Chapters: 5/6
Fandom: 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Nie Huaisang/Wen Ruohan, Meng Yao | Jin Guangyao/Nie Huaisang, Jin Zixuan & Meng Yao | Jin Guangyao, background Jiāng Yànlí/Jīn Zǐxuān - Relationship
Characters: Nie Huaisang, Wen Ruohan, Other(s), Nie Mingjue, Meng Yao | Jin Guangyao, Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Jin Zixuan, Cameo - Mo Xuanyu, Cameo - Jiang Yanli, Cameo - Mo Xuanyu's Mother
Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Minor Character Death, Gaslighting, Extremely Dubious Consent, Creepy, Yandere, Captivity, Bird Allusions, Unhealthy Relationships, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Drama, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Trauma Recovery, Pre-Sunshot Campaign (Modao Zushi), Post-Sunshot Campaign (Modao Zushi)
Series: Part 3 of The Keeping of Birds
Summary:
Side Stories and Sequel to A Bird in the Hand and And One in the Cage, with other perspectives on Nie Huaisang's captivity and everyone's slow recovery in the aftermath of the war.
What happens when an affection-starved ace is offered an opportunity to do some sex magic with a trusted friend? Inquiring minds (ours) wanted to know, so we wrote it
—//—
As a rule, Jiang Cheng is not a fan of cultivation conferences. As a sect leader he understands the need for them from a political perspective, appreciates that they genuinely are the most efficient way to solve jianghu-wide problems, but as a person…
Somehow they manage to be both mind-numbingly boring and brain-fryingly stressful. It shouldn’t be possible, as a combination, and yet.
Being the host makes them marginally easier to endure; he at least gets to sleep in his own bed, eat his own food, and regardless of how transparent the excuse he invents to get out of socialising is, as the host, his guests are more or less forced to accept it. It almost makes up for how obnoxiously irritating it is to have so many people he doesn’t particularly like in his own space.
Almost.
Thankfully, there hadn’t been too much on the agenda for this conference, so it had only lasted a few days. He’d made it through greeting ceremonies, banquets, toasts, hours of discussions and debates and trade arrangements, and, worst of all, hours of networking and surface-level socialising. Now the official goodbyes have been given, Jiang Cheng stands on the dock and watches as the other sects leave either via boat, or by soaring up into the sky on their swords; on the eastern dock, a little way around the lake, he can see Jin Zixuan standing with Jin Guangyao, the rest of the Jin retinue clustered at an appropriate distance but clearly impatient to leave. Most people would assume that they were witnessing a Sect Leader reassuring his Second, but Jiang Cheng knows the two men and suspects that it is the opposite, and it is Jin Guangyao doing the reassuring.
The one silver lining to this particular conference - besides the fact that everyone is finally packing up to leave - is, paradoxically, that not everyone is packing up to leave. It’s early summer, Yunmeng is warm without being stiflingly hot, the lotuses are in full bloom, and he’s going to be spending an entire week, just with his family.
“Hey! Jiang-xiong!”
Jiang Cheng turns at the familiar voice, brow creasing as he sees Nie Huaisang fluttering down the dock towards him, “Huaisang? You’ve missed your retinue, your da-ge just left five-”
Nie Huiasang grins broadly, panting a little as he reaches the end of the dock but still bouncing on the balls of his feet, “I’m staying for a couple more days!”
“Since when?”
“Since Yanli-jie invited me!”
Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, and growls, “Since you invited yourself you mean. Jie-jie would have asked me first.”
Nie Huaisang pouts. Jiang Cheng has a five year old nephew, and as such is utterly unaffected.
“I am deeply offended, Jiang-xiong, that you think I would be so impolite. I simply mentioned that I’ve never experienced a Yunmeng summer before, with all the heat and the lakes, and then Wei-xiong very rudely told everyone how I fell in the river back in Gusu during the lectures and how bad I was at swimming, and then Yanli-jie said-”
“Yes, yes, alright, fine,” Jiang Cheng sighs. “You can stay. How are you getting home, though? Presumably you’re not flying all the way back?”
“Gods, no. I’ll catch the boat to Lanling with Yanli-jie and Jin-xiong and the kids, and then borrow a carriage to get up to Qinghe.”
Jiang Cheng sighs. There’s a deep ache in his chest, hooked up under his ribs and squeezing around his heart, that he knows without examining too hard is the familiar feeling of being alone; ridiculous to feel it when surrounded by people, he knows, but… this was supposed to be a family visit, it was supposed to be a week with his sister and brother in their family home, and then Yanli had wanted the kids to be there, which was fair, and wanted Zixuan to be there too which was… fine, and then Wei Wuxian had whined that if the Peacock got to be there, could his beloved Lan Zhan stick around too? And Jiang Cheng had wanted to tell him exactly where his beloved Lan Zhan could bloody well stick it, but that wasn’t really fair, and Wei Wuxian is such a fucking brat nowadays without Lan Wangji glued to his hip that Jiang Cheng had caved. So their family time together that was supposed to be just them and maybe the kids, now included plus-ones, and also, inexplicably, Nie Huaisang.
(Of course jie-jie invited Huaisang to join in, the part of his brain that seems to enjoy hurting himself hisses, dripping vitriol like slow poison into his heart, this never meant the same to her as it did to you. It doesn’t mean as much to her as it does to you. She has her husband and her babies now, she has everything she needs, and she doesn’t need you anymore, does she?)
Jiang Cheng swallows, smothering the pain until he can give the cranky sort of huff that Nie Huaisang is expecting, scowling and rolling his eyes again as Nie Huaisang snakes his hand through the crook of Jiang Cheng’s folded arms and jostles him playfully.
“Oh come on Jiang-xiong, don’t be like that! It’ll be me and you and Wei-xiong all hanging out together - we can drink and goof around together just like old times!”
That makes him crack a smile, without even really realising he’s doing it. He kind of doubts that they’ll get to spend time together without the looming icy spectre of Huanguang-jun there, but the prospect of it - the idea of being part of a matching set, of belonging without anyone taking precedence over him, of getting prioritised as someone’s friend - loosens the horrible tightness in his chest just a little.
–//–
The week passes quickly, in a warm, sunny haze. For the most part Jiang Cheng actually has… a pretty good time. He loves his boisterous nephew and bright-eyed niece, and loves being their uncle. He tries to imagine who he is through their eyes, and tries to shape himself into the kind of person he would have wanted at his side as a child. He doesn’t know how well he succeeds, but at the very least, they know that he loves them, and that’s… a pretty decent start. As the weather is good, they spend a lot of their time in and around the lakes, teaching A-Ling to float and swim, letting both kids explore the flora and fauna (so alien to them compared to what they’ve seen in Lanling, but part of a heritage that Jiang Yanli is determined that they get to experience), and, on days where Jiang Cheng doesn’t have much sect business to attend to, just playing around and enjoying the cool lakes in each other’s company.
Despite his claims that he wants to improve his swimming ability, Nie Huaisang spends most of his time with only his feet hanging in the water, sharing a covered pavilion with Jiang Yanli, fanning himself lazily, and occasionally helping to entertain little A-Lu. Initially, Lan Wangji had followed his husband gamely into the water, but after a day or two had elected to stay in the shade with the others; Jiang Cheng isn’t sure if it was because he didn’t like the sun, or because he felt uncomfortable stripped down to his inner layers in company, but either way he was glad because the man had no interest in casual playful roughhousing with anyone other than Wei Wuxian, and when his husband was the only one he really interacted with, it made things kind of weird. He seemed a lot happier sat in the quiet and dry, in his million and one layers, his guqin a gentle serenade to the buzzing activity around him.
In the ranking of fun brothers-in-law, Jin Zixuan actually does, to Jiang Cheng’s great shock, rather favourably (although perhaps considering his competition is Lan Wangji, that’s not such an impressive feat). Although he was the worst when they were teenagers, growing up seems to have mellowed his more annoying traits - growing up, as well as marrying the best woman in the whole world, being the father of two young children, and spending several years as the leader of a sect that constantly seems to be on the brink of collapsing under its own fetid, bloated weight - and he takes everyone’s pranks and ribbing with surprisingly good grace and only a little irritation. He sheds his expensive fancy robes and golden headpiece and happily jumps in with the rest of them, offering shoulder carries, letting himself be thoroughly splashed by lake water, and (most importantly in Jiang Cheng’s eyes) allowing his son to win every competition and race without complaint.
The days are, mostly, good fun. They spend almost all of them all together, and with both couples split between the water and the land, Jiang Cheng doesn’t feel too much like an outsider in his own home.
It’s after dinner that things start to get… less fun. The children, obviously, go to bed early. Jiang Yanli usually winds up going with them; her health has always been weak, ever since she herself was a child, and spending days out in the sunshine and fresh air, playing with A-Ling and A-Lu, and collecting ingredients to indulge her love for cooking whenever she pleases, seems to reliably tire her out. Lan Wangji, of course, keeps to Lan regulations even outside of Gusu and retires early himself. Jin Zixuan rarely sticks around for much longer than than Lan Wangji, which bothers no one particularly. For the first few nights, Wei Wuxian stays up late drinking with Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang, and things are good - like Nie Huaisang said, it feels like being back in their teens and goofing off at Cloud Recesses.
And then, one evening about half way through the week, Wei Wuxian gets up from the table at the same time as his husband, winking and citing a phrase that Jiang Cheng immediately decided to scrub from his brain for his own mental wellbeing, even as Jiang Yanli and Nie Huaisang had laughed (Jin Zixuan had cringed and wrinkled his nose, and what a world Jiang Cheng is living in if Jin Zixuan is the only other person he can relate to in the room). And then after that, he goes off to bed at the same time as Lan Wangji every evening, and Jin Zixuan tends to leave not long after, and then it’s just him and Nie Huaisang left.
