Chapter Text
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Nie Mingjue wakes up with his hands around Meng Yao's neck, which is a little funny, because last he recalled he had fallen asleep with his arms around his husband of several years and not in bed with his (current) head disciple. Much less with a head disciple he intended to kill.
"D-Da-ge?!" Meng Yao said fearfully.
Observing him, Meng Yao looked strange in Jin Sect dress. Though it certainly seemed like the lavish gold-and-white pair that made up the wardrobe of the Jin Sect leader, which was ridiculous because Meng Yao was his Head Disciple and the current Sect Leader of Jin Sect just so happened to be one of his husband's cousins: Jin Zixuan.
"What the fuck?" Nie Mingjue found that he couldn't frown, couldn't do much at all. A quick internal analysis made clear of the alarming fact that Mingjue couldn't feel anything other than anger, frustration, rage—the alarming mix of resentment energy that he had only heard of from A-Ying and Mingjue's own husband's discussions from their experience.
Then he noticed his arm.
His pale, sharp, black nailed arm. Were those stitches keeping his arm together?!
Well.
Mingjue was no expert but he was fairly certain it wasn't supposed to look like that.
Oh- and Meng Yao's own arm was missing. And he was bleeding out.
Seriously, what was going on?!
"Meng Yao" Mingjue growled, by the swords it was hard to talk—is this what his husband went through?? "You're bleeding."
Stunned, Meng Yao said nothing, gaping instead. Rare, but he supposed Mingjue would hardly be as composed if he found himself apparently being choked out by a now speaking corpse. "Where is Xichen, A-Ying? Why are they not with you- where is A-Fan?"
He turned his head, hoping to see his husband, instead he found himself face to face with several gaping faces. One of which was Hauisang, Lan Xichen, Wangji, Jiang Wanyin, Jin Ling, and was that Mo Xuanyu? Why was he so close to Lan Wangji? He hardly thought Lan Wangji was the type to show an interest to anyone other than his husband.
"Young Master Mo? Why are you hugging A-Ying's husband?" Wait no- Meng Yao was bleeding out. "Nevermind- later, Xichen. Meng Yao is bleeding, why are you just standing there?"
No one moved, why aren't they moving?
Nie Mingjue sighed.
"Nevermind- where is my husband? If I'm a corpse I doubt he's very pleased" Quite frankly, Nie Mingjue was a little nervous to find out what would happen to him in the aftermath of dying somehow with Ming Fan around. Surely his husband wouldn't be too mad? Gods, he hoped Lord Shen was around to keep him calm, otherwise he feared for the future of his freedoms.
"D-Da-ge…" Meng Yao wheezed, ah right.
Nie Mingjue quickly set him down as softly as he can, pressing down on his bleeding wound before glancing at the stump of his shoulder with a grim sort of look. Meng Yao didn't seem to have as good as a Cultivation as he should, perhaps he was poisoned somehow.
"Meng Yao, where is my husband? Why isn't he here with you all?" He asked gruffly. Maintaining firm pressure.
"I-I…"
"DA-GE!"
Nie Mingjue startled as a a body barreled into his side, slamming solidly into his body. Mingjue raised a hand, clawed nails raising before it can nick his brother, Huaisang's hold was firm. Desperate. Mingjue's expression would soften if it could. Gods- he must have died somehow.
But…why did Huaisang look different—why did they all look different? How long has he been dead?
"A-Sang. Da-ge is here" Mingjue murmured. "Where's A-Ying and A-Fan? Why don't I see them here?"
"D-Da-ge" Huaisang sniffed, his fingers desperate. Weaker maybe? Much Mingjue's frustration, he couldn't tell. "W-Who are you talking about?"
"What do you mean 'who am I talking about'?" Mingjue said incredulously "your shixiongs. My husband Ming Fan; Wei Fan and Wei Ying. The Beasts of Qinghe, the Wei Brothers Liuyi-zun and Wudeng-zun. Where are they?"
"H-Huh?!"
Oh boy.
Well.
He's dead.
Apparently he's been dead for years now—and Mo Xuanyu was not Mo Xuanyu—but was in fact Wei Wuxian revived through a body sacrifice ritual.
