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gravitywonagain · 3 months

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Sympathy for the Devil; part 2

discord got me to finally write a connecting scene, so here! have some more of this nonsense au now based only vaguely on the blacklist! [part 1]

“Alright. What do we know about him?”

Luo Qingyang stands at the back of the small conference room facing the large projector screen on the opposite wall. Her uniform jacket is draped over the back of the chair in front of her, and her fingers curl and uncurl of their own volition, kneading the dark blue fabric into the cushion beneath it. This is not what she expected her morning to look like.

Her team -- her and Lan Wangji’s team, now -- is gathered at the table in front of her.

Nie Zonghui has several stacks of photocopied notes spilling out of an open manilla folder, two highlighters, four sizes of sticky notes, and a legal pad in front of him. He has blue ink on his neck where the tip of the pen resting behind his ear rubs whenever he turns his head to the left. Frustration rolls off of him in waves.

Lan Jingyi is typing rapidly on his CBC-issued laptop which is angled toward Luo Qingyang just enough that she can see he has six different windows open and is in desperate need of at least two external monitors. The overworked fan is almost louder than his heavy-handed, caffeine-fuelled typing. He’s twisting back and forth in the swivel chair, dragging his toes across the carpet, but swivels to a stop at her question.

Qin Su stands off to Luo Qingyang’s right, placing photos -- mostly grainy or blurred -- in an ever expanding evidence map. At the top, with a dozen or so threads leading away from its pin, is a crisp, clean, photo of a man wearing an approximation of the CBC Academy uniform, smiling brilliantly at the camera. Beneath him, the title card reads: Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian.

“Yiling Laozu?” asks Lan Jingyi, one foot tapping out a vague rhythm against the leg of the conference table.

Luo Qingyang restrains her eyeroll, only because she can see that at least four of the open windows on his laptop are chasing down information regarding Yiling Laozu’s associates, rather than the demonic kingpin himself.

“Yeah,” she says. “Break it down for me.”

“Well,” says Qin Su, moving from the board to the open folio near her, “he’s a bit of a recluse, so we don’t actually know a lot.”

Her folio is much better organized than Nie Zonghui’s.

“Start with the basics.”

Qin Su nods, “Right. Yiling Laozu. Wanted for-- basically every kind of spiritual crime known to the CBC. He invented the Ghost Path in his late teens or early twenties, we think. It’s unclear, what with all of the rumor and suspicion and superstition around even saying his name--”

“Yeah, he really looks like a boogeyman…” says Nie Zonghui. He’s stressed. They should never have sent him into the room with Wei Wuxian.

Lan Jingyi says, “Hot boogeyman. If you ask me--”

Luo Qingyang clears her throat pointedly. “Nobody did. Moving on?”

“Yup!”

Qin Su points to Lan Jingyi who taps a few keys on his -- very abused -- keyboard and takes over the projector. He throws several pages up on the wall, photos with short but damning rap sheets.

“Known associates include Gui Jiangjun and Mo Daifu,” she says, indicating the sheets labeled Wen Qionglin and Wen Qing respectively.

She points to Lan Jingyi again and a very low-light black and white shot comes up center-screen. It shows a man who could potentially be Wei Wuxian entering a building that is definitely Two Fans. The brilliant green of the sign is lost, but it is plenty readable. “He has been seen entering the Headshaker’s club on several occasions, but any actual association remains speculative at best.”

Nie Zonghui shrugs in the corner of Luo Qingyang’s eye. “He might just have good taste in venues.”

All three other agents in the room turn to look at him, brows quirked or furrowed or raised to different degrees.

Nie Zonghui shrugs again, “What? It’s a nice club.”

Wei Wuxian rubs at the zip tie dent around the outside of his wrists. He plays it up a little, wincing and groaning just enough to be heard.

Still, Lan Wangji doesn’t look at him.

It’s fine.

He follows the CBC Director and field agents out of the interrogation room and down a long, boring hallway. Lan Qiren and the other cultivator break off through one of the nondescript doors -- room 129-9, Wei Wuxian notes out of habit -- and then it’s just Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian following Lan Wangji. Down a long, boring hallway.

It feels like old times. Especially as Wei Wuxian finds his eyes… wandering.

The Bureau slacks look unfairly good on Lan Wangji, blue wool hugging tight to the curves of his legs and ass in a way no law enforcement uniform should ever be allowed to do. It’s rude. He must get them tailored.

Lan Wangji leads him through another nondescript door -- room 157-3 -- which opens up into a large bullpen. Heads swivel in their direction, eyes snagging on Wei Wuxian and his casual state of dress. Everybody else in here is wearing uniforms in one state of undress or another, while Wei Wuxian is wearing ripped black jeans and a heather red v-neck. Hopefully he’ll get his jacket back soon. He spent a good amount of time stitching talismans into it; he’d like not to have wasted the effort.

Eyes un-snag; heads swivel back toward screens. Wei Wuxian remembers the strength of Lan Wangji’s glare and he imagines it’s only become more powerful with age and seniority. He can practically feel the shiver up his own spine.

Or maybe that is a shiver up his spine.

It’s strangely nostalgic, being here, even though Wei Wuxian is fairly certain he has never been in this particular room before. But that doesn’t really matter. The layout is the same, the furniture is the same, even the smell is the same. The computers have been updated, at least, but not within this decade.

Lan Wangji’s office is nice. Clean and minimalist, as expected. Stark white walls, a meticulously curated bookcase, and a matching walnut and glass-top desk. No pictures, no wall art, not even a particularly fancy name plate. The closest thing to a personal touch anywhere in the room is the tea set Lan Wangji’s mother made for him before she died. Wei Wuxian’s fingertips still remember the soft, inexpert curves of the cups.

The door clicks closed behind him and the silence that settles is almost crushing.

Tension pulls the lines of Lan Wangji’s shoulder blades toward the middle of his back, which is still turned to Wei Wuxian. His hands slowly curl into fists by his side.

A familiar ache twists in Wei Wuxian’s gut -- has been twisting in his gut for almost an hour now. The ache for Lan Wangji’s eyes to be on him. The ache for his attention, for his reaction. Anything, really. Since the day he met Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian has always just wanted to break through that barrier Lan Wangji puts around himself, and to really touch him.

Metaphorically.

And literally, but that’s something else.

Probably.

Now, Lan Wangji’s long braid shifts across the navy fabric of his uniform coat as he turns his head to the side, the shining plait slipping like snake scales through water. Wei Wuxian holds his breath, waiting for the bite. He watches the tension held in Lan Wangji’s jaw forcibly release, and then, finally:

“Wei Ying.”

