable, Nie Mingjue takes charge of the situation immediately. “Where is the alternate entrance?”

“This way, Nie-zongzhu.”

With Nie sabres and fresh cultivators at hand, they make short work of it, clearing out an opening big enough for a person to stand and walk through if they duck a little. Huaisang does his best to be of use but all he could do is linger by the side, wringing his hands. His brother casts a glance over the scene and must recognise the look on his face because he beckons him over.

“Huaisang, get some basic medical set up started while I go in to get those boys. The hostages look like they have some injuries too, so make sure they’re seen to.”

“I– I will.” Huaisang nods, drawing up his shoulders.

The next hours are full of movement. With help from first the other Nie cultivators and then the rest, he gets several tents set up with travel cots and pallets to get the most injured off the floor. There are three fires already burning so he adds another three and sets up two to boil large pots of soup. The other four are preparation stations for basic medicine and supplies, because while most are only lightly injured, they all still have a long journey back to their home sects. This close to the border even small fires are a risk, but Huaisang makes sure that the setup won’t take long to repack if they need to leave quickly, and he makes sure everyone is as ready as they can be to go as soon as his Da-ge returns.

Huaisang does his best to lose himself in the work, but he can’t stop thinking about the two trapped in the cave, even as his hands stay busy rolling bandages and debriding wounds.

War had always been close to him as the young master of the Nie sect. He has watched all three of his parents be buried. But he had not thought that he would have to think about death touching his peers so soon.

Lan Wangji in particular, bright, luminous, and strong. The idea that he could ever be– be gone…

And Wei Wuxian. The boy who taught him to swim so patiently. The man who promised to court him properly, even though they were already betrothed.

Huaisang had been apprehensive at first when his brother had told him about the agreement, even if he had agreed in the end. He had told everyone that he was happy with the contract, but the truth is that he had been afraid. He had been scared that he could not love a man given to him through a contract, that his future life would be at least partially defined by only the fulfilment of duty, rather than passion and affection. Despite his assurances to Wangji, Huaisang had feared entering into a marriage with someone who wouldn’t love him, who would only see their union as a convenience.

But it had been so easy to fall in love with Wei Wuxian. All it had truly taken was a smile. Not the wide, bright one Wei Wuxian wears often, but the one he wore when asking Huaisang whether he could hold his hand. Small, soft, and shy, things so contrary to the loud and brash Wei Wuxian that it had stopped Huaisang in his tracks.

The tiny part of him that had still been a little in love with his best friend had laughed. Was he truly so weak to a handsome face? It had also been a small Lan Zhan’s even smaller smile that had held his heart captive for so long as a child, before he realised the reality of his standing compared to his friend’s. Short, talentless, plain Nie Huaisang could never stand next to someone who shines with so much promise. Who would cast such pearls away like that?

And to think that Wei Wuxian, shining prodigy of the Jianghu, would call the space beside Nie Huaisang home one day. The fact that he is kind, playful, and funny is almost more than Huaisang could have hoped for. The prospect of such a man one day loving him…

Huaisang knows that he is already lucky enough that his future spouse is willing to be his friend. As much as he had made fun of Lan Wangji for his lack of friends, Huaisang himself has precious few. He is not going to push his luck by wishing for more than a future of walking hand in hand with Wei Wuxian.

The possibility of even that being torn away from him now is-

“They’re here! They’re out!” comes a yell from the new cave entrance. “Get a tent ready!”

The little camp descends into a flurry of movement. Huaisang’s head whips up, arching up onto his toes to see over the heads. Spotting a familiar figure in white, he runs, weaving through the gathered people.

“Make way, please, let me through!”

The disciples he had assigned as medics for the party push most of the people away, and by the time Huaisang gets to the front of the crowd, both Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are out of sight in one of the tents. He scans the area and sees his brother exiting the one on the leftmost side.

“Da-ge!” He catches him by the arm.

Nie Mingjue turns and clasps his wrist. “Huaisang. They’re alright. Tired and wounded, but alive.”

Huaisang’s shoulders sag in relief. “Thank goodness. And you?”

Nie Mingjue had just returned from his ambush on the Wen ranks when Huaisang had rallied everyone available to come to Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian's aid. And then he had gone straight from his horse to his sabre, diving in to fight a creature out of legend as soon as he arrived.