And Ming Fan didn't exist, none of the Swords of Cang Qiong seem to exist, or at least wasn't known by anyone. All the history Nie Mingjue has ever known was just not there and he was dead. Killed actually—by Meng- by Jin Guangyao.
Gods this was so fucked. And he couldn't even cry to his husband about it.
He felt a little bad for this version of himself in this life that he ended up getting put into. He wasn't sure of the changes in Nie Mingjue's personal life with his husband's absence but he can almost guarantee that he was worse for it. Apparently more so than he could initially think considering that Meng—damn it—Jin Guangyao apparently murdered him.
Gods- and Yanli and Zixuan were dead, the Wens were dead. Jiang Wanyin didn't take up the mantle from Jiang Fengmian, the Lan Sect and Jiang Sect burned and Wen Ning was a fierce corpse.
When he got back, because he will be going back to his husband, Mingjue was going to kiss his A-Fan until their lips were sore and then some because this was quite frankly ridiculous. 'Fine without me' his ass, if anything this was evidence that Nie Mingjue had won at life.
It was a little unsettling to sit like this in front of Xichen, A-Sang, and Jin Guangyao. Who were looking upon him with varying degrees of desperate, desperate misery. Like Mingjue was a nightmare and a fantasy come true all at the same time, and quite frankly Nie Mingjue didn't know how to feel about it.
And Wei Wuxian, bless his unconscious empathy that let him detect Nie Mingjue's discomfort, seemed to take it upon himself to barrel through the conversation as if they had been friends for decades.
"So Chifeng-zun!" Wei Wuxian flailed over him in a strangely graceless-yet-not way that felt more of Jiang Sect than the elegant blend the boy he knew moved. "Do you mind if I look you over? This is certainly something unprecedented."
"Wait Master Wei you can't—" Xichen began to say.
"Sure" Mingjue said quickly, rising to his feet. "What do you need?"
He awkwardly shuffled away, following Wei Wuxian and moving to and fro and bending this way and that under Wei Wuxian's guidance. Even listening as Wei Wuxian used some of his Yin Energy techniques on him, speaking frankly to the feeling and experience as he felt them. Wen Ning was there too, observing and making soft comments, asking about Nie Mingjue's mobility, if he craved flesh. All fair questions, he supposed, being a fierce corpse.
Lan Wangji, ever the clingy husband he was (or perhaps going to be?), stood nearby. His hands keeping that guqin of his quite close.
"So…" Wei Wuxian trailed off, suddenly flailing for something to talk about now that Wei Wuxian had run out of examinations and observations he wanted to make. "Chifeng-zun…you…know me?"
Nie Mingjue glanced towards the three, who had not moved their eyes from him, which was frankly a little funny when compared to the way Jin Rulan and Wanyin appeared to make themselves seem busy fussing over each other's wounds in the corner.
"I-yes. In…my world." Mingjue said hesitantly "you and your brother were in my Sect. For a time."
"Brother…I had a brother?" Wei Wuxian said softly, frowning to himself. "I…never knew that. Maybe…maybe he died with A-Niang and A-Die."
Nie Mingjue wanted to purse his lip before shaking his head slowly. "…No, A-Fan—that is—your brother was adopted by your parents before they died. He raised you, less like a brother perhaps, maybe more like a son."
"Oh…"
"He's strict" Nie Mingjue offered, happy to talk about this husband. Even if it seemed strange to do this for his husband's own brother. Wei Ying without Wei Fan seemed wrong somehow. "But fair, and a sarcastic jerk. But he cares so much and so hard that its hard not to obey him when he gets ansty. He's saved my life so many times and gotten on my nerves many times more."
"And you married him." Wei Wuxian said softly.
Nie Mingjue wanted to laugh. "And I married him."
"I…didn't know Chifeng-zun was a cut-sleeve" Wei Wuxian said with a weak smile.
Nie Mingjue huffed. "Look who's talking. I've known you since you were a child A-Ying, your brother was complaining about your oblivious crush to Lan Wangji for years before he managed to make you realize it."
Wei Wuxian turned pink, glancing shyly at Lan Wangji.
"Anyway!" Wei Wuxian said, voice pitched high. "Chifeng-zun! You seem to be taking this better than expected!"