#wei wuxian #lan wangji #luo qingyang #lan jingyi #nie zonghui #qin su #mdzs #the untamed #cql #fanfiction #the blacklist au #i still probably won't finish this #but it's very fun to play with #it is entirely crack #so have fun with it!#my writing #also for anyone who really likes the actual show this was inspired by #sorry #we're deviating pretty heavily away from that concept and rolling with something that's more loosely inspired

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thebiscuiteternal · 2 months

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Every time I imagine a young NHS grumpily (or stealthily) curled up under a table or in a corner, I imagine he must look like a little mantou, especially from the back 😂 And now I imagine NMJ on his way to scold NHS and faltering for a second the first time he sees his little brother in that shape on the floor

As they rounded a corner on their usual patrol, Nie Zonghui's father suddenly stopped short, causing him to smack into the man's back.

Rubbing his nose, he looked up to find his father had a hand clamped over his mouth, visibly struggling not to laugh, and peered around him to find that the source of the amusement was their young master, standing with his hands on his hips like an annoyed auntie and staring at what looked like a bun made of fabric stuffed into an alcove.

Then it dawned on him that the 'bun' was breathing.

Oh.

Zonghui bit his tongue in an attempt to keep quiet. If father wasn't laughing, as hard as it apparently was not to do so, he shouldn't be either.

Still, a tiny snort managed to escape, and that made Mingjue turn around, his expression of mixed annoyance and confusion only serving to make their composure fracture further.

"Ahem," his father coughed, getting himself back under control. "Would gongzi like assistance extracting er-gongzi from his newest napping spot?"

"No, I've got him," Mingjue muttered, though the scrunch of his nose and mouth made him look considerably less sure about that than he was trying to be, and Zonghui had to choke back another snort.

Though, he honestly couldn't blame his cousin. It never failed to impress how Huaisang managed to cram himself into such small spaces, and even sleep in them with no apparent discomfort.

He was a little jealous, even. Heavens knew how hard it was to fall asleep during the camping exercises he'd started undergoing with the other junior disciples, and they hadn't even gotten to the level of difficulty Huaisang was managing with ease.

Mingjue turned back to the alcove Huaisang had squished himself into and made a motion towards grabbing him before pulling back again. It was clear that with his brother's position, the size of the alcove, and his own size, the only way for him to pull Huaisang out on his own would be by the clothing, and that risked dumping Huaisang on the floor at a very painful angle.

"Gongzi?" his father offered again.

"Mmgh... okay," Mingjue muttered. "I... would like help... please."

"Alright." His father crouched down, big hands reaching in and closing around their second young master's upper torso. He lifted the small boy out with ease and a sleepy whimper of protest, then handed him to his brother, who immediately wrapped him in a tight hold before effectively waddling off towards the family quarters.

Only once the brothers were out of sight did Zonghui and his father look at each other, and then let themselves crack up fully.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #nie zonghui #nie sect #fic #mini fic

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caesarootham · 1 month

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Okay I watched "The Untamed - Fatal Journey" and I am crying. I love it so much.

It adds such depth to the narrative. It shows how Huisang managed to discover what everyone else hadn't seen. It adds so much depth to the motive behind his revenge, as well. This isn't just about his beloved brother being betrayed and killed by someone he trusted. It's about how Mingjue was made to hurt his own disciples. To hurt the very people he was always so determined to protect. It also shows how personal this revenge was to Huisang. It wasn't just that Meng Yao betrayed his sworn brother, it's that he made Huisang betray him too, made him complicit. It's all so utterly unforgiveable.

Also when Zonghui died I cried. I cried for real. I liked him so much as a character, and I knew that Huisang was going to have to lead the sect without his older brother and I was so happy and relieved that he had this great second in command, and he died. He died trying to protect the leaders he loved, and, although it wasn't their fault, he still died because of them. Fuck, I would've killed Meng Yao too.

Anyways, 10/10 would be traumatized again.

#the untamed #nie huiasang #nie mingjue #nie zonghui #meng yao #fatal journey

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allthelittlecreepycrawlies · 4 months

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With A Flap of Wings, part 3

(warning for discussion of suicide at the end)

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With the assistance of Nie Jinghe's infamous puppy eyes, Nie Xunyao has just succeeded in dragging his two older cousins out of the sparring round for dinner when his uncle blows past, visibly stressed.

All four of the kids trade looks, then follow, curiosity outweighing hunger.

"Diedie?" Nie Jinghe asks as they poke their heads into the door of his office.

"What happened? Has someone been attacked?" Nie Mingjue adds.

Nie Haoran looks up from the knot of talisman papers he is hurriedly weaving together and smiles, but it is so painfully forced that Nie Xunyao can't help shuddering and even Nie Jinghe looks uneasy at it.

"Nothing the lot of you need to worry about," he says, and if his expression is unconvincing, his effort at sounding cheerful is almost insulting in how blatantly fake it is. "Shouldn't you be at dinner already?"

"Jue-ge and Hui-ge wanted to break their sparring draw first, yizhang," Nie Xunyao says.

"Fair enough. But you should get going before the kitchen aunties form a search party for you."

With some apprehension and a lot of questions left to ask, they hesitantly edge away from the door to do as told, but not before Nie Xunyao recognizes what his uncle is making.

It's a long-distance emergency summons.

—

The question of whom the summons was for is answered the next morning when Nie Zonghui spots the figure in white and blue robes approaching from the south.

Lan Qiren flies right past the fortress, but it's easy to pinpoint where he descends.

Xinglu Ridge.

Nie Xunyao checks with his mother and learns that his aunts hadn't come back the night before, and Nie Mingjue can't find his father, which means they must already be up there themselves.

"If they wanted us to be involved, they would have asked us to come," his mother points out gently, but he can see that she is worried as well.

They decide to go.

They have traveled halfway up the path to the family tombs when Nie Zonghui quietly signals a stop, then points up into the trees.

"Go home, He-mei!" Nie Mingjue calls without even having to look, and there's a rustling in the leaves before his little sister tumbles down from the branches with an indignant scowl.

"I wanna know what's going on too!"

"You're too little to go up to the ridge!"

"Am not!"

Meng Shi loudly clears her throat to cut into the argument. "He-er, come here. Hold my hand, there's a good girl. Now, then, you will stay with me and be my guard while everyone's gone, hm?"

Nie Xunyao has to look away to hide a smile at the way his little cousin's scowl doubles in ferocity at the realization she's been had. "I'll send down a note as soon as we know what's happening," he promises his mother, then he and Nie Mingjue and Nie Zonghui resume their hike towards the family tomb.

—

They can hear the music and sense the swirling waves of spiritual pressure before they reach the treeline. Nie Mingjue is acutely aware that he couldn't identify any of the Lan songs by ear even at sword-point, but it doesn't feel like a banishment song.

Indeed, when they peek around one of the trees, the ghost struggling in the grip of Lan-xiansheng's music isn't fading or being dispersed. Hands wrapped around his own throat, he seems instead to be fighting a command to...

A broken sob takes his attention away from the spectacle and he looks over to find that his mother and father are practically carrying er-niang, her hands over her mouth as all three-

-wait.