But his older brother just shakes his head.

“Only bruised ribs. I’ll go see Zonghui to get it wrapped. Where is he?”

Huaisang gestures over his shoulder. “By that big tree, last time I saw. He’s coordinating the camp take-down.”

“Good. You did well,” his brother praises with a clap on his shoulder.

“You’re the one who took down a Xuanwu.”

“Those boys had it mostly down already,” Nie Mingjue shrugs. “They're strong, your boys. Go see them. I’ll take over from here.”

Huaisang nods numbly. There is a slight buzzing in his ears as his brother leaves, his heart still beating quickly from the stress and worry. He moves almost woodenly to the tent, lifting up a flap.

Someone had helpfully lit a few candles inside, and the flickering light reveals Wei Wuxian seemingly asleep on one cot with Lan Wangji sitting up right beside him. But just as Huaisang takes one step inside, he sees Lan Wangji raise his head at his entrance and hesitates.

It has been years since they’d talked, and though he can’t recall what it was they had said the last time, he remembers being so angry and Lan Wangji looking at him with disdain. Would Lan Wangji want to see him after such a traumatic event? When Huaisang isn’t sure if they’re even friends anymore?

But then Wangji raises an arm.

“Huaisang.”

Three steps, and then Huaisang is falling into Lan Wangji’s arms, childish feud entirely forgotten. He sinks into the embrace, burying his face into those white robes.

“Wangji… Gods, Wangji.”

Lan Wangji hugs him tight, arms trembling slightly. It is uncharacteristic of him, but perhaps the ordeal in the cave had been even more traumatic than Huaisang had imagined.

“It’s alright,” he says softly through his tears. Wangji is so skinny. He needs to eat. “You’re safe now.”

Hands fist in the back of his robes. “Huaisang.”

He needs to find someone to bring over a bowl of that soup. Wangji is practically shivering in his arms, he needs something warm in him as soon as possible.

“... Huaisang?”

He whips around and sees Wei Wuxian blinking blearily up at him. In seconds Huaisang is on his knees, clutching his betrothed’s hands.

“Wei Wuxian, you–!” He gasps. “I was so worried.”

Wei Wuxian laughs weakly. “I’m sorry… Wen Chao is a bastard.” His brows furrow a little, appearing to scan Huaisang up and down with his eyes. “You’re alright too?”

This fool. Huaisang weeps. “I’m fine,” he says, pressing kisses all over his knuckles. “You jerk. How are you supposed to marry me if you’re dead.”

He bows his head, overcome with relief. His best friend, his husband, both alive and safe within his sights. He feels Wangji’s arm wrap around his shoulders as he sobs and releases Wei Wuxian with one hand to clasp Wangji’s wrist.

They both need so much soup. Huaisang will get them all that's left in the camp, every drop.

After this, his brother is bound to make a trip to both Lotus Pier and Cloud Recesses. To escort both Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji home, but certainly also to gear up for the next act in their war against the Wen. Whatever happened leading up to the two of them being trapped in that cave, it is likely that Wen Ruohan would use it as a pretence to escalate hostilities. And with so many of his precious people implicated, it seems as if Huaisang must brace himself to watch all of the people he loves march into battle again.

No doubt his brother will try to leave him behind, but this time Huaisang will insist on coming along. He can't just sit idly by, not as he is now, with Wei Wuxian’s hand in his and Lan Wangji wrapped around him.

He hears his brother's voice through the fabric of the tent, calling out orders to cultivators from all the sects assembled. Huaisang hears them obey him, his strong, powerful, indomitable general. His Da-ge.

Huaisang has grown up at his knee, watched him lead their sect into open war. It is only at this moment when he realises finally what it meant when his Da-ge had said that Huaisang could still be a Nie cultivator as he is, even without a saber at his side.

Because Huaisang knows that for his brother, for the two men in his arms, he would walk through fire. He would burn the entirety of the Sun palace to the ground himself, if that is what he has to do to keep their love at his side. 

Wen Ruohan had made a mistake when he made an enemy of the Nie clan. And Huaisang will stand right beside his brother and make him regret it.

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