Which… he doesn’t really mind itself. Nie Huaisang isn’t bad company, it’s just that…
This was supposed to be a family visit. He was supposed to be spending a week with his family, you know, the three siblings who vowed that they’d always be together. But neither of them seem to much care about that - or at least, neither of them care about it the way he does. They have their husbands, the children that they’re raising, their homes. They have new lives, and now he’s left behind. They’re complete without him, and he is back in Yunmeng in the sect he rebuilt for them, alone, feeling like he’s missing both his arms.
–//–
A-Lu presses a sloppy toddler kiss to his cheek. A-Ling has recently decided that he’s all grown up now, so he gives Jiang Cheng a quick, fierce hug, then stomps crankily over to the door. He has spent the last half hour whining to go to bed later, and has very nearly been sent to bed early for his trouble. Jin Zixuan rumples his hair and grins, and A-Ling scowls up at him, although his sleepy eyes and smothered yawns remove any real venom from it.
Jiang Yanli kisses Jiang Cheng on the forehead, then boops his nose with her knuckle, smile tired but wide and fond. Suddenly Jiang Cheng feels as old as A-Ling again, and yearns to curl up in her arms, but he’s not her baby brother any more, so he watches wistfully as she leaves with her perfect little golden family.
Wei Wuxian climbs to his feet with a theatrical yawn and an exaggerated wink at his husband that immediately sets Jiang Cheng on edge.
“Well, I think we’ll be heading to bed now too,” he says cheerfully, “as I said, everyday means-”
“Say one more word and I will break your legs,” Jiang Cheng snarls as Lan Wangji stands up so fast he seems to go from sitting to upright with no in-between state at all.
Wei Wuxian beams at him unrepentantly, but, at the very least, does not say a single word more, leaving the room with a jaunty wave, his husband walking so quickly ahead of him that he’s in danger of breaking the Lan rule about no running.
“Guess it’s just us again,” Jiang Cheng growls, crossing the room to look for a jar of wine in the cabinet against the wall. Down the hallway he sees a servant hesitating, peering through the open door, clearly wondering if she’s needed, and he waves her away and closes the door.
Nie Huaisang raises his eyebrows and accepts the cup of wine Jiang Cheng passes him. “Is that really so bad, Jiang-xiong?”
Jiang Cheng flops down into a seat with a groan. “Sorry, uh,” he clears his throat and offers Nie Huaisang a vaguely apologetic grimace, “I’m just… in a bad mood. Not your fault.”
“Well, maybe I can cheer you up,” Nie Huaisang grins, winking at him over the top of his fan, and Jiang Cheng can’t help but snort.
“Yeah, alright.”
This does not seem to be the response that Nie Huaisang was expecting, as his sly expression turns startled and his eyebrows lift again. He clears his throat, glancing away as he sips at his drink, which is… weird. Nie Huaisang has never been awkward around him before. He wasn’t sure Nie Huaisang knew how to be awkward.
“So, uh, are you expecting any… company, tonight?”
Jiang Cheng blinks. “Company? No?”
Nie Huaisang meets his eyes over the rim of his cup, and there’s something oddly intense in his gaze, “Would you like some?”
“I… already have some?” Jiang Cheng squints at him, “You’re here.”
Nie Huaisang pauses, then laughs, shaking his head. “Yes, I guess I am. I just wanted to check that you still wanted me here.”
What the fuck is going on? Jiang Cheng glances around the room, checking the windows, wondering if this is some sort of bizarre prank and Wei Wuxian is about to jump in to scare him any minute now.
“Yeah, of course I do. Why, did you want to leave?”
“No, no,” Nie Huaisang says quickly, “I’d quite like to stick around actually.”
Jiang Cheng snorts and downs the rest of his wine with a quick jerk of his wrist. “Ha, don’t think that hiding out here in Yunmeng will get you out of trouble with your da-ge. Have you pissed him off again or something?”
“What! No!” Nie Huaisang takes another sip of his wine, “Da-ge’s actually been way less angry lately. Things got pretty bad for a while, but he’s doing a lot better.”
“Doing better? Was he sick?” Jiang Cheng feels a bolt of horror shoot through him; it’s been years since the war, but he thinks he and the other young masters of his generation will see Nie Mingjue as their General for the rest of their lives. If the man walked into the room right now and demanded Jiang Cheng follow him into battle, he would pause only to put down his drink and pick up his sword. The idea of someone as legendary as Nie Mingjue (Chifeng-zun!) making it all the way to peace time and then dying of something as mundane as an illness is devastating. “He seemed fine at the conference!”
“Ah… yes and no.” Nie Huaisang flicks out his fan idly, “You know that the Nie are prone to qi deviation because of our sabers? Well, he did so much fighting in the war that his qi got really bad. Things were pretty touch and go.”
“Oh, and then he got poisoned at Jinlintai a few years ago, right? At A-Ling’s hundred day celebration?”
Nie Huaisang’s mouth flicks up at one corner, which is not a reaction that Jiang Cheng was expecting from this topic of conversation. “Yes, but that was, uh, unrelated. Sort of. Anyway! What matters is that he’s doing a lot better now! Really got that qi under control.”
“Glad to hear it,” Jiang Cheng mutters as he reaches for the wine jar. He gestures with it to Nie Huaisang, who proffers his cup for the refill.
“Yes, the experimental treatment he’s been trying has been working wonders.”
Jiang Cheng grins as he sets the jar down, raising his eyebrows at Nie Huaisang, “You must be feeling pretty pleased with yourself in all this, though.”
“Me?” Nie Huaisang blinks, “Why?”
“Well, you don’t use your saber, do you? So you don’t need to worry about any of this happening to you. Must be a relief, right?”
“Oh. Yes. Haha.” Nie Huaisang tilts his cup from side to side a few times, watching the wine with lips pursed, and then quickly carries on, “But, uh, we do still all have a sort of… hereditary tendency towards qi deviation. It might still happen. To me, I mean. One day.”
Jiang Cheng clears his throat. Gods, what a fucking ass he’s managing to be today. “Ah. I’m sorry.”
They sit in deeply uncomfortable silence for several moments. Jiang Cheng squirms. He sips at his drink just for something to do. Things are never weird between him and Nie Huaisang, that’s something he’s always really deeply valued about their friendship; no matter what else is happening around them, things are always easy with Nie Huaisang. What the hell is going on?
“So,” Nie Huaisang says brightly, “I heard you were blacklisted by the matchma-”
“Huaisang, is there something you want to say?” Jiang Cheng snaps, “You’re being weird, and it’s getting annoying. Have you broken something expensive?” When Nie Huaisang’s brow furrows and his eyes dart away shiftily, another potential cause hits Jiang Cheng and he groans, “Oh god, have you slept with one of my disciples? Look, so long they’re an adult and they’re into it, you have my blessing, I don’t care. You don’t have to ask my permission or anything.”
To his surprise, Nie Huaisang bursts out laughing. He barely sets his cup down on the table in time before he’s rocking back on his cushion, feet kicking a little under his robes, only just catching himself with one hand behind him, the fan in it clacking against the wooden floor as the other covers his mouth, turning his smothered laughter into an unflattering snort. It immediately stokes the irritation inside of Jiang Cheng, but it is, at least, better than the awkwardness. He drums his fingers on the table until Nie Huaisang sits back up, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Oh gods, I’ve fucked this up, haven’t I? Jiang-xiong, I haven’t slept with any of your disciples.” Nie Huaisang flips out his fan and grins at Jiang Cheng over the top of it. His teeth glint in the light of the lantern on the table, and something about the sight makes Jiang Cheng’s mouth go dry in a way he can’t quite explain.
“I was trying to figure out how to ask if I could sleep with you.”
“Me?” Jiang Cheng asks, and his voice comes out embarrassingly high-pitched. He clears his throat then tries again. “You want to sleep with me?”
Nie Huaisang shrugs, but there’s still a strange intensity in his eyes, “Well, why not? Do you want to sleep with me?”
Jiang Cheng looks around the room frantically; this must be a prank, right? Why on earth would Nie Huaisang ask him this sort of thing, of all people?
“I… I don’t…”
Nie Huaisang’s eyes soften immediately, and he reaches out to pat Jiang Cheng’s hand. “Jiang-xiong, it’s okay, you can say no and I won’t be offended at all - I’ll never bring it up again, I promise, and we can pretend it never happened. I just thought it could be fun, that’s all.”
Jiang Cheng swallows. “Fun?”
“You see, the experimental treatment that my da-ge has been trying… well, it’s dual cultivation. The sex kind.”
Heat races to Jiang Cheng’s face and horror makes his stomach drop. “Huaisang!” He hisses, snatching his hand away, “That’s- that’s your brother! That’s Chifeng-zun! Why are you telling me this? He’d kill me if he knew I knew, and he’d kill you for telling me!”
Nie Huaisang makes a derisive noise and rolls his eyes, “He won’t kill anyone, and I’m only telling you because I know you’re not a gossip. You’re not going to tell anyone.”
It’s true, but it prickles Jiang Cheng’s sense of fairness. He still feels the need to protest, though when he opens his mouth, Nie Huaisang gets there first.
“All the books say that dual cultivation is meant to be really good, and I figured that since you’re a really powerful cultivator, and I’ve got that hereditary qi thing, maybe… we could give it a try?”
Jiang Cheng chews his bottom lip, trying to push down his kneejerk panic at being propositioned, trying to reason the situation out. “You want to try dual cultivating with me… because you’re getting sick? In your qi?”
“Oh, no, no, I’m fine,” Nie Huaisang grins sheepishly, “I, uh, may have over-egged that bit a little. Like you said, I barely use my saber, any potential qi deviation is a long way off. This would be just for fun.” He quickly adds, “And like I said, only if you want to.”
