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Ah, Nie Huaisang thought, upon seeing the damp tent walls surrounding him. Fuck.
He remembered this place. He remembered the smell and the tension that filled the air. He remembered sleeping on uncomfortable ground, and his frustrated elation that this unremarkable patch of land was where he’d finally formed his golden core.
Nie Huaisang breathed, and pressed a hand against his navel. His golden core was there, a tiny pearl of warmth and nothing like the compressed blaze he’d built it into by the time he’d finished attaining his revenge. So. He’d come back here, to the point when he’d cultivated his core, because…
The last thing Nie Huaisang recalled before waking up here was Wei Wuxian reassuring him that everything about his latest experiment was going Fine, no really, that’s supposed to be on fire—, and Nie Huaisang stared up at the tent above him and contemplated going and finding Wei Wuxian and strangling him. It wouldn’t fix anything, he suspected, but it would make him feel better.
Sort of.
Fuck, if he was back in the Sunshot Campaign, then Wei Wuxian wouldn’t be able to take that as a joke. Nie Huaisang rubbed his face and started mentally sorting out everything he’d need to do in order to get oriented and not make it horrifically obvious that he wasn’t the same Nie Huaisang who’d fallen asleep here last night.
Maybe, if he was lucky, he could pass it off as a cultivation side effect.
Nie Huaisang sat down next to Wei Wuxian and chirped, “Guess what!”
“What, Nie-xiong?” Wei Wuxian’s hands were covered with scratches Nie Huaisang now recognised as a sign of him drawing his own blood to write talismans with. They were lovely to watch, wielding a brush deftly across paper and pausing only to dip the ends into blood-soaked ink. “Did you catch a new bird?”
“My core finally stabilised!”
Nie Huaisang knew he would’ve missed the way Wei Wuxian’s face closed off and his fingers trembled if he hadn’t already known to look for it. The smile on Wei Wuxian’s too-thin face almost seemed honest, if he didn’t know to look at his eyes and the delicate way he set down his brush. “That’s great!” Wei Wuxian said, without the slightest tremble in his voice. “Now you don’t need to ask for rides anymore!”
“Maybe I can give you a ride instead.” Nie Huaisang leaned forward, fan sweeping across the bottom half of his face as he fluttered his eyelashes. He meant the flirtation just as much as the offer itself, and he needed to soften this enough for Wei Wuxian to somehow accept. “Unless you think that’d make Lan-er-gongzi jealous.”
Wei Wuxian blushed the same no matter his body or age, Nie Huaisang was pleased to find. It started in his ears and spread down his neck and across his cheeks. “Nie-xiong!”
“I’ve seen how he looks at you.” Nie Huaisang hid his smile behind his fan, though he knew Wei Wuxian could see it perfectly well in his eyes. “Has he ever given you a ride, Wei-xiong?”
“Nie Huaisang!” Wei Wuxian covered his face with one hand and swatted at Nie Huaisang with the other. “What about Lan Zhan makes it seem like he’d want such a thing? The Lan are such prudes, I doubt he’d even think of such a thing!”
You have so many things to learn, Nie Huaisang thought, stifling a giggle. He might not have been accepted into Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s marriage for long, but it had been quite informative. “Think about it,” Nie Huaisang advised, patting Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “It’s quite an effective cultivation tool.”
“Wait, is that how—”
Nie Huaisang grinned. “What do you think, Wei-xiong?” He waggled his eyebrows and sauntered away, leaving Wei Wuxian sputtering behind him.
If either offer were taken up, he’d be quite pleased, but he didn’t expect this to bear fruits very quickly.
That was fine; there were many other plans he wished to prepare.
Finding a time to talk to Lan Xichen was far more difficult, of course, because Lan Xichen was a sect leader in his own right and not a semi-ostracised demonic cultivator attached to the Yunmeng Jiang’s remnants.
Still, Nie Huaisang had always been good at worming his way into Gusu Lan spaces—the close bond between his Da-ge and Lan Xichen helped, as did his long friendship with Lan Wangji—and he leaned on that connection to find his way to Lan Xichen’s planning room. “Xichen-ge,” he said, because he’d never been above whining to get his way, “I’m bored.”
“And I am busy.” Lan Xichen lifted his head from the piles of paperwork he was doing. “I cannot entertain you, Sang-di.”