He looks more closely at er-niang's stricken expression, then back at the ghost trapped in Lan-xiansheng's spellsong.

It can't be...

It can’t be...

The ghost is too old.

A full-grown adult.

But as he stares, transfixed by the tears streaming down the ghost's face and disappearing like steam as soon as they drip from his skin, he can see-

The ghost’s desperate attempts to break free fail, the musical command shattering the last of his defenses. Still clutching at his neck, he drops to his knees with an anguished howl that doesn't reach their ears, but seems to tear through Nie Mingjue’s soul.

He suddenly finds himself assaulted with a wave of dozens –hundreds– of emotions all at once and it's like taking a direct kick from a horse.

And he knows-

He knows-

"Didi..." he gasps just before he collapses in an unconscious heap.

—

When Nie Mingjue snaps awake, it's under a smothering blanket of panic. His breath wheezing in his chest, he tries to lunge to his feet and tumbles out of the bed he hadn't realized he was in. Strong familiar hands catch him by the shoulders before he can meet the floor with his face, but at the sight of his mother, the panic only doubles.

"You can't- you can't banish the ghost, you can’t-"

"Breathe, Jue-er. No one's banishing him," his mother says soothingly as she lifts him up and pushes him back into bed. "We're not exactly sure yet what we will be doing with him, but banishment is definitely not going to be in the plan."

Relief washes over him, dousing the fear so quickly that, for a moment, his very bones might as well have turned to jelly. His mother presses a cup of water into his hand and he gladly gulps it down while he gathers his nerve for the question that's going to hurt no matter what answer she gives.

"Lan-xiansheng confirms that our ghost is Sang-er," she says softly before he can ask, having always been able to read him like a child's book.

He nods shakily, grateful that she has spared him from having to force the words out. "Did... did he say why Sang-di is... like that?" he asks instead, unsure whether he's asking why his baby brother who never was is grown, or why he is dead, or both.

The expression that flickers across his mother's face is a complicated mix of emotions and, for a moment, he thinks she might refuse to tell him. He's all set to argue that he's old enough to know when she sighs deeply and rubs her eyes.

"It's... As I'm sure you're already aware, Sang-er didn't exactly reply to Inquiry in words, so making sense of it all has been difficult. As best as Master Lan can figure, something caused Sang-er's soul to have a prophetic vision."

Nie Mingjue frowns. "He wasn't even born yet, how-?"

"We don't know. We might not ever know, because he's trying to shut us out again." She reaches out and gently pets his hair, and her face softens in a sadness that has him bracing himself for the worst news possible.

"A-niang... tell me."

"Whatever Sang-er saw, it convinced him that his birth would bring a chain of disasters down on the sect. On our family. So he stopped it from happening."

The bracing didn’t help. Nie Mingjue feels the bed seemingly drop out from under him.

His brother... had killed himself? Before he'd even had a chance to live?

These disasters... had Nie Huaisang somehow known Nie Mingjue’s feelings about having a younger sibling… that he hadn’t wanted one? Would that have been part of it? Would they have grown up resenting each other… or worse? Would-

The cloth of his mother’s sleeve carefully swiping his cheek brings him back to reality and makes him aware that there are tears dripping down his face.

"A-niang, I- I have to go talk to him. I have to."

“In time, Jue-er. I promise he won’t be going anywhere. For now, you have to rest.”

#mdzs #nie sect #nie family #papa nie #nie mingjue #nie zonghui #jin guangyao #meng shi #nie huaisang #huaisang's mother #mingjue's mother #fanfic

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fortune-maiden · 3 months

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Season of Drabbles Reveals :D

I recently took part in a drabble fic exchange. Wrote 21 drabbles across 4 fics :D

MDZS - The Way of the Nie

10 Nie Brothers drabbles ft. Nie Zonghui <3

Nirvana in Fire - Two vs. One

3 silly Lin Chen & Mei Changsu & Fei Liu drabbles :3

TGCF - Revenge Before Reason. And After It.

Rong Guang is a menace (affectionate). Sort of a 5+1, except it's more like a 1+5+1

Day Off

Pei Xiu & Banyue have never done anything wrong in their lives and I love them ;-;

#mdzs #the untamed #tgcf #nirvana in fire #fortune's fanfics #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #nie zonghui #lin chen #mei changsu #fei liu #rong guang #pei ming #pei xiu #banyue #I love writing drabbles #definitely planning to participate in the next round of this exchange!

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crystalfloers · 1 year

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fatal journey - Jin Guangyao was SO evil for making Huaisang poison his brother like that oh my lord. Like not only did it cause him to speed up his brother’s death but it inadvertently caused Zonghui’s death and a bunch of their other close disciples. It also literally almost got Huaisang killed by his own brother.

The scene where Mingjue comes back to himself and notices that the disciples are all dead and cries is so heartbreaking oh my godddd. It’s literally so sick bro

#mdzs #cql #fatal journey #nie bros #nie zonghui #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #jin guangyao

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thisisallthehattersfault · 2 years

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Free name headcanons, get ‘em while they’re hot!

Note that I do Not speak Chinese and I am Not completely certain about any of these But! I have tried looking to see if other people have made posts about given name headcanons for some of the cast that only have courtesy names and found nothing so if I am Wrong I hope someone will please take pity and correct me. Nie Huaisang -- 涧 Jian, Mountain stream. Nie Mingjue -- 峰 Feng, Mountain peak. Nie Zonghui -- 峥 Zheng, lofty (of a mountain)

You probably noticed the theme! My only justification is “wouldn’t it be neat if it was a naming tradition among the Nie for the actual family to have like, cool environmental names?” and I don’t know enough about the language to come up with something fancy and clever so everybody is literally just getting named for Parts Of The Mountain. As far as I could find Zheng is actually technically a surname but I also didn’t find anything saying it couldn’t be a given name? If I’m wrong plz ups a bomb to my house at your earliest convenience UwU

Ouyang Zizhen -- 胜 Sheng, to defeat/to surpass/to be victorious

Old man sect leader Ouyang wants to be big and important so bad and he’s fully heaping all those dreams and expectations onto his kid. Sorry Zizhen.

Mo Xuanyu -- 丽 Li, beautiful Mama Mo -- 爱 Ai, love/affection

The only thing we really know about Xuanyu is that he likes to wear makeup. Me being me, I’m gonna stretch that one (1) trivia fact into an entire character trait! Some of the only memories he has of his mother is that she liked pretty things, and whenever she could she would show them to him. Not just finely-crafted jewelry or intricately embroidered robes (although those too) but also beauty in nature, and stories, and music. Naturally, to her, there was nothing in the world more beautiful than her baby, and she told him that every day. And now all of us are sad.