Dual cultivation. Sexual dual cultivation. Jiang Cheng barely knows anything about it, besides the fact that it cropped up quite a bit in the kind of porn that Nie Huaisang passed around at the Cloud Recesses lectures. Everyone in the porn seemed to have an exceptionally good time doing it… though Jiang Cheng isn’t really certain exactly how reliable spring books are.
His immediate instinctive answer is no. Nie Huaisang has promised that if he doesn’t want this, he will never bring it up again. Their friendship will not suffer. And Jiang Cheng does believe him. It would be so easy to turn this down and move on and never think about it again.
But… something stops him. A nagging anxious feeling in his gut that says he’s being… weird about this, because it’s weird to say no to sex, isn’t it? Everyone seems to want it, everyone talks about it like it’s the best thing in the world, so it would be weird to turn down the offer of it, for fun, no strings attached, wouldn’t it? If everyone’s supposed to want it? Wei Wuxian has been half obsessed with sex since he was a teenager, and he’s only gotten worse since he’s started having it. And as much as he hates to think about it, he can do the maths, and he knows that Jin Ling was far too fat a baby to be premature, which means (ugh ugh ugh) that even his sister must have… an enthusiasm for it.
Jiang Cheng has never understood the obsession with sex. He’s never craved it in the way other people seem to, and for the longest time he was convinced that it was just Wei Wuxian being over-dramatic and no one really felt such bizarre urges to such an extreme extent - his shi-xiong was weird about so many other things, after all - but as he’d grown up he’d discovered, to his confusion that he, Jiang Cheng, was actually the odd one out.
Nie Huaisang’s eyebrows are lowering and his mouth is pinching and it seems Jiang Cheng has already missed the window to not come across like an absolute fucking weirdo, shit.
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Nie Huaisang says kindly. “Do you want some time to think about it?”
Jiang Cheng swallows. “Yes, I… yes, that would be good. Thanks.”
Stalling is good. It will buy him time to come up with a good excuse that won’t make him sound like a freak.
It’s not until long after Nie Huaisang has left, until Jiang Cheng is leaning on the railings of the pavilion outside of his bedroom, gazing out across the still, peaceful lakes, that it occurs to him that the easiest way to get out of this whole thing without sounding weird would have been to just tell Nie Huaisang that he doesn’t like guys. How the hell did that not occur to him? But he’s sort of missed the boat for that one because someone who doesn’t like guys would have said that right away, as soon as Nie Huaisang propositioned him. They wouldn’t need to think about it, they’d just know they weren’t interested.
Does… does that mean that he does like guys?
No, he knows what being a cutsleeve looks like; it looks like Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji and all that’s implied by everyday means everyday; it looks like Nie Huaisang’s treasured porn collection. He doesn’t like guys like that.
He… sort of assumed that he didn’t like anyone like that. Is that a way people can be?
Jiang Cheng takes a hearty swig from the jar of wine and glares out at the lotus like the answers to his tangled up questions are hidden amongst the flowers.
–//–
He lets the thoughts percolate in the back of his mind as he catches up on paperwork the next morning.
He could still say no to Nie Huaisang. The idea of admitting to the fact that most days he feels like sexual desire is a big joke the rest of the world is playing on him makes him want to throw himself in the lake, but it is an option. Nie Huaisang has known him for several years now, he probably already thinks he’s weird and he still likes him despite that. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.
The other option is, of course, to go through with it. To say yes to sex.
The concept isn’t… repellent. To be honest, if he stops thinking of it as sex and breaks it down into its constituent parts, it sounds… fine.
The prospect of nakedness doesn’t bother him; he’s been in the lakes in just his trousers for most of the week, and Nie Huaisang still propositioned him, so clearly there’s no issue with his scars, or his body in general. And as for under the trousers - well, a dick is a dick is a dick, as far as he’s concerned. That’s no big deal.
The physical stuff is somewhat more nerve wracking, but again, when he breaks it down, none of it is too terrible. He’s jerked off before, so he knows that part of it will feel good. The little he knows about dual cultivation from Nie Huaisang’s porn indicated that the person with the higher cultivation should be passing qi to their weaker partner, which would mean-
In the middle of reviewing a trade agreement with Yunmeng’s biggest fabric dyeing workshop for this year’s lotus harvest, Jiang Cheng has to take a moment to set down his brush before he snaps it in his hand, and just breathe, and let the burning in his cheeks dissipate.
How stupid and immature. If he’s thinking about doing it, he should be able to use real words to describe it!
So. If he goes through with this and accepts Nie Huaisang’s proposition, Jiang Cheng will be fucking him in the ass, in order to create some sort of qi loop - he doesn’t know the specifics of the technique, but given that Nie Huaisang suggested it, Jiang Cheng assumes he does. The cultivation part of it is something he is a little curious about, if he’s honest, and it actually increases the appeal of the sex itself. According to the stories, although dual cultivation is mostly about the weaker partner becoming stronger through the joining, it does help boost the cores of both partners. So long as he thinks about the dual cultivation as a cultivation exercise, rather than something that has to be… well, sexy, it actually feels manageable. Maybe even interesting.
And besides, Nie Huaisang will be leaving the day afterwards. If the sex is absolutely utterly terrible, then they can go their separate ways, and they’ll have a good few months until the next time they meet to privately erase every moment of the night from their memories, and pretend it never happened.
Jiang Cheng finishes up his paperwork feeling… optimistic. He hands everything over to his second in command (a very capable outer Yu cousin who had proved her worth during the war when Wei Wuxian had been unable to step up as Vice General) and then heads out to meet his guests.
Their plan for the afternoon is to go out on the lake in boats, to fish and pick lotus seeds, so that Jiang Yanli can make them soup for the last night of their trip. They split into two groups to fit in the long narrow boats; Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli naturally go together, with their children, which leaves Jiang Cheng to take the boat with Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, and Nie Huaisang.
It’s fine. It’s not a problem.
It’s just that once again, he’s got that alone-in-a-crowded-room feeling.
Once again, this was something he was meant to do with his siblings - something they did every year as children and then teenagers that he’d wanted to recreate as adults, so they could all remember the people they lost and remind themselves of how lucky they are to be together again now. Having everyone else there isn’t a problem, it’s just…
He feels the hot sun beating down his back as he looks around; A-Ling is half in the water as he leans out of the boat to shovel lotus seeds into his basket, sped up in his harvest by his five year old competitive spirit; Jiang Yanli is laughing so hard she’s almost tipping the boat as Jin Zixuan tries to wrestle a handful of unpeeled seeds out of the fat toddler fist A-Lu has shoved in her mouth; Wei Wuxian has made a hat out of a large lotus leaf and is lounging with his feet in the water supposedly luring in fish whilst Lan Wangji meticulously examines and peels lotus seeds one by one for him to eat; Nie Huaisang is almost as meticulously examining and collecting lotus flowers to use in some creative project or other he wants to begin when he returns to Qinghe, and occasionally squawking when Wei Wuxian kicks water at him.
It’s not bad. It is, by all accounts, a beautiful and wonderful day spent with his family and friends. He should enjoy the sun and the water and the quality time.
(So why is there a pit yawning in the middle of his chest that, somehow, makes him feel so heavy he could sink right down to the bottom of the lake?)
Lan Wangji is first out of the boats and onto the dock, lowering a hand to help his husband up, and then obligingly lifting out both children. Wei Wuxian scoops up A-Lu onto his shoulders, then challenges A-Ling to a race back to the kitchens; A-Ling always accepts a challenge if he thinks he has a chance to win, and immediately takes off at a run, Wei Wuxian laughing as he follows. With both kids distracted, Jin Zixuan takes the opportunity to show off for his wife, wrapping one arm around her waist and leaping up onto the dock effortlessly supporting her weight, finishing the move with a cheeky kiss to the side of her neck.
Jiang Cheng hauls himself up onto the dock, and when Nie Huaisang whines, reaches down to take him by the elbow and support him as he climbs up with his bounty of flowers. He glances over his shoulder at Lan Wangji, sedately following Wei Wuxian with a large basket of individually picked and peeled seeds, and Jiang Yanli, who has her arm looped through her husband’s as they meander along the dock after their children.
What would it be like to be part of a matching set again? His brother and sister have moved on to new horizons and don’t need him anymore, but there is someone who wants him…
He follows the others back along the docks and walkways with Nie Huaisang at his side, mind distant as his friend chatters away about nothing of consequence. He feels far away from everything, like he’s looking at himself from the outside. He tries to imagine belonging in this scene; Jiang Yanli has Jin Zixuan, Wei Wuxian has Lan Wangji…
What if he took up Nie Huaisang on his offer? The offer is only of sex, but that’s still something. Being cultivation partners isn’t nothing.
He’s never really wanted a partner, not really. He’s always been satisfied with his sect and his family and he always thought that would be enough - he deliberately got himself blacklisted by the matchmakers so that no one could pester him about marriage, for gods’ sake - and yet the closest thing he can find to a label for this pit in his chest as is loneliness, and all of a sudden he finds himself craving something he can call all his own, someone who’ll carry his baskets and hold his arm. The romantic and sexual stuff is irrelevant, he doesn’t really care about that side of it. He just wants someone who’ll put him first. Someone who’ll make him a priority, and won’t up and leave for someone more interesting.
Nie Huaisang calls to Jiang Yanli, asking some question about a particular flower that grows at Lotus Pier during a different time of the year, and she rests her chin on Jin Zixuan’s shoulder to look back as she answers, letting him guide her along the walkways. The simple display of trust and gentle, casual intimacy makes the pit in Jiang Cheng’s chest yawn wider.