No matter how much he tried, Nie Mingjue could not raise his brow the way he wanted to. "I have spent most of my life around you and your brother, I've more or less already come to terms with the fact that oddities and strange events are par for the course when it comes to you two. Standing back until the matter is resolved is usually the preferred course to take."
"Ah- well no. I uh, I mean my…Demonic Cultivation…as well as the matter with Jin Guangyao."
Both of them glanced towards the two thirds of the venerated trio along with a wide-eyed Nie Huaisang. Nie Mingjue looked down at himself, looking at the stitching along his arm, and likely reappeared across his body. Wei Wuxian had softly given him his side of the whole mess, and while he wasn't pleased…he would be stupid if he couldn't somewhat guess what had happened.
A Jin Guangyao where his mother had died and he had gone into the palms of the power hungry Jin Guangshan. A Huaisang who lost his brother to Qi-Deviation, later discovering that his condition had been exacerbated on purpose by an external force. A Wei Wuxian, without his brother's knowledge and influence, taken in by the Jiang Sect and later ostracized for his exploration and later experimentation with Yin Energy after being thrown into the Burial Mounds by Wen Chao over the course of the Sunshot Campaign. A Xichen, so trusting and so naive that he would later blind himself to Jin Guangyao's ability to be ruthless. Blinded himself to the whole damn world because he would trust their judgement about Wei Wuxian's character over what he has seen, over what his brother had seen.
A world where Ming Fan was never present to look inward, who never encouraged and defended the value of communication and empathy (the hypocrite). Who was weary of allowing themselves to become dependent on the Jiang Sect whose Sect Leader saw a man instead of two children and whose Madam saw the reason for her husband's inattentiveness.
A world where Nie Mingjue grew up without Ming Fan to guide his way through the perilous path of Sect Leadership and taught him the way of politics. Who shouldered the heavy weight of responsibility, however ill-advised, and gave Nie Mingjue the opportunity to be someone outside of the mantle of Sect Leader without risk. Yes at the expense of himself—but Nie Mingjue wouldn't be who he was without it.
He would never have had the time to think about the man he was, and the man he wanted to be. Nor reason to.
A world in which Nie Mingjue was a resentful enough to become a powerful fierce corpse.
Yeah. He can easily imagine how he could draw Jin Guangyao's ire enough to turn murderous.
"I understand it" Nie Mingjue admitted after a quiet moment. "I don't agree with it, but I understand it."
Wei Wuxian blinked, confused maybe. Mingjue couldn't read him as well as his brother. "Uh- sorry?"
"Your way of cultivation—Yin energy cultivation we called it in my world—is dangerous. Yin energy is volatile, temperamental, and there is no energy more unstable than resentment." He's heard the spiel from both Wei brothers countless times before. "But in my world, you didn't end up pursuing it until your back was against the wall. If you're any similar to the Wei Wuxian of my world then you went through with it for a reason, and I respect your character enough to know that you likely felt you had little choice in the matter. The fact that you're standing here now and not insane, likely means that you've more or less figured out a way to temper it."
Nie Mingjue turned to face Jin Guangyao directly, finding the short man nearly cringing away from him. Not guiltless, he can tell that much, but there was a weariness there that the Meng Yao of his world didn't carry.
He looked at all of them, gods, even Lan Wangji looked more tired than he ever should be. Especially around Wei Ying. There were bodies on the floor he could sense, and there was a lingering feeling of dread that he seemed sensitive to now that he was a corpse.
He considered for a moment, sending them off, it seemed the kinder thing to do. The more they spoke the more he realized that his world had the benefit of Ming Fan to redirect the disasters. The more he looked, the more he could see the spun threads keeping everyone wound up. What should have been a group of friends, of family, were instead factions of weary cultivators who seemed to bore scars made by the other's hands. The distance between Rulan and Wanyin from Wei Ying. The wild look in Meng Yao's eyes, the conflicted agony in Xichen. His own damn brother Huaisang who looked torn between flinging himself at Mingjue or keeping his distance to keep a wider, bird's eye view on everyone, assessing everyone and the threat they posed.