Lan Jingyi -- 欣 Xin, happy, joyful, delighted

My personal headcanons for the parents of the most un-Lan Lan are that they were pretty un-Lan Lans themselves; I like to think Jingyi’s father in particular was a loud, cheerful man who smiled a lot and loved to make new friends. Especially since Jingyi was def born during Sunshot, I think happiness is a good thing to hope for for your kid.

Jin Zixuan -- 富 Fu, rich, abundant, wealthy

This one was actually kind of a fuck you from Guanshan. The Jin have money. As far as he’s concerned, that’s all that really matters? His kid is gonna be Richer Than You and there’s nothing you can do about it. No, he hasn’t put any actual thought into what kind of person his son is going to grow up to be or what hopes he has for his heir’s future, he doesn’t view his son as a person.

#mdzs #the untamed #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #nie zonghui #ouyang zizhen #mo xuanyu #lan jingyi #jin zixuan #headcanons #names are hard #i will admit a large portion of this was inspired by me reading junior quartet poly fics #and getting angry that only jin ling and lan yuan had surnames #that their boyfriends could murmur softly and get them all blushy about #it was a crime I tell you an actual crime #anyway feel free to use any or all of these its not like I own Names

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peculiardollart · 9 months

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Some hairstyles for the men of the Nie sect!

Ladies

Jin Men and Women

Jiang Men and Women

Bonus sketches because it's kind of hard to see braids on dark hair and I refuse to properly render these

#MDZS #The Untamed #Nie Sect #Nie Mingjue #Nie Huiasang #Nie Zonghui #tagged for visibility reasons #nobody here is meant to be a specific nie #Worldbuilding #Culture building #Precious and semi-precious metals are to the nie #what flowers are to the jin #no outfit is complete without one #and ideally you should be covered in several different kinds #also: god I love braids they are So Shape #MDZS Worldbuilding Project

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lasenbyphoenix · 3 months

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Nie Zongzhui - The Fatal Journey

#art by lasenbyphoenix #nie zonghui #fatal journey

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lilapplesheadcannons · 9 months

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Nie MingJue stared balefully at the crate in the corner of his bedroom. Who knew newborn chicks were so noisy even when they were sleeping? And they stank to the high heavens. Why was the crate in his bedroom anyway? Since when did people start storing miscellaneous livestock in their sectleader's bedroom?

A full 6 months of being pampered by the three plus major sects and numerous disciples did little to improve Jingwei's appearance. She looked like a moulting feather duster more than ever. But her babies were delights to observe. Round little fluffballs, curious and energetic. Apparently, it was too early to tell whether they were male or female, but he sincerely hoped all the babies were female because a rooster didn't deserve to be called Xiao Shishi.

There were rushing footsteps outside. HuaiSang stormed in without knocking. They both spoke at the same time.

"Privacy! Ever heard of it?"

"What do you plan to do about it?"

Jingwei raised her sleepy head and clucked in reproach.

Nie MingJue did NOT lose the staring contest. He merely wanted HuaiSang out of his bedroom before the chicks were awake. He was tired, okay?

"About what? You? You I am planning to sell to Wei Wuxian to practice demonic cultivation on."

"Don't be crass! Besides, apparently, Wangji-xiong has started growling at anyone coming within an arm's distance of Wei-xiong, Wen Qionglin said."

Once upon a time, Nie MingJue was genuinely jealous of Lan Xichen on having a civilised little brother. Not anymore. HuaiSang was a royal pain in the butt, sure, but he has yet to cause an intersect uproar. Now Mingjue's mainly jealous of Wen-guiniang.

"I am not doing anything about it. It's a Lan-Jiang issue. Interfering in marriage treaties does not fall into the category of chief cultivator's duties."

"Not about that. Are you aware your pet chicken became a mom 2 weeks ago?"

"She's not my pet!" At this point, the protest is more of a reflex.

HuaiSang ignored him.

"Which means there's a dad somewhere, shirking his responsibilities."

MingJue snorted.

"What responsibilities does a rooster have towards its chicks?"

"Half of the cost of raising them, half of babysitting…"

He had a point. The Qinghe Nie sect wasn't hurting for a feastful of corns a day. But Nie MingJue would love to sleep in a quiet room once in a while. Besides, the regular visitor in his bedroom complained that chicken feather exacerbated their allergies and they didn't appreciate being stared by a chicken in bed anyway. What was the world coming to that a chicken got more action than the chief cultivator himself? But maybe a reasonable shared custody agreement would grant him his bedroom all to himself once every few days.

"Get out!" He pointed to the door, "and tell Zonghui to get everyone that owns a rooster in Qinghe to come see me tomorrow morning."

In the morning, he sat at his worktable, sipping his second cup of tea. A chick tried to peck at the embroidery of his clothes, but he decided to indulge it. After all, who knows where it might be spending half the weekdays in? Not every farmer in Qinghe could afford embroidered clothes.

"Sect leader, master HuaiSang woke me up last night to tell me that you wanted to see all the rooster-owners in Qinghe." There was a subtle hint of complaint in Zonghui's voice. In his humble opinion, his duties as the right-hand man to the sect leader didn't involve indulging whatever prank HuaiSang was playing at the moment.

"Yes, er, I did. I mean, I do."

Zonghui stared.

"If I may be so bold, sect leader, why do you want to speak to them?"

Nie MingJue felt his face getting warmer. What seemed like a good idea to his half-asleep brain in the candlelight seemed laughable in front of the stoic face of his subordinate in the morning sun.

"Hmmmph, well, one of their roosters is responsible for this!" He gestured all around him. "It's only fair they take some responsibility."

Nie Zonghui kept staring.

"And how do you plan to find out which rooster exactly that is responsible? Shall I invite Lan-zongzhu to play enquiry on Jingwei?"

Was that sarcasm? Nie MingJue just realised he himself was a bad influence on his own right-hand man. Zonghui continued,

"Besides, what responsibilities do you expect them to take? How much can a farmer pay to the Qinghe Nie as compensation?"

"I wasn't thinking of money," MingJue argued heatedly. "Maybe they can look after the chicks on alternate weeks. That seems only fair."

"It would make more sense for them to take half of the chicks. Forever."

MingJue's hand paused in the middle of bringing the cup to his lip. He put the cup down, then delicately picked up the chick from his lap and handed her over to Zonghui.

"I have changed my mind. There's no need to see anyone. Take Xiao Fengxian to her sisters on your way out."

Maybe he himself could go visit a certain someone more often from now on. It would certainly improve intersect relationships.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #mdzs crack #mdzs headcanons #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #nie zonghui #jingwei the chicken #the grandmaster of demonic cultivation #thanks to @fishwink for the idea #Nie MingJue the dad who stepped up

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jaimebluesq · 2 years

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What My Favourite Ships Say About Me

I've seen a few "What your favourite (insert X fandom) ship says about you" videos and posts, and thought I'd make my own about some of MY favourite pairings (spoiler - they're all NHS based - big surprise to anyone who follows me >.<), all of which I have written before.