He knows in that moment that he will take Nie Huaisang up on his offer. He never thought he would be the type of person to have casual sex with a friend, never thought he’d crave someone’s touch and attention like this, but as he makes up his mind, it’s easy to see all the puzzle pieces fit together. Nie Huaisang has been his friend for years, he’s someone Jiang Cheng trusts absolutely - perhaps not with everything, but certainly with his pleasure and body and happiness - and someone whose company he consistently enjoys. Nie Huaisang might tease him, but he won’t judge him. Maybe they won’t be any good at sex, and maybe they’ll fail to dual cultivate; somehow, those thoughts don’t fill him with dread any more, because the more he tries to imagine things going wrong, the more his mind conjures images of them fumbling and laughing together over it all. They’ll still find some way to have fun with it, he’s sure.
Jiang Cheng supervises A-Ling chopping vegetables for dinner. He fetches more water for the pot. He changes into clean robes and returns to the family dining pavilion to eat. He smiles and chats and kicks Wei Wuxian under the table, and all the while, something winds tighter and tighter inside his belly that feels like anticipation, and… perhaps even excitement.
–//–
“Hey, so, uh,” Jiang Cheng says, the moment he and Nie Huaisang are alone after dinner, “I thought about what you said yesterday.”
”Oh!” Nie Huaisang physically perks up, straightening in his seat, eyes widening, “Okay, what did you think?”
“I think… yes. To the dual cultivation. I think we should try it.”
Nie Huaisang’s whole face lights up, and a small part of Jiang Cheng can’t help but be charmed by how transparently pleased his friend is. Nie Huaisang wants him. And that feels good.
“Great! That’s great!”
Jiang Cheng nods his head towards the door, “So… do you want to go to my room? Or yours, or…?”
Nie Huaisang’s eyes grow huge again, and he blinks rapidly, “You mean - tonight? You want to have sex tonight?”
“Is that not what you-?” Jiang Cheng feels heat rush to his cheeks and he grimaces, “I thought that was what-”
“No, no, we can do it tonight! That’s fine!”
“We don’t have to if you weren’t-”
“Tonight is absolutely fine, Jiang-xiong, tonight is great!”
Jiang Cheng huffs, trying to will his ears to stop burning, “But I misunderstood. You didn’t mean tonight.”
Nie Huaisang reaches out to take his hands, grinning - and he grins wider when Jiang Cheng frowns at him, “You seemed pretty unsure last night so I didn’t want to assume, that’s all. I didn’t think I’d get so lucky! I would love to have sex with you tonight. That would be amazing.”
Oh gods. His ears feel like they’re hot enough to set on fire, and that anticipation feeling clenches in his gut again. He nods. “Okay,” he says. Like an idiot.
“I am going to go and have a bath,” Nie Huaisang says, releasing his hands and climbing to his feet, “and… meet you at your rooms in an hour, say?”
Jiang Cheng nods again “Okay,” he says, again.
Like an idiot.
Nie Huaisang flutters out of the room with a bounce in his step. About ten seconds after he disappears out of the door, he pops his head back in, waving his fan for Jiang Cheng’s attention.
“An hour!”
“Yes, yes, I heard you,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, but Nie Huaisang is grinning as he disappears again and it’s… cute. His excitement is cute, and infectious, so he can’t quite help smiling.
And then the smile immediately drops as it occurs to him -
Warning for Lan Xichen experiencing a pretty strong panic attack that requires him to be sedated so that he doesn't endanger himself (in the sense of this universe, i.e. neural overload rather than becoming a risk for self-harming etc.)
--//--
With the battle won, now seems like the perfect time for Lan Xichen to have a chance to have a bit of a come apart. He’d helped everyone else through theirs, and he’d been happy to do it — but his brother is still out there somewhere, had been down in the city when the Kaiju landed, and his partners aren’t doing well at all, and his dear friend and her partner are currently being extracted carefully from their forcefully-shut-down Jaeger out in the rubble of the city to receive emergency medical attention lest they die, and everything happening is just so much to deal with, when is he allowed to break down on someone’s shoulder?
Nie Mingjue is stonily silent as he holds Jin Guangyao in his arms, sitting there on the floor of the comms tower right where their partner had collapsed, and when he reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair off Jin Guangyao’s forehead Lan Xichen can see how badly his fingers shake. He aches to beg someone to help them, for someone to bring him the news of his brother and Wei Wuxian, or to at least keep an eye out for Lan Wangji and let Lan Xichen know when he returns — he yearns for the chance, for once, to not be the one who holds everyone else together.
But Jiang Wanyin and all of the (conscious) Jins are down in Sparks’ Bay 5 anxiously waiting for Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan to be brought in, Nie Zonghui is coordinating the effort of emptying the bunkers again and sending people out to check on the citizens of the rest of the city in the aftermath, and there’s no one left to ask that he feels like he can burden with their problems.
He falls to his knees in front of Nie Mingjue and leans in slowly enough to know Nie Mingjue is watching him to press their foreheads together and breathe through the trembling panic buzzing right under his skin. Nie Mingjue exhales heavily and leans forward enough to increase the pressure, so Lan Xichen tips his chin to brush a barely-there kiss to his bloodless lips.
“We should get him somewhere else…somewhere that’s not the floor,” Lan Xichen mumbles after a few more moments spent just sharing Nie Mingjue’s space. He’s close enough to hear the thickness in Nie Mingjue’s throat when he swallows and pulls back enough to look down at Jin Guangyao lying unconscious between them, far too small and pale. Nie Mingjue gathers him closer, too tight, and Lan Xichen tuts as the shift in position forces Jin Guangyao’s head to loll back at an angle that wouldn’t be at all comfortable were he awake.
“I can’t,” Nie Mingjue chokes. “I…He’ll wake up. Then we can go. I can’t –”
Lan Xichen hums softly in the back of his throat and puts a grounding hand on the back of Nie Mingjue’s neck to squeeze tightly, silently understanding. He readjusts to get a little more comfortable sitting on the floor and tucks himself close enough that Nie Mingjue can curl forward to hide in his neck as he clutches Jin Guangyao close and breathes through his usual post-battle comedown.
Lan Xichen isn’t sure how long they’ve been there when there’s a tentative knock at the door and he turns his head enough to spot Wen Ning, of all people, poking his pale face around the door frame.
“Zewu-jun, Chifeng-zun,” he greets with a little bob of his head. “Jie’s looking after Jiang-guniang and Jin-gongzi, she sent me to check on the three of you.”
“Come in, Qionglin. How are they?”
“Unconscious, but stable,” he says with barely a stutter as he bustles in, a standard issue portable first aid field kit strapped to his thigh and hip. “They’ll be alright, jiejie’s the best doctor in the world for neural overload.”
“Mn. And..Wangji? Wuxian?” It feels wrong to ask, a jinx, but Wen Ning just nods again as he settles in on his knees there on the floor with them at the top of Jin Guangyao’s head so that Nie Mingjue doesn’t need to change how he’s holding him for Wen Ning to start taking his vitals.
“They’re fine! They got in a shelter when it hit land. Wei-gongzi borrowed a phone off someone they were with in the bunker and called jie once they opened back up to let people out. They said they’re going to help with the clean-up and redirecting everyone back to the residential quarters, but they’ll be back as soon as they’re finished.”
Lan Xichen closes his eyes and turns his face away from Wen Ning to have a moment to let pure, naked relief cross his features. His hands shake where he’s supporting Jin Guangyao’s head and still cupping the back of Nie Mingjue’s neck and Nie Mingjue leans in to brush a kiss to his cheek in silent understanding.
Wen Ning works in silence for a few long moments, taking Jin Guangyao’s vitals and, when Lan Xichen gives him a nod to go ahead, checking his eyes with a flashlight. Lan Xichen’s hope that it would wake him up is in vain, but Wen Ning doesn’t look any more concerned or serious than usual so he does his best to believe that this isn’t overly worrying.
“I’d need to get him down to the medical labs for a full test if you want me to scan his brain activity, but I’d say he’s mostly just been overwhelmed,” Wen Ning says when he’s finished and he gently sits back to let Nie Mingjue readjust his grip on Jin Guangyao again, to pull him closer. “I…I heard what happened. Reliving his trauma would have taken a lot out of him to begin with, even before the..the rest of it. He needs to rest somewhere quiet, your quarters should be perfectly fine. Though of course if you want to bring him down to the medical bay you’re welcome to. We’ve got plenty of cots.”
“We’ll take him home,” Nie Mingjue rasps. He sounds like absolute hell, and Lan Xichen sees Wen Ning pick up on that instantly, his wide gaze turning shrewd.
“Chifeng-zun. I’d like to examine you as well.”
“I’m fine.”
Lan Xichen subtly shifts a little to the side to give Wen Ning room to get a look at Nie Mingjue’s eyes, which he realizes too late are bloodshot, and more than a little unfocused.
“Jie’s orders. Everyone gets a checkup.”
“I said I’m fine!”
“Mingjue.” Lan Xichen is proud that the fresh fear spiking through him isn’t audible, his voice instead firm, authoritative (he’ll find time later to ruminate on how much he sounds like Lan Qiren). “Let Qionglin examine you or I will knock you unconscious as well. You’re slipping.”
Nie Mingjue, for the first time since they’d met, looks absolutely livid. With him.
Lan Xichen meets his burning gaze calmly, steadily. It’s who he is. It’s who he always has been.
Calm.
Steady.
Always there to support. To guide. To lead.
What else is there for him to do?
Nie Mingjue bares his teeth at him and clutches Jin Guangyao so tightly Lan Xichen hears his too-relaxed shoulder pop.
“You’re hurting him, Mingjue,” he whispers. “Let me hold him, just long enough for Qionglin to check you over.”
Perhaps no one else would be able to see it (no, Jin Guangyao would be able to as well, if he were awake) but Lan Xichen can see something like sense in the depths of Nie Mingjue’s unfocused glare. He can only imagine what sort of internal battle his lover is fighting, straining back to reality when it would be so easier to let his demons win. Wen Ning is motionless and silent beside them, waiting patiently for Lan Xichen to succeed, as if he can’t imagine that he won’t. Lan Xichen reaches out — slowly, slowly — and covers Nie Mingjue’s too-hard hands with his own.