Gods, it was such a fucking mess. Just how many conflicts did Ming Fan resolve from his sheer presence? If this was the world without his intervention, he wasn't sure if he could continue to encourage people to hand his husband the position of Head Cultivator with this sort of impact on their lives.
His fingers itched with that familiar urge that's plagued him since Wei Ming entered his life—that urge to fix, to mend. To put things to rights because he knows he could at least try—
He took a breath; and another.
If he did, how long would he have to stay? Where would the fixing end? Where would he let his part in fixing end?
It was kinder to let things lie. To spill half-truths and spare the starving food they will never be able to taste.
But still—
"Those three" he grunted quietly, relying on Wei Wuxian's proximity. "I need to talk to them. Alone."
"Ah- leave it to me Chifeng-zun" Wei Wuxian whispered.
In the typical fashion Mingjue had come to expect, he watched Wei Wuxian flail in full, Wei-Effect dramatics. Successfully dragging everyone out with him save for the three he wanted to talk to the most.
Lan Wangji had been the one who lingered, torn between staying with his brother and keeping close with Wei Ying, before being tugged along gently by Wei Wuxian. Whispers exchanged, though mostly by Wuxian.
Mingjue sat himself along the edge of his own coffin, the lid stained with blood and marked with what must have been one of Wei Wuxian's seals. He took the opportunity to find humor in the fact that he was essentially disrespecting his own grave. Still, the version of him that had lived in this world had no right to complain, he was about to face the mess that man had left behind him.
Though he was tempted to speak, it would just be easier to wait things out; given Jin Guangyao's wounds, he doubted at least two of them would be able to wait as long. If he was right in who he suspected could have had a hand in why his corpse was stitched together and present—in need of sealing—in the first place, it was likely that Huaisang was the one who wouldn't care if the world ended around their ears.
And so, he waited. Tilting his head at them in lieu of making the face he wanted to copy, the one that Ming Fan wore that got others to start spilling their closely guarded secrets. Allowing the silence to build.
"Mingjue…" Xichen breathed at last.
"Why aren't we going with them?" Huaisang rushed, stepping forward. Unsurprisingly flanking the side opposite of Jin Guangyao now that he was stepping closer to Mingjue. The Sect leader watched with grim understanding as Huaisang spread himself across his front, even if Jin Guangyao were to do something, it would have to go through Huaisang first.
Gods—his brother didn't even have his sword. Did he have a sword in this lifetime? He wasn't entirely sure if Huaisang would have ever cultivated his saber if Ming Fan hadn't been there to facilitate Huaisang's concerns with him. He highly doubt this Nie Huaisang would be trained in the art of the Spiritual Fan as Ming Fan was had the other not bring it into the world of their modern day. Xichen or Meng Yao maybe would have gotten to speak with him about it, but he wasn't sure when they would have. He wasn't even sure if he would listen.
"Da-ge lets go; we should get you home—"
"I'm not going A-Sang" Mingjue said softly, trying to be gentle.
Huaisang sputtered. "I—you—why not?! Da-ge stop joking around—"
"I'm not" Mingjue crossed his arms, for now putting all of his attention on his own brother. There are bags underneath his eyes, touched with some powder—likely to draw attention away from them. He ignored the ache in his heart as he continued, trying to make the blow swift. "A-Sang, I can't stay."
"Da-ge!" Huaisang's grip on his fan was turning his knuckles white, the normally well-cared for strips of wood threatening to snap under his strength. Mingjue felt that ache throb like a knife slipped between his ribs, merciless and uncaring. But as much as he wished he could relieve his brother of that pain, the fact of the matter was that Nie Mingjue could not.
Because as much as he loves his brother, as much as he wants to ease his brother's troubles and bare the weight that was looming over his shoulders—Mingjue had to think, seriously and honestly, how long would it be until he began to resent his brother for it? How long could Mingjue stand to ache for his husband that he chose to leave behind because he wanted to care for a Huaisang who was suffering? Living as a fierce corpse, unable to die naturally; uncertain if he could go back if he stayed long enough to beg for an exorcism, how long could Nie Qingzheng hold on until the misery started to show even on his corpse-face?