Nie Huaisang smiled brightly and sprawled down in front of Lan Xichen’s desk. “Let me help, Xichen-ge.”
Lan Xichen studied him. His eyes were sharp, shadow-lined though they were from too many late nights and long days. “Why ask me and not your Da-ge?”
“Da-ge would stick a sword in my hand and tell me to help like that.” Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. He loved Da-ge, but sometimes the straightforward answer didn’t help anyone. “I’m pretty sure I can write your endless letters begging minor sects to come help, and most inter-camp correspondence.”
He might have tipped his hand too much with how blithely he said that, but Lan Xichen didn’t question him. There was that consideration, again, but Lan Xichen slowly nodded. He neatly separated a group of papers and shifted them in front of Nie Huaisang, saying, “Start with these. I want to check your work before they’re sent.”
Nie Huaisang straightened immediately, drawing the stack closer. “Yes, Xichen-ge.”
He’d need to be careful not to rely too heavily on what he remembered from his past, but— Nie Huaisang’s chest tightened. So many of the names he saw were people who had died.
Perhaps, in the worst way, keeping his information separated wouldn’t be too difficult after all.
Lan Wangji found him a week later, safely ensconced within most of Lan Xichen’s non-spy paperwork. Nie Huaisang glanced up at him and gave an honest smile; he hadn’t seen much of Lan Wangji, who preferred to be in the midst of conflict. “Give me a minute, Lan Zhan,” he said, not wanting to get too distracted from the carefully-constructed implication of not-exactly-blackmail he was in the middle of writing.
He didn’t need to worry that Lan Wangji would mind waiting, at least. Nie Huaisang took his time, reassured by the quiet way Lan Wangji folded himself to the floor and watched him. They’d spent plenty of time in their youth like this, though Nie Huaisang had usually been penning poems or drafting paintings instead of calls to war.
“Xiongzhang said you’d become a great help to him,” Lan Wangji said, as soon as Nie Huaisang set down his brush. “It’s very kind of you.”
Nie Huaisang grinned and stood up to stretch. He paid attention, through his eyelashes, to the way Lan Wangji’s gaze followed the line of his body. He’d been telling the truth, then, that he’d been interested in Nie Huaisang for a long time but wasn’t sure what to make of it. “I like the work,” he said, coming around his desk so that he could sit next to Lan Wangji. “I can’t fight on the front lines like you.”
“Wei Wuxian—”
Lan Wangji cut himself off, and Nie Husaisang—more bitterly than he expected—filled in the rest. “Doesn’t know his limits?” He’d seen Wei Wuxian come back from battle, wan and drawn and always with too much blood on his skin. He laid a hand on Lan Wangji’s knee, casual familiarity that he was keenly aware he meant in a different way now than he had in his original youth. “I’m worried about him too.”
Lan Wangji sighed. He did not remove Nie Huaisang’s hand, but neither did he return the gesture. “He does not talk to me.”
“What does he do, then?”
“He runs from me.”
Nie Huaisang snickered. “Is he blushing?”
“Huaisang!” Lan Wangji’s ears reddened the slightest amount.
“He is, isn’t he?” Nie Huaisang nudged Lan Wangji with his elbow. “He has no idea what to do about his feelings.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lan Wangji glared at Nie Huaisang, and maybe that would’ve been effective if he’d been as young as this body seemed—as young as Lan Wangji was—but Nie Huaisang had been uncowed by far worse. “Feelings aren’t the problem, Huaisang; he’s cultivating dangerously.”
“Yes.” Nie Huaisang really wished he could explain any of this. “It’s the only way he thinks he can help his friends and keep his family safe, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji stiffened, and—finally—his fingers clenched around Nie Huaisang’s. “That doesn’t make it a good choice.”
“No.” Nie Huaisang closed his eyes, begged Lan Wangji to not ask any more questions. “It simply makes it an understandable one.”
Lan Wangji let out a breath. “Talk to him for me.”
“Lan Zhan—”
“He will talk to you,” Lan Wangji said, and the worst thing was that Nie Huaisang knew he was right. “Perhaps you can make him see the danger of his ways.”
Nie Huaisang nodded. He didn’t trust his voice right now.
After a longer silence than he expected, Lan Wangji gently said, “May I play for you as you work?”