Gently.
Nie Mingjue’s fingers twitch under his and Lan Xichen helps him begin to loosen the death grip he has on Jin Guangyao’s arm and thigh.
“It’s alright, ge,” Lan Xichen murmurs. “I’m right here, we’re safe. But I need you to let me have A-Yao, just for a moment.”
Lan Xichen forces himself to stay precisely where he is as he hears the lift clattering up to the top of the comms tower.
“Mingjue, love — please, you have to let go.”
“Da-ge!!”
Lan Xichen watches a bit more light return to Nie Mingjue’s gaze at the sound of Nie Huaisang’s voice and his grip loosens again, ever so slightly. Lan Xichen brushes his thumbs against Nie Mingjue’s knuckles and ducks his head enough to catch his gaze again.
“Mingjue, let me hold A-Yao so Huaisang can help Qionglin.”
“What are you all doing on the floor?” Huaisang asks — too loud, too fast. He swings into the room and barrels straight through the fraught atmosphere to drape himself over Nie Mingjue’s shoulders, arms tight around his brother’s neck so he can burrow into him like a child getting a piggy-back ride.
“A-Sang?” Nie Mingjue rasps. His arms finally uncurl and Lan Xichen exhales a soft sigh of relief as he hurries to transfer Jin Guangyao’s limp, prone form into his own arms, across his own lap. Lan Xichen strokes Jin Guangyao’s short fringe back from his forehead while Nie Huaisang distracts Nie Mingjue with his chattering about how uncomfortable the bunkers are, how he’s so happy they weren’t in there for too long, how everyone’s settling back in nicely after being let out.
“Go on, Qionglin, he won’t hurt you,” Lan Xichen reassures Wen Ning at a questioning glance. The man nods his shy thanks before he reaches out for Nie Mingjue’s wrist to start taking his vitals with the little scanner from the first aid kit. Lan Xichen actually watches the sense return to Nie Mingjue’s eyes as he listens to his brother giving a play-by-play of the gossip down in the bunkers, as Wen Ning takes him mechanically through the usual battery of check-ups — something that he knows Nie Mingjue has sat through with varying degrees of willingness too many times to count.
“Zewu-jun, I’d like to check you over too.”
“Yes, of course,” he agrees easily with a smile to hide the fact that he hadn’t even realized Wen Ning had finished with Nie Mingjue, too lost in thoughts of his own to follow the familiar beats of the routine. Wen Ning lets him keep holding Jin Guangyao as he goes through the same steps again, taking his vitals with all the ease of years spent training under and then working alongside his sister.
“Do you need us to keep an eye on Chifeng-zun?” Wen Ning murmurs when he shuffles behind Lan Xichen to press on a few acupressure points in the back of his neck. “He’s still at risk.”
Lan Xichen shakes his head in a soft no. Across from him, Nie Mingjue looks a little confused, a little lost, and more than anything painfully exhausted. But he thinks of seeing him in the medical bay, hooked to monitors and hanging onto his sanity with little more than gritted teeth and clenched fists, and his heart breaks.
Wen Ning presses a few more spots on his neck and shoulders until his heartbeat slows and he feels like he can take a deep breath again. It nearly ends on a hitching sob but he controls himself with force of will and a lifetime of practice. He controls himself long enough to bundle Jin Guangyao up in his arms to stand with him, long enough to capture Nie Mingjue’s wandering attention and signal for him to follow, long enough for them to move in an uncertain shuffle — him, Nie Mingjue, Nie Huaisang, and Wen Ning — down through the shatterdome, down long corridors bustling with people returning to their business or else rushing to help wherever they’ve been called, until they reach their quarters.
Lan Xichen continues to keep it together through getting Nie Mingjue settled in bed with Jin Guangyao wrapped up tightly in his arms once again, and through sending the others out into the hallway with reassurances that they’ve got things under control, that they’re going to be fine and yes, of course he’ll call if he needs help.
Nie Mingjue’s gaze is heavy on him as he closes the door, and leans against it, and breathes in.
Out.
In.
Out.
The shivery feeling in his chest is back with a vengeance; Xichen pushes off from the door with hands that don’t feel the cold bite of the metal, nor the way he fumbles and accidentally bashes his knuckles against the jut of the frame with a clang, bone on steel.
“A-Huan?”
“I just need to step next door for a moment,” Xichen says. “Please stay with A-Yao.”
He swallows around whatever it is that’s trying to escape his chest, his throat, and hurries around the edge of their bed to the door that separates the two halves of their space; the handle slips from his uncertain grasp once, twice, before he manages to push the lever far enough to hear the latch spring free.
“A-Huan!”
“Just stay with A-Yao!” Xichen pleads around the sob clawing its way free with anxious fingers despite his attempts to contain it. He hurries into the other room and accidentally slams the door shut again behind him in his haste to be alone, to be hidden, to be safe —
Do not show excessive emotion.
Maintain your own discipline.
Be strict with yourself.
Do not create damages.
Love all beings.
Uphold the value of justice.
Shoulder the weight of morality.
Have courage and knowledge.
Do not fail to carry out your promise.
Be strict with yourself.
Maintain your own discipline.
Do —
Do not —
Do not show excessive emotion.
Do not show excessive emotion.
Do not show excessive emotion —
Xichen bites his arm hard enough to bruise, better that than to scream, than to cry, than to grieve in excess for something he doesn’t have the vocabulary to put a name to.
It’s too much.
All of it, it’s too much. It’s been too much for so long he didn’t even notice it growing worse.
He can’t stop it, he can’t get out, he has a duty, he has a responsibility, shoulder the weight of morality, uphold the value of justice —
The sob he’s been holding in shakes loose, then free, and the floodgates open, forcing him to curl in on himself where he’s crammed himself in the corner between one wall and another, his back protected and safe as he falls apart at the seams there in the dark as silently as he can try to be. He can’t disturb Mingjue, he can’t do this in front of him when his partner has so much more reason to relapse and lose himself but he hadn’t, he hadn’t, he’s stronger than Lan Xichen will ever be and Lan Xichen can’t even support him right now and if he can’t support his own partners in their hour of need then how can he expect to be their co-pilot, how can he even call himself their partner if this is what he can be reduced to —
“Shhh xiongzhang, I’m here,” Lan Wangji’s voice calls, soft as a memory, and how can Lan Xichen know it isn’t one? He’s been in Nie Mingjue’s head, he’s seen the hallucinations he used to have, heard the voices he used to hear, and now here Lan Xichen is thinking he can hear his brother when there’s no way enough time has passed for them to be back from the city yet. And there’s always so many other things to do for cleanup, his brother wouldn’t come to him first, why would he? He has Wei Wuxian, and together they’re going to heal the world and Lan Xichen will watch from afar his brother wouldn’t be here —
“I am,” Lan Wangji says. The two words, firm and confident and much more present than he’d thought, make him freeze save for his trembling, and though he doesn’t dare look up to see if he’s truly hallucinating this he can’t help but reach blindly into the darkness in front of him, hand grasping, seeking, desperate for proof that he hasn’t been left alone, left behind —
His seeking fingers are caught in a firm grip and Lan Xichen shudders again as he’s tugged forward, closer, out of the bruising smash of his corner and into arms that wrap confidently around his hunching shoulders to press reality back into him through sheer force.
“It’s alright xiongzhang, you’re safe.”
“Wangji?” Nie Mingjue still sounds like hell and Lan Xichen wants desperately to soothe him, send him back to bed, tell him to tend to A-Yao and watch over him, keep their lover safe while he’s so vulnerable.
All that escapes his lips is a whimper.
“He is overwhelmed, but unharmed,” Lan Wangji reports. His voice is cool, clinical, the same voice he’s heard in his mind and at his side too many times to count. He can’t…he can’t be weak, in front of Lan Wangji. He can’t break like this. That isn’t allowed. It’s against the rules.
“You have a responsibility, Xichen,” Lan Qiren tells him. Lan Xichen is fifteen today. After their usual silent breakfast, he had received the expected congratulations for the milestone of another year lived from his brother’s silent, gesturing hands and his uncle’s stern sort of affection that he craves more than anything. “Your brother and I will assist you, but it’s time you step up to start leading the clan as you are meant to do. You cannot fail in this, do you understand me? Too many people are depending on you.”
“Yes, Shufu,” he says, because he knows. He’s known since he was old enough to overhear someone say that he would one day have to lead, and he’d begun preparing for perfection from that day until now. He can do it. He has to.
Lan Xichen clutches the thick canvas of Lan Wangji’s jumpsuit and hides in his brother’s shoulder as if that can hide the fact that he’s finally failed. He couldn’t protect Wangji, he couldn’t protect his lovers, or the people of Shanghai. He can’t do anything now except let fear overtake him, and if that’s all that he can do then how can he ever look his uncle — his brother, the rest of their family — in the eyes again?
“I’m sorry, xiongzhang,” Wangji tells him, soft and for his ears alone. “Everyone will be well, you may ask for help.”
He can’t. He can’t he can’t he can’t he can’t —
“Wangji, Wen-daifu is here.”
Lan Xichen flinches away from Nie Mingjue’s ragged voice as much as he recoils from the thought of anyone else outside of his brother or his lover seeing him like this, but Wen Qing steps into the room without waiting for a go-ahead. Lan Xichen attempts to sit up straight around the yanking ache in his gut and the way his entire body wants to remain curled tightly in on itself. His shaking hands release Wangji’s jumpsuit and he swipes them under his eyes just to be sure, startled to feel them suddenly become cool and damp with tears that he wipes away again, a bit harder as if he can scrub his skin clean of the evidence of his weakness.