If he chose to stay, he knew his own brother would have Ming Fan. Would have A-Ying and his friends and family to care for him. His husband at least, would have his brother. His family. His Shizun and his Sect of old, immortal and powerful. Strong enough to weather the storm that Ming Fan would unleash.
But Qingzheng honestly wasn't sure if he could do that.
He just got him back.
Nie Qingzheng was the man he was because Ming Fan had been in his life, that was something he had known for years. The Nie Mingjue of this world wasn't him. They shared a name, they shared a face, shared a similar history—but fundamentally, they were different men. He wasn't the brother Huaisang was desperately yearning for. He wasn't the Da-ge this Lan Huan and Meng Yao were looking for.
How long until Nie Qingzheng got sick of pretending to be their Nie Mingjue?
"A-Sang" Mingjue said softly, gently. Saying nothing else, because how the fuck could he? How the fuck was he supposed to tell this Huaisang, who lost his brother, that Nie Qingzheng did not wholeheartedly want to stay. By the gods he did, in fact, he wanted to drag this Huaisang back with him. It would be so much easier if he could.
But he also, just got A-Fan back.
Why was this so fucking hard?
"I—I—" Huaisang stuttered, his eyes shined yet did not spill. His expression pulled to a frown as his mind reeled faster than Nie Mingjue's ever could.
It didn't matter that Nie Qingzheng didn't say it, his brother heard him anyway.
"Da-ge" Xichen said weakly, a habit of defending Huaisang that Mingjue had always loved him for. Yet like always, Xichen was one of the few that knew him best. "that's not fair."
His thought exactly.
"It isn't" Mingjue agreed "and this wouldn't be a question he would ask."
Huaisang's fist slammed against him, weak though it was. "That's not fair—it's not fair! Da-ge why do you have to do this to me! I'll—I'll pursue the saber again, I'll—I'll fix the mess with Jin Guangyao—" his brother spat "I'll give up painting! Just tell me what I need to do to make you stay—!"
Nie Mingjue watched his brother sadly, enduring the blows unflinchingly as Huaisang descended into what could only be called a desperation-fueled frenzy. Xichen reached out, holding Huaisang by the shoulders. And though it was obvious now who was the cause of his downfall, Jin Guangyao reached limply. His fingers stopping just before they could touch.
But Nie Mingjue knows his brother well enough, changes notwithstanding, and he knows that Huaisang is just as conflicted as he was. Otherwise he wouldn't hesitate to ask, wouldn't have seemingly given Mingjue the option to choose.
"I like tea." Mingjue started softly "I prefer it with cold milk and syrup. I arrange for the Nie Sect farmers to raise their crops in grids so that it's easier to calculate when I have to deal with the paperwork. I go on walks every evening to see the city and every two weeks there is a disciple sparing that I participate in."
Huaisang's lip wobbled as he starred at him, his shoulders bunched together in that familiar defensive denial that Mingjue had been known throughout his entire childhood.
"I don't get that angry anymore, and I sort of understand your love of paintings now. Even if I don't understand it the way you do" he continued "my favorite days are when I can sleep in and enjoy the Unclean Realm's cold air by burying myself under furs. Hosting the Conferences are a pain but I've gotten used to hosting it."
Mingjue watched as Huaisang's eyes shifted, emotions morphing and changing with his every word like leaves falling on a pond. Sending ripples throughout his body as loud as a crow's call. Confusion and incredulousness, rapid-fire connections that he knows wouldn't make sense. Wouldn't line up with Huaisang's Mingjue because that Mingjue would had never had time to be anything, anyone but Sect Leader Nie. Would never have grown to be anything but Chifeng-zun.
"We're not the same A-Sang" Mingjue murmured softly. He let his hand fall to Huaisang's clenched fists, letting his larger palms engulf them completely. He held gently, with intent to hold Huaisang together. "I'm not him, not totally."
Huaisang sobbed, and Nie Mingjue could do nothing but endure the sound.
Mingjue looked up, locking eyes with Xichen for a moment before glancing at Jin Guangyao—who flinched once more. Tilting his head away guitily.
"Hey, I…I'm proud of you, look at you. All set up as Sect Leader and involving yourself in scandals of obscenely dangerous proportions" Mingjue murmured half-seriously. His fingers took time to card through the tangles in his brother's hair, teasing them back out. "I don't know if it's worth anything to you now, but he would be proud of you too. I'm sure he'd be waiting for you. After a long time of course, I don't think you would be able to avoid getting thrashed if it was any sooner."