Be warned, I poke fun at them and myself - this is all for shits and giggles :D

If anyone wants to use this as an excuse to make their own, please do! The more the merrier!

So let's start with the biggest one...

SangCheng

SangChengSu

SangHui

SangXun

SangYao

And finally, WangSang

#sangcheng #sangchengsu #sanghui #sangxun #sangyao #wangsang #nie huaisang #jiang cheng #qin su #nie zonghui #jin zixun #jin guangyao #lan wangji

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rosethornewrites · 1 year

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Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 22

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, Chronic Pain, Biting, Conversations, Self-Sacrifice, POV Third Person, POV Lan WangJi, Bugs & Insects, Adoption, Ancestors, Ancestor Veneration, Golden Core Reveal, Top Lan Wangji | Lan Zhan/Bottom Wei Wuxian | Wei Ying, First Time Blow Jobs, Multiple Orgasms, Switching, sex-related injury, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī Stays at the Burial Mounds, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī is a Wèi, Good Sibling Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Dissociation, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Disability, Scheming Niè Huáisāng

Summary:

Notes: See end.

AO3 link

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21

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Lan Wangji only realizes he fell asleep when he wakes to Xiongzhang’s voice softly calling his name from beyond the curtain, his voice edged with a lilt of concern. He eases out from under the blankets, careful not to wake Wei Ying and A-Yuan, and steps out to greet his brother, leaving the curtain open so they can see him if they wake.

Xiongzhang is relaxed, a good sign that the rest of the discussion went well.

“Nie Huaisang roped Wei Qionglin into helping write the poem,” is what his brother opens with. “They’re writing a yuefu using baihua, so the Jin are likely to ignore or dismiss it as some peasant obsession.”

The strategy is brilliant—folk music, particularly that which is written using baihua, is sneered at by the gentry, which would enable it to spread right under their noses, speaking to the common people and possibly even appearing written by common people, which would obfuscate the issue further for the Jin and add to the delay in trying to counter the narrative.

Nie Huaisang is clearly hiding a brilliant mind, to so quickly plan so many steps ahead, and Lan Wangji resolves to never play weiqi with him.

Xiongzhang lays out what occurred after they left, basically a repeat of his own experiences learning of conditions in the work camps, only with the addition of Nie Huaisang being distraught and Nie Mingjue’s fury. Now while Nie Huaisang has roped Wei Ning into writing epic poetry, Wei Qing is taking Nie Mingjue, his second, and Jiang Wanyin on a tour of the settlement and safe parts of the Burial Mounds.

“They wish to strategize what aid will be most useful,” he finishes.

It’s clear Nie Mingjue intends to offer more than expected or hoped for, then, perhaps happy Nie Huaisang’s sworn siblinghood will permit him to do so now that he has seen the truth.

Before he can consider a response, he feels a tug on his hanfu.

“Baba?” a sleepy voice asks. “Nap over?”

Lan Wangji picks the boy up. He can see from Xiongzhang’s expression that he finds the scene adorable, but he turns his attention to A-Yuan.

“You may sleep longer if you wish,” he says.

A-Yuan mulls it over, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand, and then he yawns and nods.

He takes A-Yuan back to the bed and tucks him in again, watching for a moment as he curls closer to Wei Ying and falls back to sleep, still a little amazed he gets to have this, before rejoining his brother.

Xiongzhang seems unbothered by the interruption, perhaps even a little amused by it, but he quickly turns to more serious issues.

“Shufu will not come see you. He insists you will face punishment when you return to the Cloud Recesses,” he says softly, his voice regretful.

Even though Lan Xichen is clan leader, he is expected to abide by the counsel of his elders, of which Lan Qiren is one. Xiongzhang is warning him he may not come home, at least until Shufu changes his mind.

The pain he feels over it is somewhat brief; after all, he decided upon staying in the Burial Mounds that his home was Wei Ying, has been making plans to live with him and their son at Lotus Pier. He will always love the Cloud Recesses, though for now it will not have him.

Xiongzhang holds out a qiankun pouch.

“I’ve packed some of your possessions from the jingshi, some necessities that may make things better here for you and Wuxian. I’ll speak with Jiang Wanyin about transferring anything else you wish to Lotus Pier.”

Lan Wangji can only nod, a bit overcome. Was this how Wei Ying felt when Jiang Wanyin expelled him from the sect, however much that had been for show—as though the world had tilted, bile in the back of the throat, swallowed like a bitter draught?

He cannot regret what he has now, the fact that he has a husband he has loved since the moment they met, a sweet son whose continued existence is a credit to Wei Ying’s honor, who would have died terribly without his intervention.

But the sting is there, and Lan Qiren is a stubborn sort, unlikely to admit to wrongs and likely to hold grudges, having unjustly judged Wei Ying based on the mother his husband barely knew; Lan Wangji knows his own stubbornness is come by honestly, at least, and if Shufu thinks he will abandon his husband based on his misconceptions, he will gladly persevere and show him how it’s done, even if it’s petty.

“I will give you a list,” he says finally, aware Xiongzhang is waiting for an answer and agonizing over this new family strife. “Any furniture Jiang Wanyin feels would help furnish our quarters at Lotus Pier would be welcome, though that may be a more unrealistic undertaking.”

Qiankun pouches can only hold what could fit in the opening, after all, and the level of activity would alert Shufu, which Xiongzhang may not want if he’s doing this surreptitiously.

“It is no trouble,” Xiongzhang replies, telling Lan Wangji that he is either openly defying Shufu, or that Shufu is amenable to his permanent removal from the Cloud Recesses.

Lan Wangji doesn’t particularly want to know which is the case at the moment—regardless, his brother is supporting them, which is the part that matters right now.

Xiongzhang takes his leave shortly thereafter, likely to join the tour of the Burial Mounds and help troubleshoot how the rest of their stay will be made more comfortable, and Lan Wangji retreats to the alcove and pulls the curtain closed.

While he should see what Xiongzhang brought and work on a list of what he wishes to have transported to Lotus Pier, Lan Wangji chooses instead to set aside the qiankun pouch and rejoin his husband and son in bed, though he knows his mind is too troubled to sleep. Holding them both close settles his mind a little, and he tallies a mental inventory of the jingshi until Wei Ying stirs.

His husband somehow immediately knows something is wrong, his hand coming up to smooth worry-lines on his brow and then straighten his forehead ribbon before he asks what happened, and although Lan Wangji knows it will deepen the enmity he holds toward Lan Qiren, he tells him anyway, softly so as not to wake A-Yuan.

Wei Ying tries to apologize, as Lan Wangji knew he would, despite none of it being his fault, and he shushes him gently with kisses.

“But your home…” Wei Ying protests, and Lan Wangji knows he is thinking about the loss of the Lotus Pier he grew up with, and the temporary loss of the rebuilt one, a loss he thought was permanent.

“My home is Wei Ying,” he says simply, honestly, because no place can replace him.