“Zewu-jun,” she greets, businesslike to combat Wangji’s softness. Lan Xichen jerks as if he’d been shocked, the title reminding of his duty, his reputation, with all the subtlety of a baseball bat to the face. Lan Wangji stiffens in the same moment and turns to look at Wen Qing over his shoulder. Lan Xichen can’t see his brother’s expression in the dark and half-turned away like he is, but something about it stops even the fearsome Wen Qing in her tracks, her hands raised in conciliation or surrender.
“Do not,” he snaps, a rumbling censure with the entire force of his unshakeable conviction behind it. “He is only Xichen. Human.”
The Twin Jades. Light-Bearer and Life-Bringer, larger than life, utterly unreachable. Distant. Aloof from the world, from emotion, from the difficulties of mortality. Meant to guide others — all of humanity — along the path to peace and righteousness whenever and wherever possible.
Lan Xichen has never felt further from the man his unasked-for title proclaims him to be. It’s a relief and an embarrassment in equal measure that his brother knows this without needing to be told.
“Xichen,” Wen Qing agrees, some of the brusqueness in her voice slipping away as her hands drop down to her sides again. “A-Ning was worried for you, Xichen. You’re very close to neural overload, I have some things to help.”
“He was not in the fight,” Lan Wangji protests, protective. He pulls away from where he still has an arm wrapped around Lan Xichen’s shoulder in order to place himself fully between Wen Qing and Lan Xichen. He’s never wanted his brother to feel the need to protect him, but if he must then Lan Xichen will guiltily cherish the feeling of being taken care of, even as it makes him feel weak and helpless in a way that really just feels like failure.
“You and I both know that a pilot does not need to be in a Jaeger to lose themselves.”
Lan Xichen doesn’t have the focus necessary to understand the significance of the moment that passes between them then, but whatever it is they both know that he doesn’t is enough incentive to coax Lan Wangji into shifting aside enough to allow Wen Qing to kneel in front of him.
“Xichen,” Wen Qing says quietly, and this time there’s no business-like professionalism in her wide, dark eyes at all. There’s only kindness, and he aches to lean into it like a flower follows the sun. “I understand why you feel this way, and I understand that it’s unlikely to change at my say-so. But you do not have to be perfect, and I promise you that the people you wish to be perfect for would never wish to see you kill yourself attempting to do so. You’re allowed to not be okay.”
Xichen’s breath hitches in his chest as he battles with the shame of needing to be told something he has never once hesitated to offer to others. Others are allowed to be weak. Others are allowed to need his help, others are allowed to break. Never him. He doesn’t argue with Wen Qing, though. He’s never once questioned corrections to his behavior, and so he nods and it turns into a stiff, tiny bow, just the dip of his head and shoulders as his hands curl into fists on top of his thighs.
Wen Qing watches him for another long moment before she sighs and seems to resign herself to the fact that he isn’t capable of obeying the half-spoken order to let himself relax right this moment. He struggles not to fold and break under another failure as she turns her attention to reaching into the kit strapped to her hip as Wen Ning’s had been, though he knows hers doesn’t only contain the standard issue first aid supplies.
“Even outside of the Drift, pilots are more prone to neural overload than anyone else in the world,” she says as she withdraws a syringe full of something viscous and electric blue in the light seeping in through the open door behind her. She holds it up above eye level to let the light shine through it, and whatever she finds (or doesn’t) seems to satisfy her as she pulls a disposable needle from the medkit next, her hands sure and steady as she rips open the package and starts to assemble the dose. “Each time we Drift, we weaken ourselves to each other, and though we’re stronger for our ability to connect as we do, we also gradually become so dependent on each other that to exist separately is..taxing.”
Lan Xichen tries to keep up with the thread of her speech with his fracturing attention. Lan Wangji moves to kneel beside him, his perfect mirror save for the way his brother slides a warm, heavy arm around his shoulders, grounding and steady just like Wangji himself.
“Your Drift with Chifeng-zun and Lianfang-zun is still young, and you don’t have the benefit of regular training or drops to keep your pathways aligned and strengthened by each other. It may seem counter to how you started, but you each grow weaker the longer you go without connecting in the Drift. Do you hear me, Xichen? This shot is a temporary fix — when you’re all three recovered, I’m prescribing you sessions in the Drift simulator. You do not have a choice if you want to survive this war.”
“I understand,” Xichen tells her, because that, at least, he understands. Without his Drifts with Lan Wangji, and with all of the stresses and other demands on his partners’ time, time in the simulator seemed…selfish to ask for, particularly when they’re all so keen on other, more accessible ways of being intimate together to make up for the fact that they can’t be flight partners as the other Drift pairs are. It makes sense that the yawning ache in the back of his mind, in the depths of his being, is actually something medically diagnosable; it certainly feels like it should be.
“I’m going to give you this stabilizer, you’re going to sleep in that ridiculous bed over there, and when you wake up you and your partners will get the clusterfuck that is this Shatterdome under control. When you’ve finished that, all three of you will report to medbay as my patients until I give you clearance to look after yourselves. Repeat it.”
Xichen sucks in another too-unsteady breath and focuses on the weight around his shoulders, the steely glint of determination in Wen Qing’s glare.
“I will receive a neural stabilizer for a temporary solution, which must then be slept off. When I wake, Mingjue, A-Yao, and I will address the immediately pressing issues within the ‘dome that cannot be delegated or delayed. We will then put ourselves in your care until you decide we may leave it again.”
Wen Qing, apparently mollified, only leans forward and Wangji’s arm around his shoulders turns restraining as there’s a pinch just beside the nape of his neck, and the uniquely uncomfortable sensation of far more fluid under his skin than there should be. Within moments there’s a soft aura around the edges of his vision, and his head feels too thick to string two thoughts together.
Even as his consciousness slips away, Lan Xichen knows his muscles remember the proper way to sit. He kneels upright as the world slips away from him, and only as he’s sliding fully under does he feel himself sag sideways to land against his brother’s chest, dragged there by the grip around his shoulders as much as his relaxing muscles.
“He’ll be alright, Wangji, I promise,” is the last thing he hears before he slips into soothing nothingness and has no choice but to trust that there are people to care for him as he lets go.
–//–
“How long will the build take?”
Lan Xichen stirs a little at the sound of Nie Mingjue’s voice, pitched low but thankfully not nearly as rough as the last time he’d heard his partner speak. He can’t hear whatever response he receives, but Nie Mingjue grunts his acknowledgement of whatever was said; he must be on his rarely-touched cellphone, a necessary evil if he must run the ‘dome from enforced bedrest.
“Xichen and A-Yao are still down for the count, I can’t check with them. But it’s better than what we’d hoped for anyway, so I don’t think they’ll say no — get him on it as soon as possible. What have we said to the press?”
Another response, an unheard half of the conversation. Xichen blinks his eyes open slowly, keeping them mostly close to ensure the feather of his lashes softens any lights that may hurt his head. The lights are dimmed though, the directionless yellow glow of the track lighting in the ceiling turned as low as it can possibly go. It’s comfortable enough, and it means that when Lan Xichen focuses more on his immediate surroundings the first thing he sees is Jin Guangyao’s face, soft and smooth in deep sleep. He brings one clumsy hand up to press the backs of his fingers against Jin Guangyao’s cheek; his partner doesn’t so much as twitch, not even a flutter of his lashes, but a finger held carefully under his nose reassures Lan Xichen that he is, at least, still breathing. That’s reassuring enough for now.
Nie Mingjue grunts another wordless acknowledgement — surprisingly neutral, as he nearly never is when dealing with the press.
“Could be worse. Hold them off a little longer, will you? I know people are panicking but..I can’t…without them, I —”
Xichen reaches across Jin Guangyao between them to feel blindly for the nearest part of Nie Mingjue he can find. His fingers close around the hard curve of his knee where he’s sat up in bed, legs folded tailor-style, and the second he makes contact his partner’s hand lands heavy and warm on top of his to hold him there.
“Xichen’s awake, I have to go. I’ll call you back in an hour.”
Xichen turns his head enough to squint up at Nie Mingjue as his partner clicks something on his phone and tosses it away in favor of leaning down to press lingering kisses to his temple.
“How long —” Lan Xichen coughs around a painfully dry throat. Nie Mingjue kisses him again before he sits up to reach for his canteen with his free hand and unscrews the cap with a deft flick of his fingers.
“Just a few hours, don’t worry,” he says. Lan Xichen picks his head up enough to let his partner trickle a thin stream of blessedly cool water past his lips. “Zixuan and Yanli have woken up. They’re pretty disoriented and Wen Qing has already declared them permanently unfit for active flight duty, which we all figured. But they’ll live so it’s up to them what they want to do next. Wangji and Wuxian are resting, my orders. Zonghui and Huaisang are holding off the press as best as they can until we can draft up a statement about…whatever the fuck we’re going to do next.”
Xichen hums and squeezes Nie Mingjue’s knee, presses a kiss to Jin Guangyao’s warm forehead. He takes the moment to appreciate how perfectly smooth it is in sleep as it never really is when he’s awake, when his brow is nearly always furrowed in concentration.
“What is it A-Yao and I need to know about?” he asks, curious despite the heaviness still clinging at the edges of his mind (the aftereffects of the medicine Wen Qing had given him, he’s sure).
Nie Mingjue clears his throat and lifts Lan Xichen’s hand from his knee to press lingering, near-worshipful kisses to his knuckles.
“I want Wei Wuxian to convert Sparks into a three-man Jaeger…For us.”
The first thought that Lan Xichen can’t help but think is that that will go down like a lead balloon. Jin Guangshan would never allow —
Well. What Jin Guangshan would or would not allow doesn’t matter at all anymore, does it?