Though he couldn't feel it, Mingjue knew that a dark spot on his clothing was steadily growing. Fueled by anguish.
"You are Da-ge" Nie Huaisang whimpered into his tattered clothes. "…but also aren't."
"Yeah." With a soft breath, he bent his knuckles, and knocked Huaisang out.
"Mingjue!" Xichen gasped in alarm, moving forward as Huaisang slumped into Mingjue's chest. He let Xichen take him, watching the Oldest of the Lan brothers settle Huaisang and arrange him to the side. Familiar, orderly. Brotherly even.
Huaisang wouldn't be alone when he woke up, that much he was confident in.
He glanced at Jin Guangyao's avoidant demeanor, exhaling out of habit.
"You'll bleed out if you let that sit" Nie Mingjue pointed out expectantly, motioning to Jin Guangyao's absent arm.
The Jin Sect leader scoffed, his face morphing into so many masks before he finally gave up and let the helpless agony show on his thick face. "What does it matter?"
"A-Yao" Lan Xichen frowned, already reaching out. Jin Guangyao moved out of the way, exhausted probably, by sin after sin getting thrown back into his face.
"It matters a whole lot apparently, if you think death easier than taking responsibility" Mingjue crossed his arms "which isn't wrong I suppose, if you're alright with making Xichen suffer."
Jin Guangyao, in a flare of the Meng Yao that Nie Mingjue was famililar with, scoffed. "Suffer?! Everything I have done— everything that I have hidden has been to protect Er-ge from my sins— what would you know?! Mighty Chifeng-zun who has never had to dirty his hands— who has never had to maintain face as others whisper of you as a whore's son— what would you know of suffering?! What would you know of being looked upon as lesser— of chasing after a dream placed upon you and finding it to never be within your reach— what would you know of me Nie Mingjue?!"
"You're practical" Mingjue replied bluntly "everything you do has always had the bigger picture in mind. Your years as a non-cultivator has only cemented your tendencies to think of every plan from the perspective of the result over the process. You have a tendency to favor a plan with more guarantee than going through the due process because you believe that honor and justice are mere platitudes labeled by those who call themselves righteous. I know you conceived the plan of the Watch Towers precisely because you knew the existing system was not enough to truly accommodate for every person within Sect territories. I know you plan for every contingency, every personality, I know that you have six different ways to conduct damage control and six different ways to make your problem disappear.
"I also know" Mingjue continued "that you have a bad habit of not sharing your plans because you think its easier to act first and beg forgiveness later. I know that your mother has always been one of the most important people in your life, but I also know she has pressed her delusions upon you when it comes to the role Jin Guangshan was meant to play that we both know he never would have. I know you prioritize Xichen in your life because he gives you his faith unwaveringly, but you also put him on a pedestal thinking that you must never tarnished the image of you he has and thus leads you to continuously covering up your crimes in order to do so rather than considering confiding in him- or anyone else for that matter."
Jin Guangyao flinched, his eyes down-turned as he avoided Lan Xichen's sad gaze.
"When did you lose your mother?" Nie Mingjue asked bluntly.
Startled, Jin Guangyao answered. "I—what does that matter?"
Mingjue lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "The Meng Yao of my world never lost his mother. And my husband convinced him that Jin Guangshan wasn't worth his effort. He was heeded, and now the Meng Yao of my world is my second best Head Disciple since I've become Sect Leader."
He watched as Jin Guangyao's expression shuddered, defensive and angry. "So even there, without my hands sullied, I do not have your respect."