“Yeah,” Nie Huaisang said, squeezing Lan Wangji’s hand and trying desperately not to lean into him for more physical comfort. He couldn’t— It would be too much to pretend he didn’t know Lan Wangji’s body too well. “I would like that.”
Lan Wangji’s music was the same as it ever was; less refined with youth but no less powerful as it soothed and focused his mind.
Nie Huaisang set pen to paper, and hoped that this would work.
“If you have the time,” Lan Xichen began, “there are some more… sensitive documents I hope you would be comfortable working with as well.”
Nie Huaisang smiled up at him, trying to project youthful delight in a job well done instead of his delighted hope that he would get what he wanted. “Of course, Xichen-ge!” He waved a hand at the stacks of letters around him. “This is a much better way of helping than swinging a sword.”
Lan Xichen smiled at him and knelt. “Thank you, Sang-di.” He pulled a small sheaf of papers out of his sleeve. “These are my contacts within the Qishan Wen,” he said, not yet letting Nie Huaisang see him. “You may not discuss them with anyone else. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Nie Huaisang cupped his hands and bowed. “I understand.”
“Good.” Lan Xichen laid the papers on the desk between them. “Let me show you what needs to be done.”
Nie Huaisang listened intently. With this, he’d have access to what he needed in order to undermine Meng Yao’s status without undermining the war.
“Lan Zhan’s worried about you.” Nie Huaisang passed Wei Wuxian a jar of his favorite wine, ignoring the way the sudden topic switch made Wei Wuxian tense. “He wants to talk to you.”
Wei Wuxian took a long swig, then muttered, “He only ever says one thing.”
Nie Huaisang sighed and poked at the fire they’d built off in this secluded corner of the war camp. It flickered in response. “He wants you to be okay.”
The laugh that came out of Wei Wuxian’s throat could have passed for amusement. “Is anybody okay in a war?”
“Not really.” Nie Huaisang leaned over and snatched the wine back from Wei Wuxian. It was warm on his tongue, and he tried to savor it. “But have you looked in a mirror recently?”
“What, am I not pretty enough for you anymore?” Wei Wuxian fluttered his eyelashes at Nie Huaisang. “Do you not want to give me a ride now?”
Nie Huaisang paused in the middle of setting down the wine jar. “Do you want one?” he asked, meeting Wei Wuxian’s eyes steadily. “That’s— I wasn’t thinking about it right now, but—”
“I—” Wei Wuxian drew back, shaking his head and waving his hands in denial. “It was a joke, Nie-xiong.”
“Was it?” Nie Huaisang turned and reached out for Wei Wuxian’s hand. He was so tired of this, and the alcohol made everything seem easier to commit to. “Because I don’t want it to be a joke, Wei-xiong. Do you want it?”
Wei Wuxian didn’t dodge his grasp. He was too busy staring at Nie Huaisang, eyes wide and dark in his sickly-pale face. His hand, always bony, felt almost skeletal as Nie Huaisang took it. “I—”
“You look like death,” Nie Huaisang said, tugging Wei Wuxian towards him. “I wish I didn’t want to kiss you anyway.”
“Oh,” Wei Wuxian said, strangled. “Fuck.”
“I’d like that too.” Nie Huaisang hadn’t expected this to work. He’d drawn Wei Wuxian onto his lap, and now he had a lot of other ideas about what they should do. “I’m going to kiss you,” he said, because Wei Wuxian could still run away if he wanted to.
He didn’t, though. His lips were dry and cracked, and his body was far too light, and Nie Huaisang could feel the chill of his demonic cultivation now, ice where a golden core’s sun should be.
They’d talk about that tomorrow, he thought, but right now he was kissing Wei Wuxian and his body was filled with relief and joy at the unfamiliar-familiarity. Wei Wuxian was young, and inexperienced, but he made noises of surprised joy when Nie Huaisang grabbed him and put him where he wanted, and that was the same.
Nie Huaisang grinned, and bit into Wei Wuxian’s mouth, and chose to lose himself for the moment in pleasure.
(Later that night, half-asleep from spending too much of his not-cultivated-enough qi in Wei Wuxian’s barren core, Nie Huaisang muttered, “Tell Lan Zhan you like him already. I’m not doing that for either of you.”
Wei Wuxian laughed, bright and easy and full of warm energy in a way Nie Huaisang hadn’t seen since coming to this time. “Isn’t saying that like telling me?”