As is often the case, this sort of open declaration of love makes his zhiji bashful in ways their physical intimacy doesn’t, and he murmurs something about his heart and needing warning, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

With A-Yuan still asleep between them, Lan Wangji redirects instead of seeking to make him blush more, telling him of the qiankun pouch he has yet to open, and Xiongzhang’s plan to send the contents of the jingshi to Lotus Pier.

“We will make a list together, but it need not be everything,” he tells Wei Ying, not wishing his husband to fill their home to be with only his possessions out of a sense of guilt or obligation.

Wei Ying opens his mouth, likely to protest, but A-Yuan stirs from his nap in time to prevent any argument. Lan Wangji resolves to sneak extra dessert to him, now that they have plenty of food and will likely receive more from several sects.

The boy rubs at his eyes and yawns, but is already much more cognizant than he was the last time he woke, as he remembers their visitors and immediately wants to go play with them, giving Lan Wangji a rather amusing mental image of Nie Mingjue crouched in the dirt with a grass butterfly playing with A-Yuan.

Though he knows Wei Ying will likely argue to bring the whole jingshi to Lotus Pier for his comfort later, the reprieve is welcome, as they dress and rejoin their guests in the great hall.

Unsurprisingly, Nie Huaisang immediately ropes Wei Ying into the poetry project Wei Ning is helping with—and Wei Ning has undergone a transformation visually, his hair sleek with hair oil and up in a proper crown, the guan of a Nie design, and in fresh robes rather than the tattered ones he has been wearing. But for the pallor of his skin, he could be mistaken for someone who survived corpse poisoning, and the transformation is striking, the young man looking almost as he had at the Cloud Recesses before the war.

Clearly Nie Huaisang has been busy, as he waves Lan Wangji over and explains the others are still outside touring the Burial Mounds.

“I’m sure Dage found some ferocious yao to play with,” he says with no small amount of amusement. “Lady Wei mentioned there were some areas warded off with worthy prey.”

Wei Ying lets out an amused snort, already glancing through and somewhat distracted by the sheets of parchment on the table and idly spinning Chenqing.

“He’s welcome to them. I just haven’t had enough time to tackle that issue yet—farmable land has been the priority here. Hell, if he wants to bring Nie disciples on training missions to those areas, he’s welcome to it, so long as no one hurts Wei Ning.”

Or energy or health, Lan Wangji knows, though he doesn’t comment—his husband’s health is no one else’s business.

A-Yuan seems to understand he won’t be allowed to go play with their guests and will instead need to wait for them to return, and Nie Huaisang helps matters by gifting him a little fan to play with, which almost immediately best friends with the grass butterfly.

Lan Wangji is somewhat torn over whether to stay and engage in poetic discussion or to seek their other guests in case Wei Qing feels overwhelmed, but then he remembers Jiang Wanyin is with her and decides his place is here.

Wei Ning excuses himself to refresh the teapot, taking the packet of tea Nie Huaisang presses on him before leaving at a pace that could almost be considered fleeing, A-Yuan toddling after him asking for a snack. It quickly becomes apparent why when Wei Ying goes still, nearly fumbling Chenqing.

“You’re putting it in there?” he asks, his voice tight with anxiety.

Lan Wangji goes to him, glancing at the parchment to see the poem discusses the golden core transfer—even the duration and pain—and then his capture by Wen Chao and subsequent plummet into the Burial Mounds. This explains Wei Ning’s haste to leave.

“Jiang-xiong insisted,” Nie Huaisang says defensively, his fan fluttering.

Wei Ying lets out a sound between a sigh and a groan, and Lan Wangji moves closer to him under the cover of peering closer at the papers, letting him lean close for comfort. He won’t go against Jiang Wanyin on this decision, he knows, and he can see the Jiang sect leader’s logic—none could know of Wei Ying’s sacrifice and call him evil.

After a few deep breaths, leaning into Lan Wangji less than subtly, Wei Ying eventually sighs.

“Jiang Cheng has the right to decide.”

Lan Wangji sits beside him, taking his free hand and rubbing his thumb against his knuckles.

“Wei Ying’s honor should be known,” he murmurs.

He knows his husband didn’t do it for honor; they’ve had that conversation before. However, his actions show how truly honorable and caring Wei Ying is, and Lan Wangji, selfishly, wishes to hear the common people speak this truth instead of the despicable lies that have spread.

Wei Ning returns with tea, A-Yuan toddling after him with a tray of snacks for all of them. While he pours for them, Wei Ying shoves Chenqing in his belt, grabs the brush from the inkstone and alters a line slightly. Nie Huaisang leans over his shoulder and makes an approving noise.

“Ah, you’re right. That would be more what the common folk would say, Wei-xiong.”

Wei Ying nods, taking a sip of tea.

“I used to sit near the tea and wine houses. They were warm and had nice music to listen to, and sometimes they’d let me have leftovers.”

His voice is distant as he changes a few bits on another line. Nie Huaisang glances at Lan Wangji, who knows his husband rarely speaks of his time on the streets as a child. He squeezes Wei Ying’s hand and is met with a wan smile.

“The baihua needs to be believable or someone might catch on that members of the gentry wrote it. We want it to seem organic, right?”

“Right,” Nie Huaisang echoes, nonplussed.

Ultimately he joins them on Wei Ying’s other side, thanking Wei Ning for the tea before watching as more changes are made, occasionally rewriting entire lines or shifting idioms to be those more in line with commoners’ language.

A-Yuan climbs onto Lan Wangji’s lap, eager for his snack, red bean mantou, happily occupied. Also available are zongzi with jujube filling, drizzled in honey, which he feeds to Wei Ying while he works, earning an appreciative hum.

Wei Ning excuses himself to start cooking the evening meal, taking a qiankun pouch Nie Huaisang presses on him.

“We’re imposing, so we should provide the food,” he says when he sees Lan Wangji watching. “And anyway, we’re descended from butchers, so we’ve brought plenty of meat to last you a while.”

Nie Huaisang could not have known their intention to invite him and his brother here, so he must have either had the qiankun pouch ready and intended to get it to them somehow, or he filled it in Lanling.

Lan Wangji privately hopes he cleaned out the larder at Koi Tower.

Regardless, the food is welcome, and they will have little need to scrape and go hungry given how much has been provided to them, which will be good for Wei Ying’s help.

He focuses on feeding Wei Ying his snack, then wiping off A-Yuan’s hands and face, brushing crumbs off his mini disciple uniform, before eating his own zongzi.

It’s comfortably calm as he reads over Wei Ying’s shoulder, as he makes minor changes to the baihua and altered wording in places for various reasons. Nie Huaisang challenges him on a few of them and they debate poetics. Often Wei Ying wins by pointing out the difference between commoner poetics and gentry poetics, but Nie Huaisang wins a few.