Mingjue tilted his head. "The Meng Yao of my world has made his mistakes, but we've discussed them and my respect for him has only grown since then. It's simply hard to beat the record my husband left before he dismissed himself from his position as my Head Disciple after nearly two decades. As for this ridiculous idea of who is 'sullied' fucking no one isn't. We let the Jin Sect under Jin Guangshan prosecute and practically torture the remaining Wens who had no combat-involvement in the war. I led an army to fight in the Sunshot Campaign using ambush tactics and geographical advantages. It was a war but I've learned to own up to the shit I've done. The only reason why the Sunshot Campaign ended years earlier is because the Meng Yao of my world leaked my husband and his brother's plans to get closer to Wen Ruohan, which lead one of them to die and rise as corpse before ending the war an entire two years earlier. I let my husband's brother die—"
Nie Mingjue felt himself get angrier, encouraged by the resentment sustaining his body as he leaned over Jin Guangyao, before forcing himself to back away. Deliberately ignoring Lan Xichen's flinch at his last words.
"My husband forgave me" Mingjue gritted through the wails of frustration after finding the ground beneath him at last. Wrenching back control from the waves of seething anger. "I spend a lot of my waking hour trying to earn that."
He breathes, even if it is useless, through his nose. Mentally shoving and compacting the held breath with his momentary fit of aggregation before forcing it out through his lips as he would a breathless scream. It was a technique Nie Mingjue learned when he was dragging himself through the days after the Burial Mounds. Trying to keep his head above the alcohol and his fist out of the faces of the numerous simpering leaders of which Qinghe Nie was aligned to. While Meng Yao was hesitant to use Wei Ming's name, Huaisang had no such qualms using his Shixiong's name to force some patience into Nie Mingjue in the early days. Brutal, but Mingjue appreciated the push later when the idiocies multiplied soon after the formation of the Head Cultivator position.
Thirteen years was a long time to work out a system of how to not immediately lose his shit even with added resentment.
"If you're looking for forgiveness, I'm the wrong person to ask. And Xichen isn't quite the right one either" he said after a long moment, ignoring Jin Guangyao's uncomfortable shift. "You didn't raise the sword, but you certainly threw the rock that made the landslide. If you think you could keep living through life skirting that responsibility—well I suppose that's as good of evidence as any that you're less Meng Shi's son and moreso Jin Guangshan's."
Jin Guangyao's mouth fell open, outraged and incredulous and helplessly reeling all at once as he stood. Shook to the bone, his mouth parted to refute only to have his silver tongue thoroughly tied in complex knots. If Jin Guangyao could spit more blood than what he had already lost, Mingjue had no doubt he would be doing that too.
"Mingjue" Lan Xichen said helplessly, holding Jin Guangyao up. "You go too far."
Mingjue tilted his head forward, once. Acknowledging, but did not apologize. To apologize meant that Mingjue thought himself in the wrong, and in this matter, he did not believe himself so. It was a kinder thing to refuse to pander to Jin Guangyao's immediate outrage. Albeit in a way that the other man would pay more attention to.
The Meng Shi he knew was a nice lady, a helpless romantic that always gently teased him about Wei Ming whenever he came by with Meng Yao to check up on her. She might have made the mistake of banking on Jin Guangshan, but her sensibilities retained in everything else that mattered. She was clever, and entertained with her intellect and knowledge, making her formally one of the foremost desired courtesan in the Hidden Lotus prior to Jin Guangshan's presence. Traits that she would pass on to her son that was tempered and given stability by Wei Ming's friendship and empathy.
The Meng Yao he knew was just as clever as this Jin Guangyao, but he was certainly Meng Shi's son first and foremost. Unfortunately it seemed that he was two for two in shitty Jin Guangshans.
"You really aren't Da-ge" Jin Guangyao whispered after a long moment, drawing Xichen's concerned eye. "Da-ge wouldn't hurt me with such deep-cutting words."
Ming Fan would likely do much worse, especially after knowing what Wei Ying had suffered in this world, but Mingjue knew better than to mention it. Simply nodding in response. Looking at the both of them, they somehow seemed younger than their counterparts in his world. More uncertain, more rigid in their sensibilities. Easily snapped like twigs rather than the swaying bamboo they could have been, enduring even in the roughest of storms. Not just because of their strength but because of their ability to bow and bend with the winds. Strong, but not brittle. Annealed to maximum potential.
A trickle of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect's teachings perhaps, graciously gifted to them by Ming Fan himself.