The second thought that follows on its heels is that it is, of course, the most logical solution to their conundrum. Sparks Amidst Snow is a brand new, top of the line Jaeger, already kitted out with as many weapons and mobility modifications as can be reasonably fit into (or onto) a single piece of machinery while retaining its efficiency. The unique shape of Lotus Spider was a choice the Jiang siblings all made together to accommodate the uniqueness of their fighting styles, three distinctly different pilots sharing a single form that can rotate and adjust to whichever of the three is in control at any given time. A three-man Jaeger doesn’t have to be built like that, it doesn’t have to move like Lotus Spider does. A three-man Jaeger can simply be the same machines that they’ve all been piloting since the beginning of this war. There’s no reason they shouldn’t use Sparks Amidst Snow — now completely pilotless — to solve a logistical problem so neatly.
What he says is, “Oh. She’ll need repainting.”
Nie Mingjue laughs, sudden and unexpected, and Lan Xichen smiles sleepily as his partner leans over their boyfriend again to kiss his temple and his cheek in a quick flurry of desperate, scratchy little pecks.
“I love you,” Nie Mingjue murmurs against his skin. “You scared the shit out of me, A-Huan. I’m sorry I scared you first.”
Lan Xichen closes his eyes again and hums, apology and forgiveness in one (not that Nie Mingjue had needed to ask his forgiveness anyway).
“Now that I’m awake we need only worry about A-Yao together.”
Nie Mingjue pulls back to blow out a gusty sigh and slide gingerly down to lie flat, his arm joining Lan Xichen’s slung over Jin Guangyao’s waist, their hands resting on opposite hips to hold him evenly between them.
“Wen-daifu took a look at him after she knocked you out, said he’s pretty fried. He’ll be fine!” Nie Mingjue hurries to reassure; Lan Xichen assumes his expression twisted with a suitable amount of alarm for the situation. “He just needs to sleep like Qionglin said, we all do. If A-Sang hadn’t come and found us I would have lost it, you came extremely close to losing it, and A-Yao shut down instead of losing it. It’s exactly what Wen Qing told you — we opened ourselves up to the Drift but we haven’t strengthened our connection at all since then. We’re much weaker apart than we are together, we have to start acting like it.”
“Darling, I already might as well live in your pocket,” Lan Xichen sighs. Nie Mingjue snorts and glances down at Jin Guangyao with a little smile.
“Well you and A-Yao can live in my pockets if you want but it’s not my brain, and apparently that’s where I need you to be.”
Lan Xichen hums again with a smile he hides in Jin Guangyao’s hair. It slips off his lips again quickly though as he thinks about what they’ll have to accomplish before they can begin their prescribed Drift sessions.
“Oh gods..the press, Mingjue. What on earth are we going to tell the press? What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to come clean. About all of it.”
Lan Xichen looks up at his partner with wide eyes — the truth is..not very pretty, nor flattering or reassuring, he has to say, so long as Nie Mingjue means what he thinks he does. Dealing with the public is an exercise in extremely careful half-truths that help to quell panic rather than incite it. They play a delicate balancing act, every single Shatterdome does, even Wen Ruohan in Tokyo. If he told the general population about the majority of the experiments he conducts, or the way he was burning (probably still is burning) all of his pilots to the ground as quickly as humanly possible to achieve the record-breaking stats his program boasts then there would be repercussions. Even someone as callous as Wen Ruohan knows the value in being circumspect when public opinion is in question.
Nie Mingjue, his beloved straightforward and honest-to-a-fault Mingjue, doesn’t have…quite the same sense of self-preservation when he elects to speak his mind.
“We don’t have to,” Lan Xichen whispers and nearly feels Lan Qiren’s reproving glare all the way from Gusu for daring to imply that the unvarnished truth is anything less than the best possible path forward. It goes against every single one of his childhood lessons, it goes against the typical true north of his own moral compass — but he also can’t bear the thought of Shanghai being thrown into even more chaos now on the heels of such an alarming battle as the one they’ve just fought. They have rebuilding to do, injuries to treat, there isn’t time for the leadership and ethics of the Shatterdome that keeps tens of millions of people safe to be called into question. Nie Mingjue is already tied up nearly every hour of the day in meetings to discuss strategy, provisions, research, everything of import with the leaders of every numerous government and military agency responsible for monitoring their operation. He won’t have time for even more such meetings, or to stop them altogether in favor of damage control with the public, and they have a war to fight —
There just isn’t time —
“Whoa. A-Huan, breathe. Don’t make me get Wen-daifu back in here to knock you out again.”
Lan Xichen sucks in a deep breath he hadn’t realized he needed and his vision clears of a handful of little black spots that he blinks away a few times quickly for good measure.
“What the hell just happened?” Nie Mingjue demands, and only because Lan Xichen knows him so well does he hear the concern in what could so easily be read as anger.
“I’m sorry,” he gasps instead of answering and closes his eyes as Nie Mingjue leans over Jin Guangyao again to kiss his forehead. “Such transparency simply seems like a recipe for disaster.”
“So does continuing to lie,” Nie Mingjue shrugs, though the tension in his clenched jaw belies his nerves. “At least if we tell them and I wind up forced to resign then..well. We can figure it out. I don’t think I will, though. I’m not saying it’ll be easy but it’ll be..better.”
It’s painfully clear that Nie Mingjue has already made up his mind, and Lan Xichen knows better than almost anyone that once he has there’s really no changing it. The best option now is simply to hold on tightly and hope for the best but prepare for the worst, and know that in the end he’ll still have his family and the men he loves.
Nie Mingjue kisses him again, a consolation, and when he tells him to trust him and just go back to sleep to keep recovering, there’s really no better option except to do as he’s told and let the future sort itself out.
–//–
Shanghai is never so quiet.
The wind whistles through the rubble of buildings not yet cleared away after the latest battle. The lonesome cries of the first few seabirds brave enough to return to a place that still reeks of Kaiju viscera echo strangely through the too-open crowded space.
The sounds of construction a few blocks closer to the harbor have ceased, and the crowd waiting beneath the hastily-erected podium in the midst of all of the destruction is eerily still and silent. Lan Xichen would have expected them to be clamoring for information, reporters and civilians alike shouting their questions over each other, trying to get their own answers first and damn anyone else.
He hadn’t expected this…this silent vigil, this watchful waiting that puts his hackles up and makes his skin crawl with the desire to stride up to the microphone and say something — anything — that would slice through the tension. How desperately he wants to say whatever would pacify the masses gathered to hear this first official address from the Shanghai Shatterdome on the shocking events of the last battle that are, by now, common knowledge nearly everywhere in the world.
The basic facts as everyone knows them are thus:
Category 5 Kaiju have arrived.
Jin Guangshan is dead.
Jin Zixuan flew with Jiang Yanli, and they barely survived.
Shanghai has something — many things, important things — that they haven’t disclosed.
A rustling behind Lan Xichen creates an echo of the same in the gathered crowd, a great fluttering of overcoats in the wind, an uneasy shuffling of feet, and a swelling susurrus of whispers as weary footsteps thud on the stairs up to the platform on which Shanghai Shatterdome’s remaining active-duty pilots and (most of the) high-ranking members of staff are already assembled.
Lan Xichen takes a deep breath in and finds steady comfort in his brother standing at his right hand with Jin Guangyao at his left as, a few paces away at the center of the stage, Jin Zixuan makes his slow, careful way through their ranks to step up to the microphone.
Jin Zixuan clears his throat and visibly squares his shoulders before he leans in ever so slightly to begin.
“First and foremost, the leadership, the pilots, and all ground crew of the Shanghai Shatterdome wish to extend a heartfelt apology to the citizens of Shanghai for the losses of the last battle. You have our every sympathy. Please know that we are working tirelessly to deliver every reparation possible to everyone who suffered damages or loss as quickly as we can.” Jin Zixuan’s amplified voice rings through the silence from speakers haphazardly placed amongst the rubble; all it does is emphasize how worn out he still sounds even a full week after waking in the bittersweet aftermath of his victory.
“Secondly, we would like to thank the citizens of Shanghai and beyond for extending their condolences for the loss of my father and my cousin, and their well-wishes for mine and Pilot Jiang Yanli’s swift recoveries from our injuries.
“There have been many questions since the battle against this latest Kaiju, and many more rumors. We thank you for your patience as we decided on the best course of action to communicate with you going forward, and today we hope that our attempts to do so will be well-received.”
From his spot in the front row just behind the podium, Lan Xichen studies the faces of those closest to the stage and, for perhaps the first time in his life, isn’t entirely sure how to interpret what he finds. He can only hope that Shanghai’s loyalty to their Pilots and their ‘dome will carry them through learning exactly what’s been going on behind closed doors.
“That being said, the first order of business is to announce that I will no longer be serving you as a Pilot in active duty. The injuries I sustained a week ago are too deep to allow me to continue to fly, as are my..my wife’s —” There is a bit of a stir amongst the crowd at that, though it’s much more muted than the reaction of the shatterdome to the same news two days prior. (Jin Zixuan had gotten onto the loudspeakers mere moments after their union was made binding and announced to the entire population of the ‘dome that he and Jiang Yanli had been married under Nie Mingjue’s authority. The [good-natured] uproar throughout the ‘dome had been a sight to see.)
“My former co-pilot has died, while my current co-pilot and I are too injured to serve you in the capacity that we would otherwise wish to. In light of this, I will put aside my armor and my status as a Pilot to take my late father’s place as one of the leaders of Shanghai Shatterdome. I hope you will find me to be an adequate successor.”
Jin Zixuan allows that statement to hang just long enough for a fresh round of whispers — he’d said ‘one of’, after all, and until now no one has known that Shanghai even had more than one. Before the whispers can grow out of hand, though, there comes the telltale heavy thump of footsteps Lan Xichen would recognize anywhere, behind him and to the left as Jin Zixuan’s had been. With an effort, Lan Xichen forces himself not to turn to look at his partner as he makes his own careful way up to the platform.
“This brings me to a second matter of great importance that must be cleared up before any further announcements are made. My father was not, as we claimed, the sole leader of this Shatterdome. He was, in fact, little more than a figurehead for the press and a financial backer to the true martial leader of Shanghai, who has been content — until now — to let his work remain unacknowledged.