Lan Wangji is happy to hold A-Yuan on his lap as he plays with his grass butterfly and the fan Nie Huaisang gave him, making them hold a little murmured conversation, and let the discussion wash over him. But he notices a factual error himself and points it out, and is drawn in that way on the merits of poetic license versus a need to be close to the truth. (He wins that one.)

By the time Wei Qing and their guests join them, the rest of the Wei clan filing in for dinner, they’ve added lines in places, removed them in others, and have drafted a fair bit of the rest.

They only notice they have an audience when Jiang Wanyin clears his throat, and Lan Wangji feels like a child caught doing something naughty until he catches Xiongzhang trying and failing to hide a smile—perhaps they’ve been watching for a while, since he and Nie Huaisang only just finished a debate over certain details describing himself, which he can guess Lan Xichen would find amusing, and Nie Mingjue seems similarly amused.

Honestly, Nie Huaisang is far too interested in flowery language and making use of symbolism referencing his title, and Wei Ying was little help against it, agreeing vehemently that he should be described in the way the common people see him.

A-Yuan squirms down from his lap, abandoning his grass butterflies on the table, to run to his Jiang-shushu and ask to be picked up; Jiang Wanyin obliges with a soft smile on his face.

“Just in time, Dage—we’ve almost got the whole thing drafted!” Nie Huaisang crows, apparently unbothered by their audience. “Wei-xiong’s so much better at baihua than I am, it’s unfair.”

“Aiya, Nie-xiong, you’re better at the poetry part, with all that symbolism, so don’t put yourself down,” Wei Ying teases, his voice warm and amused, and Lan Wangji can almost imagine they’re back before the war, him catching the two of them up to shenanigans at the Cloud Recesses.

Wei Ying’s modesty is false, given the number of times Lan Wangji has heard him reference poetry in ways so subtle one not trained in the arts might miss, but he is letting Nie Huaisang save face.

Jiang Wanyin hands A-Yuan to Wei Qing and comes over to check the sheets of parchment, then nods in satisfaction.

“Good, you didn’t take it out. Nie-xiong, be sure to put a lot of symbolism in that implies my idiot shixiong is a self-sacrificing idiot.”

Nie Huaisang laughs.

“Oh, I took artistic license, so Wei-xiong managed to grow white lotuses in the Burial Mounds.”

They debated over that detail for a while, with Wei Ying feeling the implied connection with Guanyin was a bit much, and Nie Huaisang pointing out that his sacrifices for his brother and the now-Weis justified the imagery.

Wei Ying’s last-ditch argument was that lotuses would never grow in the Burial Mounds, at which Nie Huaisang snorted and pointed out that he was the exemplification of the Jiang sect motto and the common people would believe he could after he survived being tossed in the Burial Mounds.

The casual reference to what Wen Chao had done to him stopped the argument in its tracks. Wei Ying went quiet, his eyes distant, in a way that made Nie Huaisang fret, assuring Lan Wangji he won’t make that mistake again. That time is something his husband has not opened up to him about, which he knows likely means it was so bad he can’t yet put it into words.

The white lotus has its own symbolism, beyond the association with Guanyin. The lotus itself is a symbol of purity and enlightenment in art. While white is often associated with death—Wei Ying’s jokes about Gusu Lan robes come to mind, as well as Lan Wangji’s own fears for the future—the color represents metal in wuxing and is also used to reference innocence or honesty. White lotuses themselves imply purity and enlightenment, and with the poem woven as it is, it adds to the implication that Wei Ying himself embodies those elements.

In Lan Wangji’s opinion, he does, but he also knows he is a little biased. The goal, though, is to convince the common people.

He can see the way Xiongzhang’s mind follows a similar logical progression.

“Isn’t that… blatant?” he asks.

Wei Ying exchanges a look with Nie Huaisang and shrugs.

“It’s for the common people—many never learn to read, so most commoner works imply less and say more. There are different levels, of course, but this will be more understandable to the least educated among them.”

“Wei-xiong argued against it, and lost,” Nie Huaisang says, sounding far too pleased with himself.

“I still don’t think they’d grow here,” he mutters, still a little petulant.

“Somehow I get the feeling if you tried, they’d grow,” Wei Qing tells him with no small amount of wryness; after all, Wei Ying has pushed the boundaries of impossible in simply still living. “It’s not like we’re on the verge of starvation anymore, so I don’t have a problem with you trying.”

“I’ll send some seed varieties—there are some that aren’t edible, but are more hardy,” Jiang Wanyin cuts in.

The gesture seems to surprise Wei Ying, and Jiang Wanyin huffs as though put out, looking away and crossing his arms.

“You should have a piece of home with you if you can’t come home right away,” he adds gruffly.

Wei Ying goes still and silent, his eyes shimmering with emotion a bit even in the dim light of the cave, and he just nods.

The atmosphere is too hushed for a moment, but it’s thankfully broken by A-Yuan asking Nie Mingjue about his mustache—or, more accurately, if he can call the Nie sect leader ‘Huzi-gege.’

Nie Zonghui fails to hold in a snort, and it instantly shifts the mood. Nie Huaisang giggles behind his fan, Xiongzhang smiles widely, and even Jiang Wanyin can’t keep his lips from curving upward.

“You know,” Nie Mingjue says, kneeling so he’s at A-Yuan’s height, “my didi is going to be your die’s sworn brother. So I think it’s okay for you to call me Bofu.”

A-Yuan looks delighted by this, and Lan Xichen pats the boy on the head.

“Your baba is my didi, so you may call me Bobo.”

The boy grins. He tilts his head for a moment, then points, to Nie Mingjue, then Xiongzhang, the Jiang Wanyin, and then finally Nie Huaisang.

“Bofu, Bobo, Shushu… Shufu?”

Nie Huaisang waves his fan almost frantically.

“Aiya! You make me sound old. Maybe call me Xiaoshu… Ah, no, that’s Wei Ning. Ershu?”

Wei Ying nods, looking overwhelmed again; Lan Wangji knows it’s likely because he’s been claimed family by the Nie, before the ceremony, even. Family is important to his husband, as he has lost far too much of it. He feels it as an orphan himself.

“Ershu,” A-Yuan parrots and nods, then looks at Jiang Wanyin again. “Dashu?”

The Jiang sect leader nods and beckons to the boy, who is all too glad to come be picked up.

Popo wanders in, stopping next to Nie Mingjue and patting his arm affectionately, which tells Lan Wangji the conversation they slept through was very fruitful.

“A-Ning’s nearly finished with dinner,” she tells them. “He said we have Qinghe to thank for the meal.”

Nie Mingjue shoots a somewhat incredulous look at Nie Huaisang, who shrinks behind his fan.

“You knew we’d be coming here,” he asks.

“I don’t know! I just had it with me, just in case. Like maybe I could pass it to Jin-shao-furen, and she could get it to Wei-xiong. I hoped.”

Nie Mingjue just shakes his head and turns to Popo.