A complicated feeling rose up from him as he looked at Lan Xichen. Tall but uncertain, shaken by the events of the day even before Mingjue had been shoved into this corpse of a body his counterpart left behind. A Xichen who never found assurance in his identity, who grew up with not only Mingjue but Wei Ming to look after him in silent sentry while he found his footing as the emerging Lan Sect Leader. A Lan Xichen who saw the best in people, but was never allowed to be worldly enough to understand the people bellow the clouds.
Looking at this Xichen, Mingjue can't help but remember his A-Fan's concerns that time, a very long time ago in Lotus Pier.
"Well" Mingjue said at last, because unlike his husband; Nie Mingjue was not righteous. He was selfish and greedy. He wanted his husband and couldn't help but look upon these two men and ached for just how much these two had missed in their lives because of their circumstance. There was nothing to be done, and Nie Mingjue was cursed with the knowledge of knowing what could have been. "You're in luck Jin Guangyao, because I can't stay."
Mingjue was a selfish man, but he tried his best to never be intentionally cruel. His life was a life built from needs. Nie Mingjue needed to be Sect Leader. Nie Mingjue needed his brother to get better at the saber. Nie Mingjue needed Wei Ming to rely on him. Nie Mingjue would not, could not, be who he was if he wasn't greedy. He just got better at not letting it dictate every aspect of his life. Got better at pausing to think which need took more priority.
He needed his Sect, his family, to live in peace more than he needed to be just Chifeng-zun.
He needed his brother to live well more than he needed him to learn the saber.
He needed Ming Fan to be happy more than he needed him in his life.
It took time, but he got there. Eventually.
"Surely there must be a way" Lan Xichen whispered, ever the diplomat.
Jin Guangyao pursed his lip, but said nothing in support or against him. Every moment that past, Nie Mingjue could see the man get shorter and shorter. Barely running on the fumes of his Cultivation, if he had to guess.
"Lan Xichen" Mingjue said softly "I might be here, I might care for A-Sang just as hard. But he is not me. That man is dead, has been dead, for a long time now. And I am not selfless enough to volunteer to be his replacement."
"That's not what I—"
"But it is Er-ge" Jin Guangyao said softly, hoarsely. "He is not— Da-ge would not have hesitated to run me through for my crimes. You know that. Da-ge— he is right. And…it wouldn't be fair, to have him stay. Especially because he seems so eager to leave."
"A-Yao!"
"A-Huan" and there he was, the Meng Yao Mingjue did know well. "Da-ge— this Da-ge, has a husband. One we would take him from if he stays. Huaisang knew that. You know that."
Lan Xichen bit the inside of his cheek, conflict etched into his face to the point where usually more amicable of the Lan Jades mirrored his little brother.
Nie Mingjue sighed.
"Take Meng Yao back to Cloud Recesses. Let him serve out his punishment for his crimes, do not let the Cultivation World bowl you over to have him executed or some other ridiculous ask. Remind them that the dead pay no reparations to the living." Mingjuje offered. "Your reputation is good, they should get off your back easier than they got off mine. Get Wei Wuxian in it too, the way its looking, his opinion might turn out to be more weight than either of you might think. But you need to talk. All three of you."
Mingjue looked meaningfully at Huaisang, still slumped across Xichen's shoulder.
Meng Yao huffed softly. "You have this well thought out Chifeng-zun."
"It's what my husband would have done" Mingjue replied, shrugging helplessly. "He's always played the game better than I could, and A-Sang certainly hadn't learn it from me."
He reached out despite their visible surprise, pulling them close for a hug.
Fuck. He felt so much older than them somehow. Technically he was—but they just seemed so fucking young.
Nie Mingjue's mind raced to find some sort of advice—some comfort or wisdom he could pass on in the hopes that these boys his brothers could somehow come out of this better than they were before. He wasn't Ming Fan—but—
"There's no such thing as black or white" Nie Mingjue murmured, he could feel his soul get tugged somewhere- back home hopefully. But somewhere away and in a place where his brothers could not reach him. "There's only shades of gray. The best any of us can do is wash off the excess ink when it gets stained."
Faster than any one could see, the foundation of Guanyin temple began to shake and tremble, and the fierce corpse of Nie Mingjue was dragged back into the coffin.
[SYSTEM_90-728634724753: ~ ERROR_SUCESS_DISCREPENCY RESTORED]