“I hope that you all remember the tireless efforts and sacrifices of the Mach 1 pilot Chifeng-Zun, Nie Mingjue —” Jin Zixuan pauses as a gasp, amplified by every mouth, hisses through the crowd. In the expectant hush that follows it, Nie Mingjue’s footsteps on the rickety metal platform sound like the steady pounding of a drum, inexorable as he approaches the podium and appearing to be every inch the soldier he’s always been. Lan Xichen curls his fingers tightly around Jin Guangyao’s when they slip into his palm, the pair of them squeezing each other’s hands tightly enough that Lan Xichen is sure their knuckles are white.
“Nie Mingjue has devoted his life to the protection of Shanghai in the years since his retirement from active duty, and we believed it was time you knew exactly to whom you should continue to look for guidance in the future.”
Jin Zixuan steps aside after accepting a (relatively) gentle shoulder clap from Nie Mingjue that seems to take genuine effort to remain standing upright through. Mo Xuanyu hurries forward to support Jin Zixuan as he steps away from the microphone, and Lan Xichen tries his hardest not to panic at the thought of all of the civilians watching this seeing how weakened he still is.
The uncertain muttering of the audience cuts off abruptly into a reverent hush as Nie Mingjue clears his throat in preparation to speak.
For an endless moment, the world is still and silent again. For the first time in half a decade, Nie Mingjue stands straight and proud at the head of the people who live or die at his word and in front of the people they all live or die for in return.
Nie Mingjue lets the silence linger just long enough to become uncomfortable before he curls his broad hands around the side of the podium and leans forward, closer to the microphone.
“Citizens of Shanghai,” he begins, his words falling like stones into the collective hush. “I won’t insult you by pretending that you don’t have a reason to doubt us. I won’t pretend that everything that has ever happened under our roof has been honest, or fair, or even good. I won’t pretend that I’m perfect, or that anyone in my employ is either. Of course you have reason to doubt us.
“But I will tell you this — your safety and the safety of your friends, your families, anyone you know and everyone you don’t, has been my highest priority since the day I was able to once again take up the work my father and I started out to do. I have never truly retired, or forgotten my responsibility to you.”
Lan Xichen takes a deep breath in and forces himself to just hold Jin Guangyao’s hand rather than clutch at it like a lifeline. Jin Guangyao rubs a few slow little circles into the back of his palm in silent understanding; they’d both helped Nie Mingjue write this speech, and every single soul in the shatterdome who relies on Nie Mingjue is crucially invested in seeing this press conference turn the tide of public opinion back in their favor after the speculations and fear of the past week. Everyone is waiting on pins and needles to see how this will be received.
Nie Mingjue clears his throat again into the silence.
A lone gull cries overhead, sudden and piercing.
“We’ll be releasing an in-depth statement to the press shortly, but for now, in the interest of transparency, I will tell you what you may already suspect. You now know that Jin Zixuan successfully operated Sparks Amidst Snow with Jiang Yanli — as has already become clear to you, this means that things are changing. The Kaiju are coming faster, and they’re getting bigger, smarter. You’ve seen these changes for yourselves, and you must understand that the way we do battle has to change along with our foe. To that end, we have —”
Lan Xichen’s attempt to not crush his boyfriend’s fingers turns out to have been in vain as Nie Mingjue stops with an irritated sigh that the microphone picks up and amplifies for everyone in attendance to hear.
“Oh fuck this,” Nie Mingjue mutters and Lan Xichen’s heart drops as he glances down at Jin Guangyao to find him already covering his eyes with his free hand, his fakest, most placating smile frozen in place beneath it. Nie Mingjue had promised to let them help him come up with the right things to say if he was going to insist on airing out the ‘dome’s dirty laundry for everyone in Shanghai to see, but they’d known asking him to deliver a lengthy speech that attempts to soften at least some of the blows would be…a tall order. Still, there were at least hopes that he would make it through most of their points before he gave up.
“For god’s sake, he didn’t even make it five minutes,” Jin Guangyao laments, long-suffering but not sounding at all surprised as Nie Mingjue goes so far as to chuck the tablet with his carefully-written speech off the podium so he can’t even see it, the device clunking and clattering against the metal stage to stop at Jin Zixuan’s feet.
Lan Xichen unbends his rigorous posture enough to lean down and put his lips close to Jin Guangyao’s ear to prevent them being read as he says, “We should punish him quite thoroughly for breaking his promise this evening,” and earn himself a playful slap to the hip, below where the cameras are pointed.
“The point is that we’ve shuffled up the pilot teams as an experiment and it was successful, so we’re going to keep doing it,” Nie Mingjue says, short and brusquely efficient in his usual way. “We’re redesigning the jaegers, upgrading weapons, outfitting the old mechs for new teams. We know why we’re facing increased Kaiju attacks but it’s too late to stop it — the damage is done so our job now is to stop it from getting any worse. In his time as the head of this ‘dome, Jin Guangshan funded our operation with black market money and colluded with criminals of all sorts to keep fattening his wallet – I don’t doubt he’s paid plenty of people to keep their mouths shut about it. But I don’t care if they come forward now, I don’t care what anyone says anymore, I only care about what I always have. I care about ending this goddamn war!”
Lan Xichen takes a half-step forward (to restrain his partner or comfort him as he gets more worked up he doesn’t know), but before he can step out of line the silence erupts, the buildings and rubble echoing not with the condemning cry of the crows and gulls but with shouting, cheering, with the rumbling roar of enthusiastic support Lan Xichen would never have expected from a city full of people who’ve just been told they’ve been consistently and comprehensively lied to by the very people they’ve trusted to keep them safe for so long.
“Let it never be said that da-ge isn’t charismatic enough to accomplish feats we mere mortals may only dream of,” Jin Guangyao drawls, dry as a bone, and Lan Xichen finds that all he can do is laugh rather helplessly. He watches in awe as the crowd picks up a chant, not of Nie Mingjue’s name (that would really just be too much), but a much more palatable and generic cry of ‘End the war! End the war!’ that follows them all the way off the platform and through the city as they traipse the few blocks between the wreckage and the phalanx of armored cars waiting to hurry them all back to the shatterdome.
“Don’t start, I already know,” Nie Mingjue says the moment they’re in their own car, Lan Xichen behind the wheel to leave Jin Guangyao free to begin their scolding as soon as possible.
“ONE speech Mingjue!!!” Jin Guangyao cries the second he’s slammed his door shut. “You just had to give one speech!!”
“It was going to be an hour long, minimum!!” Nie Mingjue retorts. “When I said you could write it I didn’t say you could write me a goddamn novel!”
Lan Xichen clicks the blinker on to pull into the middle of the formation and waves genially to Wei Wuxian in the passenger seat of another SUV beside them, Lan Wangji looking entirely at ease behind the wheel and Jiang Wanyin squeezed between the Wen siblings in the backseat.
“I hate you. I’m going to strangle you,” Jin Guangyao announces to the car at large rather matter-of-factly. Lan Xichen sighs as his boyfriend climbs into their partner’s lap to curl his hands around his neck.
“A-Yao darling, save the foreplay for our quarters,” he says over his shoulder, and at least Nie Mingjue snorts a laugh so he must not be getting choked out too hard.
Lan Xichen does his best to ignore their roughhousing that seems to be equal parts genuine frustration with each other and foreplay (of a particular sort that he can admit he doesn’t enjoy nearly as much as they do) and focuses instead on getting them safely through the city so they can back to their jobs. Jin Guangyao will have more to do with the press over the next few days, especially since Nie Mingjue…didn’t actually say anything they’d really planned to take to the public, but perhaps that’s for the best. For now, at least, the public has been addressed, cleanup has begun with a coordinated effort between extra engineers from the ‘dome and the various disaster relief groups in the city, and they can relax for a day or two as everyone recuperates properly and returns to business as usual, as much as they can with a leadership change and a major restructuring of the Pilot assignments.
“Oh my god,” Lan Xichen murmurs as he pulls to a stop at the end of the same courtyard where he and his fellow pilots from Tokyo had been greeted upon arriving in Shanghai.
Much like that day, the press are crowded close to the barriers demarcating the boundary of the shatterdome’s grounds, snapping photos of the returning crew and shouting out questions that will go unanswered. Also in attendance is someone waiting beneath the eaves of the first warehouse’s roof to receive them, but considering Jin Guangyao is currently being crushed under Nie Mingjue’s weight to prevent him from getting too bitey, the welcoming party is…a little different than when Lan Xichen had stepped foot in Shanghai.
“What? What’s wrong?” Nie Mingjue asks over Jin Guangyao’s muffled shouts of, “You fucking lug get off of me!!”
Lan Xichen doesn’t answer, afraid if he doesn’t move quickly they’ll get away, slip off into the crowd to never be seen again. He pops open his door and leaps smoothly down to the ground to stride across the no-man’s land, the shouting of the press hemming him in on every side, though he does his best to ignore it.
“Zewu-Jun. I believe we have some unfinished business.”
Lan Xichen takes a deep breath in and takes note of the restraining grip Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen have on Xue Yang’s wrists caught between them, though he doesn’t really look capable of escape at the moment. Behind their shoulders is a girl blowing a neon yellow chewing gum bubble between her chomping on it, regarding him with wary suspicion that he must admit he shares — she’s young but she looks sharp in the way of anyone who’s had to fight every single day simply to survive, and if she’s here with the Immortals and Xue Yang there’s no telling which of them she’s more like in the end.
From behind him, Lan Xichen hears several car doors open and slam shut again, the scuffle of boots on the pavement as their entourage joins them with an uneasy murmur for their unexpected guests.
“Yes,” he tells Xiao Xingchen with a gesture for them to head inside ahead of him. “I believe we do.”