Nie Huaisang batted at his face. “Shut up.”
“Kiss me again,” Wei Wuxian demanded, because he’d always been insatiable, and Nie Huaisang did.)
Did something happen to my original point of contact? the missive said, and Nie Huaisang rubbed his face, hearing the concern in Meng Yao’s question. Here, alone, he could drop the facade and think about how much older he was than any of them in experience. And, too, how little he remembered of Meng Yao’s earnestness, long overwritten by Jin Guangyao’s spiderweb schemes. Regardless, matters here continue apace. The following is a list of troop movements I am aware of.
Nie Huaisang copied those onto the map, little marks slowly unveiling the whole of Wen Ruohan’s current plan. Meng Yao, whatever his potential flaws, was very good at worming information out from under the noses of his supposed superiors.
“Huh,” he said, slowly looking over the map. “Wen Ruohan’s scared.”
From memory, he added the current deployment of the combined sects’ forces. He knew far more of them than even Lan Xichen—who made sure he knew where Gusu Lan’s people were—realised, he thought; Wei Wuxian would tell him about Yunmeng Jiang, and he’d started writing to Jin Zixuan and Luo Qingyang and getting information about Lanling Jin from them, and Da-ge of course told him everything about Qinghe Nie’s movements. The smaller sects and clans filtered through the gossip mill and made their way to his ears eventually no matter what, often through one of the other sects’ commanding influence.
The picture it made was compelling. The main camp, where Nie Huaisang was, sat in the middle of two wings of forces, and Wen Ruohan was trying to block them all. He had the manpower to hold out for a while, Nie Huaisang thought, but if they wanted to punch through sooner…
He shook his head. He wasn’t a general, and he’d never wanted to be.
Nie Huaisang rolled up the map, careful not to smudge anything, and went to find his brother.
“Oh good,” Nie Huaisang said as soon as he caught sight of Lan Wangji’s face. “He told you.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes widened, and Nie Huaisang burst out in laughter as he tried to think of a way to explain how he knew what Lan Wangji looked like when he’d just gotten laid. He gave up after a few seconds, instead waving his hands in front of his face, and hastily said, “I would love to know the details but please don’t feel obliged.”
“He told me certain details about you,” Lan Wangji said, his face placid once more. “I admit to a certain amount of curiosity.”
“Ah?” Nie Huaisang remembered, very suddenly, how this had gone in his time. How Lan Wangji had appeared in the Unclean Realm and simply said, Wei Wuxian has a question for you and dragged him out of where he definitely hadn’t been hiding and to a nice secluded cottage where Wei Wuxian had—red-faced and insouciant—grabbed him and informed him I want to fuck you, and it had taken the better part of a day for Nie Huaisang to understand why.
Lan Wangji had given the explanation then: curiosity, on both their parts; frustration combined with fascination at Nie Huaisang’s revealed intellect; a desire to pin him down, a desire to see what else he knew about them.
Now—
Things were simpler. They had to be. Nie Huaisang didn’t know what to do with that, let alone the strange-familiar way Lan Wangji’s eyes softened as he brushed his fingers across Nie Huaisang’s cheek. “Come by my tent tonight,” Lan Wangji said, walking away. “We will be there.”
Nie Huaisang’s hand floated up to press against where Lan Wangji had touched him. We, he’d said.
He might never go back to the time he’d come from, but he could rebuild here. Perhaps they could all be happier and less complicated, and he could be freer with himself and the people he loved.
Nie Huaisang did not cry into his soup, but it was a nearer thing than he’d like.
When they reached Nightless City, Nie Huaisang waited at camp to hear the news. Everyone he loved was there—his brother, his partners, his friends—and all he could do was sit here and wait for a signal.
The sun, low in the sky, did not turn dark. Nor did the signals for Retreat or Reinforce blossom in the sky.
Instead, as the horizon turned sunset-gold, a frenzy of signals flared up over the city skyline. We have prevailed they said, a multitude of color and glory, and Nie Huaisang let out a breath and closed his eyes as cheers rang out from the war camp and its reinforcements.
They had won. Whatever else happened, he had time now. Time to guide Meng Yao on a path towards kindness, to slowly refill Wei Wuxian’s lost core, to see his Da-ge live a full life.
Nie Huaisang smiled, and watched the sun slowly set. Soon another day would dawn, and his new life with it.