“Lao-Wei, we are honored to provide. I look forward to sharing a meal with you.”

The address alone indicates respect, and is an acceptance of Wei Ying’s adoption of the former Wen remnants, and it eases a concern Lan Wangji didn’t know he had.

The rest of the remnants trickle in as dinner time approaches, some carrying steaming plates and tureens, and Nie Huaisang bundles the parchment with the unfinished poem into a pouch in his sleeve, while Wei Ying sets the inkstone and brush aside.

One of the main dishes for dinner is a stewed long feng pei, often served at wedding banquets, which leads to a whispered discussion between the Nie brothers.

“It’s like a wedding banquet,” Wei Ying murmurs to him, soft and only for him, giving him a dark look that is a tantalizing promise for later.

Nie Huaisang’s gentle message through food is touching, as he is clearly throwing them a banquet. Nearly all of the dishes feature meat, from mutton to beef to duck, and even a platter of fish. The sauces are rich and savory.

The dishware is unfamiliar, much better quality than what they have been using.

There’s no possibility that Wei Ning prepared all of this, meaning Nie Huaisang brought cooked dishes placed in stasis talismans. Somehow he knew he would be coming to the Burial Mounds, and had prepared this in advance, all without his brother’s knowledge. Nie Huaisang has been watching, and he wants them to know—and from the way Wei Qing and Wei Ying exchange subtle looks with him, it lands.

He resolves to taste every dish, even those with meat, out of respect for the dual messages being sent.

Lan Wangji is relieved that Nie Huaisang is helping them. With what this implies about his network, the poem’s distribution will be swift, and the work to shift Wei Ying’s reputation among the common people will soon begin.

Dinner starts off awkward, but Nie Mingjue helps break the ice by discussing his ideas for handling the warded areas—and he’s only too happy with Wei Ying’s offer to use them as a training ground.

“Jiang disciples would benefit from such training, as well,” Jiang Wanyin comments.

“The Lan would be pleased to join intersect night hunts,” Xiongzhang adds. “Strengthening ties is logical now that our sects will be tied through brotherhood.”

The message is that aid will be delivered regularly, and there will be the protection of three sects. It will eventually catch the attention of the Jin, but by that time hopefully Wei Ying’s reputation will be rehabilitated and Jin Guangshan will be powerless.

Dinner eventually turns perhaps predictably raucous, given that Wei Ying, Nie Huaisang, and Jiang Wanyin are together and wine is available. Older now, Lan Wangji can find some humor in their routine, meant to entertain both themselves and those around them, but it’s more in the nostalgia of simpler times, before the war and all it had wrought. Wei Ying turns to him occasionally with a fleeting bittersweet expression, as though he feels similarly.

Wei Qing, he notices, is watching on with a sort of fondness, particularly as they bring Wei Ning into it, though perhaps it’s his newly groomed appearance and the reason for it. She has spent dinner at the same table as Popo and Nie Mingjue, discussing the finer points of golden core and meridian research. Lan Wangji was not aware that was one of Chifeng-Zun’s interests, but given his father’s death by qi deviation makes some sense.

The conversation peters out when A-Yuan asks if he could ride on his bofu’s shoulders, and Nie Mingjue was powerless to his charm—though he wasn’t so charmed as to not to clean the boy’s hands, sticky with a dessert of jellied date candy.

His earlier mental image does nothing to prepare him for seeing Nie Mingjue actually playing with A-Yuan and his grass butterfly and fan. He doesn’t seem to mind, which makes sense given the sect leader dotes upon his little brother and partially raised him.

With A-Yuan engaging Nie Mingjue, Wei Qing is able to observe as he has been, for a little while, at least until Xiongzhang slips into the vacated seat next to her.

As hai shi approaches, Lan Wangji can see Wei Ying’s energy flagging, likely from a combination of factors. The good and heavy food, combined with his general need of healing, and the fact that they had not done his evening musical acupuncture treatment, perhaps. The wine increased it all. He can’t quite keep himself from wincing when he moves in certain ways, is hiding the shakiness of his hands by keeping his wine bottle on the table between sips.

Just as Lan Wangji is considering how to step in, Nie Huaisang gestures to Nie Mingjue, who brings over a sleepy A-Yuan.

It’s a socially acceptable reason to retire, so Lan Wangji steps forward and intercepts Popo, telling her they will ready him for bed, and she can retrieve him in a bit. Readying A-Yuan for bed will allow her to enjoy the gathering a bit longer, and she deserves to enjoy it. Wei Ying will need to soak, likely longer than usual, providing ample time to see to the child’s nightly routine.

He collects his husband and son, stopping Wei Ying from trying to lift the boy into his arms and instead doing it himself. With the busy day they’ve had, he’d rather not add to the strain on his body.

Nie Huaisang nods at him, and he realizes his soon to be sworn brother has been monitoring Wei Ying just as he has, and is accommodating his needs by anticipating them, even bringing Nie Mingjue in on it.

An effort to work together toward a common goal of restoring Wei Ying’s health, perhaps.

As he lets Wei Ying lean against him, taking part of his body weight, and they head through to the cave, Lan Wangji thinks, whatever his old classmate’s plan, whatever conversation occurred while they slept, if it involves helping Wei Ying, he approves wholeheartedly.

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Taking a short break from final grading to post this. Thanks to adrian_kres for the beta!

Yuefu is a style of narrative poetry that basically borrows from Chinese folk song traditions. The Ballad of Mulan is an example.

Baihua is written vernacular Chinese, which would be looked down upon at the time compared to Old Chinese, which was more formal. It’s definitely not something the gentry would typically engage with.

Most people know weiqi as Go. I suck at that game. The strategy eludes me, so I bet I’d get killed quick in a zombie apocalypse.

Wuxing is the Five Phases, or Five Elements, which is very prevalent in Chinese culture.

Bofu and bobo are both terms for father’s older brother, but the first is more formal.

Long feng pei translates to dragon and phoenix and is stewed fish and chicken, at least in Hebei cuisine. Since dragon and phoenix imagery is rife in weddings, it’s no surprise this dish often features.

Of course Popo is taking A-Yuan for the night. Nie Huaisang just recreated a wedding banquet.

Other Chinese pinyin translations:

baba = dad

dage = eldest brother

dashu = eldest uncle

didi = younger brother

ershu = second uncle

gege = elder brother

hai shi = the 9-11pm time period

hanfu = robe

huzi = mustache

Lao-Wei = Elder Wei

mantou = steamed bun

shao-furen = younger madam

shixiong = elder martial sibling

shufu = uncle (father’s younger brother), formal

shushu = uncle (father’s younger brother), informal

xiaoshu = youngest uncle

xiong = brother (in this case an indication of closeness)

xiongzhang = elder brother

zhiji = one who knows you best in this life

zongzi = glutenous rice stuffed with filling and wrapped in bamboo leaves

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